The silence in the gazebo was broken only by the whisper of the wind in the rose bushes and the distant song of a bird.
It was a superficial peace, a thin layer of varnish over a tension so thick that Catherine could almost reach out and touch it.
Before her stood Mathieu, her pawn, her instrument, his face pale but his eyes burning with a blind faith.
Ten paces away stood Kenji, Valerius's watchdog, his arms crossed, his body a study in lethal patience. The hawk and the sparrow, and she, the serene spider at the center of the web.
Catherine used her vision, reading the three actors in this dangerous scene.
Mathieu's thread of devotion to her was a white-gold so pure and intense it was almost painful to look at. It was tangled with terror, a black and trembling thread, but the gold dominated everything. Kenji, on the other hand, was a fortress.
His threads were of a cold, orderly steel blue, all pulled taut by an unwavering loyalty to Valerius. There was no greed, no lust, just absolute and professional dedication. He was, Catherine realized, the most dangerous man she had met so far.
"You have it," she said. It was not a question.
Her voice was soft, barely a breath, forcing Mathieu to focus, to lean slightly forward, creating a bubble of intimacy even under the guard's watchful eye.
"Yes, my Oracle," Mathieu replied, his voice hoarse with emotion. He held out the leather package with trembling hands.
"It's… as you saw. A secret report. With the seal."
"The relics of the past are heavy with the echoes of those who suffered," Catherine said as she took the package. To Kenji, these words were mystical gibberish. To Mathieu, they acknowledged the weight of the secret he had carried.
"Their voices are trapped inside. Give it to me, so that I may quiet their turmoil and hear their story."
The contact of the old leather against her fingers was like an electric shock.
A wave of sensations washed over her, so powerful she had to summon all her discipline not to flinch. The smoke. The fear. The heat of betrayal.
The cold, metallic ambition of the man behind the seal. It was all there, a psychic cacophony trapped within the object. She was finally holding the heart of the conspiracy in her hands.
She clutched it to her, a gesture that could pass for reverence, but was in reality an act of possession.
She looked at Mathieu, seeing the relief and expectation in his eyes. He had completed his mission. He was awaiting the next.
She had to give him his orders now, in front of Kenji.
She bent down and picked up a small, smooth gray stone from the gazebo's flowerbed. She placed it in Mathieu's palm.
"The ancient fire left many stones scorched," she said, her voice taking on a prophetic cadence. "But it also polished others into gems. The pain of some became the fortune of others."
She closed Mathieu's fingers around the stone.
"Return to the archives. Let this stone guide you. Seek no longer the deeds, but the men. Look for the names of the fallen stones, the merchant families who were reduced to nothing after the smoke. Then, look for the names of the gems that rose in their place. Those who prospered on the ruins. Compile the list of these two genealogies, that of the ash and that of the gold."
Mathieu stared at her, drinking in her words, his mind quickly translating the metaphor into clear instructions: Investigate the families ruined by the fire and those who profited from it. Make me a list.
"Once you have the names," Catherine continued, "do not return here. This place is now consecrated. Return to the square where our path began. The Square of Scriptures. Beneath the third marble bench from the great fountain, there is a loose stone. Leave the list there. The spirits of the city will deliver it to me. They are my eyes and ears."
She had established a dead drop. A
secure method of communication. Mathieu nodded, a total understanding shining in his eyes.
To him, it was a sacred ritual. To her, an espionage protocol.
"I will obey, my Oracle," he said with fervor.
"Go now. Destiny does not wait."
With a final look of devotion, Mathieu turned and walked away, escorted by Kenji.
Catherine watched him go, her heart pounding, the leather-wrapped file pressed against her. The exchange had been a success.
She remained alone for a few minutes, savoring her victory, regaining control of her emotions after the contact with the file.
Then, she heard footsteps. Kenji had returned. He stood at the entrance to the gazebo, blocking it.
His face was as impassive as ever, but his dark eyes stared at her with a new intensity.
"My mother also believed in spirits, My Lady," he said, his voice calm and without inflection. The title "My Lady" was respectful, but his tone held a steel edge.
He took a step inside the gazebo. "She used to say they were a practical excuse. A fine story to mask the very real wills of the living."
Catherine felt an icy chill run down her spine, a chill that had nothing to do with the wind. He was not accusing. He was not threatening.
He was simply stating an observation, a philosophy. But the message was crystal clear.
He did not see her as a divine Oracle.
He saw her as a woman with a plan.
He might not know what that plan was, but he was no fool.
He was not a simple bodyguard. He was an intelligent observer, another player on the chessboard she had not properly evaluated.
She had the document. She had control of Mathieu.
But she had just realized that here, inside her new fortress, was a warden who was far more than a mere physical obstacle. The hawk was not just watching.
He was thinking.
And that made him infinitely more dangerous.