The walk back to the Valerius estate was a study in controlled breathing. Velara had to shed the skin of the Lower City and don the mantle of the invisible servant once more. By the time she reached the iron-wrought side gate, her cloak was stashed in a hollowed-out stone by the river, and her hair was pinned back with painful precision.
She didn't go to her quarters. She went directly to the North Tower the Steward's sanctum.
The Steward, a man known only as Gideon, sat behind a desk piled high with wax-sealed scrolls. He did not look up as she entered. The only sound in the room was the scratching of his quill.
"The tavern is in ruins," Gideon said, his voice like dry parchment rubbing together. "Four Gold-Capes are in the infirmary with lung-rot from a glass-powder flash. And the Third Heir returned to his rooms ten minutes ago, smelling of cheap ale and panic."
He finally looked up. His eyes were milky with cataracts, yet Velara felt like he was reading the very marrow of her bones.
"Tell me, Velara," he whispered. "Why did I receive a report that a 'cloaked figure' assisted the Syndicate's escape?"
Velara didn't blink. This was the moment. The "Saint" would tell the truth and die; the "Villain" would lie and get caught. She chose the middle path the path of the traitor.
"The Gold-Capes arrived too early," Velara said, her voice steady. "If they had arrested Caspian in that room, the Silver Syndicate would have used his presence as leverage to halt the executions of their own men. The Family's reputation would have been held for ransom."
Gideon leaned back, his quill pausing. "So you intervened."
"I ensured the Heir was not captured," she replied. "I used the flash to disorient the guards so Caspian could flee without being identified by the Watch. I prioritized the Family's image over a petty arrest."
Gideon stared at her for a long, agonizing minute. Then, he let out a short, dry wheeze that might have been a laugh. "You prioritized your own skin, girl. You knew that if Caspian was taken on your watch, I would have had your head for failing to control the situation."
"That too," Velara said, allowing a flicker of 'honesty' to show.
"And what was he doing there?"
"He was meeting a mid-level Syndicate runner," she lied, downplaying Vane's rank. "Buying information on Lucius's shipping routes. It was sibling rivalry, nothing more. Caspian is arrogant, but he isn't a traitor to the Patriarch. He just wants to see Lucius fail."
Gideon tapped his chin. "Lucius is the Patriarch's favorite. If Caspian is moving against him, the internal rot is deeper than we thought. You did well to keep it quiet... for now."
He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small, silver coin—a 'Mark of Silence.' He slid it across the desk.
"This never happened. Caspian is a fool, but he is a Valerius fool. We handle our own garbage. Continue to watch him. If he reaches for a blade instead of a bribe, you kill him yourself. Do you understand?"
"With my own hands," Velara promised.
She took the coin and bowed. As she turned to leave, Gideon's voice stopped her at the door.
"Velara."
"Yes, Master?"
"The Second Heir, Lucius, is hosting a hunt tomorrow at the Blackwood Estate. He has requested you specifically to handle the guest list. It seems you've caught his eye as well."
Velara felt a cold knot tie itself in her stomach. Lucius was the most dangerous mind in the house. Being 'requested' by him was rarely a compliment; it was a summons to the butcher's block.
"I am honored," she said, her back to him.
"Are you?" Gideon murmured. "Be careful, girl. When two lions start to fight, the grass usually gets trampled. And you are very much the grass."
Velara returned to her small, stone-walled room in the servants' wing. She locked the door and sat on her narrow cot.
She reached into her tunic and pulled out two things.
First, the silver coin from Gideon a reward for a lie.
Second, a small, crumpled scrap of paper she had lifted from the table at the tavern during the chaos.
She smoothed it out. It was a map of the Blackwood Estate, Lucius's hunting grounds. But there were red marks over the 'Old Grove' a place where the Valerius family ancestors were buried.
Beneath the map, in Caspian's jagged handwriting, were three words: The Old Man must fall.
Velara's breath hitched. Caspian wasn't just trying to embarrass Lucius. He was planning an assassination of the Patriarch during tomorrow's hunt.
She stood at the crossroads.
If she told Gideon, Caspian would be executed, and she would be a hero of the House and a target for Caspian's remaining loyalists.
If she helped Caspian, the Patriarch would die, the House would fall into a bloody civil war, and she could use the chaos to vanish or to climb.
She looked at the candle flickering on her desk. She didn't think of the "Good" or "Evil" of it. She thought of the Baron's wife, who was about to lose her son to this house. She thought of the grain being sold while people starved.
She took the map and held it over the candle flame.
As the paper turned to ash, Velara's eyes hardened. She wouldn't save the Patriarch. And she wouldn't save Caspian.
She would let them tear each other apart, and she would be the one to inherit the secrets left in the rubble.
"No saints," she whispered to the empty room. "No villains. Just survivors."