Lyra knelt beside my desk while the candle threw shadows across her face. Three weeks since the Grundy thing. Three weeks since I'd torn apart a conspiracy using nothing but plot knowledge and some very convenient "accidents."
The girl who used to flinch at loud noises was gone. Completely gone. In her place sat something else entirely.
"The guards rotate every four hours now instead of six," she said. Her voice was flat. Clinical. Like a general reporting troop movements. "Jenkins got reassigned to the outer gates after his drinking problem became impossible to ignore. His replacement is named Garrett. He's married to one of the laundry women."
She paused for half a second.
"Meredith. Works the third shift. Very chatty." Another pause. "She talks in her sleep, Master. About everything."
Her fingers twitched when she said it. Just a tiny movement, barely visible. But I caught it. That was satisfaction. Pride in her work.
I kept my face blank while my brain did backflips.
A new intelligence source. Already. At this rate, I'd know what color underwear Lady Vivienne preferred by summer. I'd know which stableboy was stealing oats. I'd probably know the exact contents of Father's private letters before he finished reading them himself.
It was like watching a housecat suddenly realize it had been a panther this whole time.
"Lucius received another letter yesterday," Lyra continued. Her red eyes stayed locked on my face. She watched everything. Every twitch. Every breath. She was looking for signals, trying to figure out what I wanted before I even knew I wanted it.
Honestly? Kind of terrifying. Also kind of useful. Mostly terrifying.
"Same seal as before. Same messenger. The thin man with the limp who pretends to be a wine merchant." She leaned forward slightly. "That's five letters in two weeks, Master. The sender is getting impatient. The last one was... less polite than the others."
Her voice dropped to just above a whisper. "I could get the letter itself. An hour, maybe two if I want to make sure nobody notices it's missing."
That letter.
I'd caught a glimpse of it while keeping tabs on my beloved stepbrother. The contents worried me more than I wanted to admit. Someone was offering Lucius support for ambitions he shouldn't have yet. Not this early. Not while he was still supposed to be the golden boy, the rising star, the guy who smiled his way through every social function.
In the original novel, Lucius didn't start his real scheming until second year at the academy. A series of humiliations taught him that charm alone wouldn't get him past the limits of his common birth. That's when he got desperate. That's when he got dangerous.
But here we were, months ahead of schedule, and somebody was already whispering in his ear.
My fault, probably. Butterfly effect in action. Change one thing, and everything else starts spiraling off the rails. I was the idiot butterfly who'd flapped his wings, and now a hurricane was brewing somewhere over the horizon.
Or maybe I'd just missed something when I read the novel. Skimmed past some crucial detail because I was too eager to get to the next fight scene.
Either way, the script was already changing. Fun times ahead.
"Any idea what they're offering him?" I asked. I dipped my quill in ink and started writing nonsense on a piece of parchment. Weather observations. Notes about wine quality. Random garbage that meant nothing.
The writing gave my hands something to do. It also maintained the illusion of the distracted young master who couldn't focus on anything important. Never drop the mask. Not even in private. That's rule number one.
"Money," Lyra said. "Connections. Access to social circles he can't reach on his own." Her voice stayed perfectly even, like she was reading from a textbook. "And protection from 'family disappointments' that might interfere with his advancement."
Something cold slid into that last phrase. I looked up from my notes.
"They mean you, Master."
How touching. My own family was already plotting to remove me as an obstacle. How original. How perfectly on-brand for this garbage bloodline.
I set down the quill and leaned back in my chair. My eyes drifted to the document that had been haunting me for two days.
The academy invitation sat on my desk like a death sentence wrapped in fancy paper. Thick parchment. Formal calligraphy. The royal seal pressed into red wax. Everything about it screamed "your quiet exile is over, and there's nothing you can do about it."
"The Royal Awakening Ceremony," I said. I tapped the invitation with one finger. "Three days from now. Mandatory attendance for all noble youth of appropriate age. After that, I'll be living at the academy full-time."
I looked up and met Lyra's gaze.
"No more hiding in quiet corners of the estate. No more being conveniently absent when Father throws his dinner parties."
"I see." Her voice was steady. Almost. I caught the tightness in her throat, the way her jaw set just a little too hard. "Will you require anything specific for your departure, Master? Items packed? Arrangements made?"
She thinks I'm abandoning her.
The realization hit me like a bucket of cold water. After everything. After I pulled her off that cart. After she'd turned herself into my personal intelligence network. She thought I was just going to wave goodbye and leave her here to rot.
Which, okay, fair assumption given how nobles usually treated servants. But still.
Then the pragmatic part of my brain kicked in. The part that had kept me alive through three weeks of conspiracy and family drama.
Leaving her here would be stupid. Monumentally, catastrophically stupid. You don't abandon your best asset right before walking into the most dangerous political environment in the kingdom. That's not strategy. That's suicide with extra steps.
"Lyra." I dropped my voice into that lower register, the one that made people pay attention without feeling threatened. "I have a problem. A big one. And you might be the only solution."
I watched her face carefully.
"What do you know about the requirements for a noble's personal attendant at Solamere Academy?"
Her head tilted to one side. The movement reminded me of a cat that just spotted a mouse. Her eyes sharpened.
"Noble students can bring one servant for personal needs," she recited. The words came out smooth, like she'd memorized them from somewhere. "Someone from their household staff. Someone trusted." A pause. "Someone useful."
"And the requirements?"
"Literacy. Basic education. Discretion." She ticked them off on her fingers. "The ability to manage a noble's affairs without constant supervision. Combat training isn't required but it helps. A clean record."
She stopped. For just a second, something cracked through her composure. Hope. Raw and desperate and painfully young.
"Why do you ask, Master?"
I stood up and walked to the window. I needed to move. Needed a second to think.
Winter had the world by the throat out there. The cold seeped through the glass and bit at my skin. Moonlight had drained all the color from the training grounds, turned everything into silver and black. Sharp shadows. No warmth. No nuance.
Pretty good metaphor for my life, actually.
This is either brilliant or incredibly dumb, I thought. Probably both. Most of my better ideas tend to be.
"Because," I said, turning back to face her, "I need my most valuable asset close at hand. The academy will put miles between us. Politics will put walls between us. That's not acceptable."
I gestured at the chair across from my desk.
"Sit. We need to discuss your promotion."
Lyra stood up from her kneeling position but didn't sit. Her whole body had gone rigid. Tension radiated off her like heat from a furnace.
"Master?"
"A personal attendant," I explained. I settled back into my chair and steepled my fingers. Total villain move. I'd stolen it from every scheming antagonist I'd ever read about, and honestly? It felt right. "Someone to manage my correspondence. Keep my quarters in order. Make sure I don't embarrass the family name any more than my cover requires."
I held her gaze. Made sure she understood exactly what I was offering.
"Someone who can move through the academy without raising questions. Someone who can be my eyes in the servant quarters. My ears in the hallways. My hands in places a noble can't reach without causing a scandal."
Understanding hit her like a wave. I watched it spread across her face, slow at first, then all at once. Her expression shifted into something that might have been joy if it wasn't so intense.
She dropped into the chair like her legs had given out.
"You want me to come with you." Her voice was barely a whisper.
"I want you where you're most useful," I corrected. "The academy is a political nightmare that makes our family drama look like children playing pretend. Four Houses fighting for dominance. Dozens of noble brats, each one a potential enemy or tool. Alliances that form and break like ice in spring."
I leaned forward.
"I need eyes in places I can't go. Hands that can handle tasks I can't touch without destroying my reputation as a useless waste of space. Someone who can gather information, spot threats, and deal with problems before they blow up in my face."
I paused for effect.
"The question is whether you're ready for that kind of responsibility."
And whether you're ready to watch me grovel tomorrow, I added silently. Nothing says 'pathetic villain' quite like begging Father for permission to bring my maid to school. That's going to be a treat.
"I am." The words came out quiet but they hit like a hammer. Her hands shook as she leaned forward. Every line of her body screamed devotion. "Whatever you require, Master. Whatever tasks. Whatever dangers."
Her red eyes burned.
"I am yours. Completely. Use me however you see fit."
There it is again, I thought. That fanatical gleam. Still not sure if it's my greatest advantage or a ticking time bomb. Probably both.
Definitely both.
But right now I needed it, so I'd worry about consequences later. Future Kaelen could deal with the fallout. Present Kaelen had enough problems.
"Then we have work to do."