The palace stables always reeked of wet hay and secrets.
Cassian dismounted in silence, handing his reins to the yawning stable boy who didn't even recognize him in the grey cloak and worn boots. Good. That was the idea. Let the guards waste their vigilance on polished shoes and ceremonial armor. Let them forget how war actually walked.
He checked his saddlebag once more. The scroll was still there. Sealed. Hidden beneath dried herbs and a bottle of medicine he'd never use.
He didn't trust many people. But Ariella… she complicated things.
She wasn't supposed to be alive. And she certainly wasn't supposed to have found the Valenhart scroll.
He pulled the hood over his face and moved along the servant corridors, bypassing the main hall where nobles strutted like peacocks, vying for attention. A pair of maids giggled near the kitchen doors, and he passed them without a glance. Their laughter faded quickly when they noticed his silence.
He hated the palace at this hour. Everyone here was too tired or too fake. Usually both.
Still, he kept walking.
The archives would be empty by now. He just had to make sure Ariella hadn't done anything reckless with what she found.
She was smart—but smart people made the most dangerous mistakes.
—
Across the palace, Ariella sat alone in her chambers.
She hadn't slept.
The scroll was gone—hidden again—and the key tucked into a pouch sewn into her bodice. She kept waiting to feel fear. Panic. Dread.
Instead, she felt… awake.
She hadn't felt this alive in thirteen years.
Thalia had left earlier to scout the lower city, promising to return by dusk. Until then, Ariella was supposed to rest. Eat. Pretend she wasn't standing in the center of a history someone had tried to erase.
But how could she?
She got up and pulled aside the curtain, looking out at the northern courtyard.
Guards marched in clean formation. A group of nobles in velvet robes stood near the fountain, discussing something in sharp whispers. And behind them—half-hidden in shadow—stood a man in a grey cloak.
Ariella's breath caught.
Cassian.
He wasn't supposed to be here yet.
But then again, Cassian Vale never did what he was supposed to do.
—
Cassian watched the window just long enough to be sure she'd seen him. Then he turned and headed toward the east wing—not toward her chambers, but deeper into the old guest quarters.
There was someone else he needed to speak to first.
Lady Maeven Roth.
Or, as she preferred to be called now, "The Court's Veil."
Maeven had always known too much. A gifted informant. A manipulator. But also someone who'd once loved Ariella's family like her own.
Her quarters were still scented with sandalwood and dried rose. He found her pouring tea, surrounded by scrolls and painted fans.
She didn't look surprised.
"You're late," she said.
Cassian raised an eyebrow. "You weren't expecting me."
"I always expect trouble, Cassian. And you usually arrive with it."
He stepped forward and placed the sealed scroll on the table. "Do you remember this?"
Maeven's expression didn't change. But her hand paused halfway through pouring.
"Where did you find it?"
"Valenhart archives. Hidden in a ledger."
She sipped her tea.
"And does she know?"
"She read it."
Maeven sighed. "Then it's begun."
Cassian frowned. "What?"
Maeven stood slowly, walking to the mirror. "I tried to warn them, years ago. When the fire came. When the child vanished. I said if she lived, she'd come back to haunt every one of us."
"Who ordered the fire?" he asked.
Maeven looked at him through the reflection. "That's the wrong question."
"Then what's the right one?"
"Who watched it burn and did nothing."
Cassian didn't speak.
Maeven turned back to him. "You care for her, don't you?"
He didn't answer.
"That'll be your ruin, Cassian. Affection makes men sloppy."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not a man," he said quietly. "Not anymore."
He left without another word.
—
Elsewhere in the palace, Thalia moved like a shadow between the laundry halls and the servant stairs. She'd followed a trail from the villa to the city market and then to the foot of the palace gates. Someone had been watching. And it wasn't just bounty hunters.
She'd found a patch of stitched fabric near the villa—black with silver thread.
Royal guards didn't wear silver.
But someone in this palace did.
She returned to Ariella's chamber just after dusk.
Ariella met her with a question before she could sit.
"Who is Maeven Roth?"
Thalia raised an eyebrow. "Court informant. Highborn widow. Dangerous gossip. Why?"
"I think she knows more about the fire."
"Everyone knows more about the fire," Thalia muttered. "But no one ever says it."
Ariella paced the room, restless. "Thalia… I remembered something today. From the night of the fire."
Thalia's expression turned alert.
"I was hiding under the stairs," Ariella said. "There was smoke. Screaming. But I heard someone speak before the ceiling collapsed."
"What did they say?"
Ariella looked up slowly. "They said, 'One heir, one witness, one betrayal.'"
Thalia froze.
"That's not a coincidence," she said.
"No," Ariella agreed. "I don't think I was supposed to die in the fire. I think I was supposed to see something. And someone made sure I forgot."
A knock startled them both.
Ariella moved to the door.
Cassian stood on the other side.
This time, she wasn't surprised.
"You didn't come to the archives," he said.
"You were early," she replied.
"Can I come in?"
She stepped aside.
Thalia watched him like a hawk but said nothing.
Cassian looked tired. Not the kind of tired from battle—but from memory.
"I spoke to Maeven," he said.
"I know," Ariella replied. "She was loyal to my family once."
"Not loyal," Cassian said. "She was afraid of what your father knew."
Ariella's throat tightened. "Then let's find out what that was."
Cassian reached into his coat and pulled out a small folded map.
"This is the western hunting lodge. Your family's last private estate before the fire. It was sealed by royal order thirteen years ago."
"What's there?"
Cassian's gaze darkened. "A vault. One only your father and a few others had access to."
Ariella stared at the map.
"We leave tomorrow," she said.
"You'll need an excuse," Cassian warned. "Someone's already watching."
Ariella looked up. "Then let them. I'm done hiding from ghosts."
Cassian didn't smile.
But Thalia did.
Just barely.
—
Far below the palace, in a candlelit tunnel where no nobility dared to tread, a figure in dark robes watched a set of old, ink-stained documents burn to ash.
He dropped the last page—the bounty copy of Arielle Valenhart—and stepped back.
"She remembers," he whispered.
A second voice answered from the dark.
"Then it begins again."
The figure turned toward the carved wall where a single emblem was etched into the stone—a circle within a triangle, bleeding from its edges.
"She's heading for the lodge."
"I'll send someone ahead."
"Not yet," the figure said.
"Why?"
"Because if Arielle Valenhart is truly alive..."
He leaned closer to the flame.
"Then we need her to find everything before we take it away again."