Chapter 24 – A Whisper of Poison
The heavy tapestry covering the door to their quarters did little to muffle the sounds of the palace beyond, but within the room, a taut silence reigned. The four of them stood around a small table, the assassin's ledger laid open upon it. The name of Grand Scriptor Menvin Thalos seemed to pulse with a grim energy in the candlelight.
"We have to get him out of the city," Dvrik said, his voice a low, frustrated rumble. "Warn him, and spirit him away to Thornshell before they can act."
"And how would that look?" Caria countered, her sharp mind already dissecting the political fallout. "The most respected scholar in the kingdom vanishes, only to reappear under the 'protection' of the very lord the Crown suspects of treason? They would call it an abduction. It would be the pretext Strelm needs to declare us enemies of the state."
Leinara, who had been methodically sharpening a throwing knife, looked up. Her eyes were cold with focus. "We could eliminate the threat. The handmaiden, Lyra. I know her route now. A quick, silent strike in a dark alley. She disappears, the plot dies with her."
"No," Don said, his voice cutting through the debate with quiet finality. They all turned to him. "Killing a servant of the Queen, no matter how justified, would still be an assassination. We would be using their methods, playing their game. We cannot prove our honor by sacrificing it."
He leaned over the table, his fingers tracing the layout of the palace Leinara had sketched. "We cannot let the attempt happen. We cannot be seen to interfere. And we must have undeniable proof." His gaze met each of theirs. "This requires a more delicate touch. We will set a trap of our own."
He outlined his strategy: a plan not of force, but of interception. A sting operation where they would become the unseen guardians in the heart of the enemy's territory.
---
The Great Library of Erydon was a sanctuary of silence, vast and echoing. Sunlight streamed through high, arched windows, illuminating floating dust motes like tiny, swirling galaxies. The air smelled of old paper, polished wood, and the profound, deep quiet of accumulated knowledge.
Grand Scriptor Menvin Thalos was in his element here. He smiled warmly as Don and Caria approached his private alcove, a space surrounded by towering shelves of priceless historical texts.
"Lord Don, Lady Caria. An unexpected pleasure," the old scholar greeted, his eyes twinkling. "To what do I owe the honor? Researching the finer points of your ancient houses' alliance, perhaps?"
"Something like that, Grand Scriptor," Don replied smoothly, offering a charming smile. "My aunt Resiria mentioned you were the realm's foremost expert on Pre-Warsenbrenn lineage markers. I was hoping you could shed some light on a passage I discovered in an old family text."
It was a perfect pretext. Menvin, a man who cherished knowledge above all else, was immediately engrossed. He led them to a large table, and for the next hour, they spoke of history and lore. Don kept the scholar engaged with sharp, insightful questions, while Caria sat with them, a silent but powerful presence. Her true focus wasn't on the scrolls, but on the air itself, her magical senses stretched thin, tasting the currents of the room, waiting for the slightest hint of corruption.
From the shadowed upper gallery, hidden behind a lattice of ornate woodwork, Leinara and Dvrik watched. They were perfectly still, two predators waiting for the prey to reveal itself.
The moment came with the soft chime of a servant's bell. A young, nervous-looking acolyte approached the table, bearing a silver tray with a steaming pot of tea and a single, elegant cup.
"Compliments of the Queen, Grand Scriptor," the acolyte murmured, bowing low. "She thought you might appreciate a refreshment during your studies."
Menvin beamed. "How very thoughtful. My thanks to Her Majesty."
As the acolyte poured the dark, fragrant tea, Caria's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. It was there. A faint, sickly-sweet aura, a whisper of dark, coercive magic clinging to the steam rising from the cup. It was the signature of Night-Tear. She met Don's gaze and gave a single, almost invisible nod.
Don stood up abruptly, "accidentally" jostling the table. "My apologies, Grand Scriptor," he said loudly. "How clumsy of me." The teacup wobbled, and Don's hand shot out, catching it before it could spill. In the same motion, he seamlessly swapped it with a decoy cup he had concealed in his sleeve. The entire exchange took less than a second.
"No harm done, my lord," Menvin said with a chuckle.
But the attempt had been made. The trap was sprung.
In the gallery above, Leinara had seen the acolyte's subtle motion—the unstopping of a tiny vial concealed in his palm as he poured. She and Dvrik moved as one.
Before the acolyte could take two steps away from the table, two shadows dropped from the rafters into the dusty aisle behind a bookshelf. There was no sound—no cry, no clash of steel. Just a soft thud and the whisper of a body being dragged into darkness. It was over in an instant.
---
They reconvened in a sealed records room in the library's sub-level. The captured "acolyte," now gagged and bound, was thrown to the floor. Menvin Thalos stood nearby, his face as pale as parchment, his entire worldview shattered. He had seen the swift, silent takedown, had seen the vial of poison they'd recovered from the acolyte's robes.
Don knelt and pulled the hood from the assassin's head. It was, as they suspected, the Queen's handmaiden, Lyra, her face a mask of defiant fury.
"The Queen will see you all burn for this," she spat as Dvrik removed the gag.
"She will have to get in line," Caria replied coldly. She placed a hand on Lyra's forehead, a soft silver light pulsing from her palm. "Tell me the truth. Was this the only plot?"
Lyra struggled, but Caria's magic was a gentle, irresistible vise on her will. The truth spilled out, laced with venomous spite. "No," she hissed. "You are fools. This was never just about the old man."
She looked directly at Don, her eyes alight with manic triumph. "While you were playing heroes in a library, a 'matching' vial of Night-Tear was being planted in your personal quarters. The Captain of the Royal Guard was given an anonymous tip an hour ago. They aren't coming here."
A cold dread settled over them, heavier than any physical threat. They had won the battle, but the true trap had just been revealed.
Lyra laughed, a sharp, broken sound. "They are on their way to arrest you for treason and attempted regicide. You saved him, Lord Adraels. And in doing so, you have perfectly and completely damned yourself."