The dim light of the dungeon flickered unevenly, casting jagged shadows across the cold, damp stone walls. The stench of mildew hung heavy in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of rust from the bars. Alara pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, the chill seeping into her skin as Uriah turned the key with a low, grating click.
The heavy door groaned open, revealing Rasa slumped against the wall. Her dark eyes opened slowly, their sharpness contrasting with her pallor. Despite the chains binding her wrists, she held her chin high, her posture stubbornly defiant. The flickering torchlight illuminated the sheen of sweat on her temple, betraying the toll her captivity had taken.
“I’ll go in with you,” Uriah said, his green eyes scanning the cell with practiced scrutiny. His tone carried the faint edge of authority, though there was an almost imperceptible flicker of concern beneath it.
Alara hesitated, her fingers clutching the edges of her cloak. If he hears us… if he suspects anything… She swallowed hard and looked up at him. “Can I go in alone? Just to start?” Her voice was soft, almost pleading, and she forced herself to meet his gaze with what she hoped was confidence.
Uriah frowned, his gaze shifting from her to Rasa. The tension in his jaw was palpable before he finally grumbled, “Fine. Five minutes.” He leaned against the stone wall just outside, arms crossed, but his eyes never strayed far from the doorway.
The air inside the cell was heavy, thick with dampness and unspoken tension. Alara stepped in cautiously, her heart pounding in her ears. “Rasa,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she knelt beside her friend.
Rasa’s head snapped up at the sound, her dark eyes widening in alarm. “Alara?” she croaked, her voice hoarse. She straightened slightly, her wrists trembling against the chains. “What are you doing here? Did they catch you?”
Alara shook her head quickly. “No,” she murmured. “I only have five minutes. I snuck in… I’m going to get you out.”
Rasa blinked, a mix of relief and disbelief flickering across her face. “Get me out?” she whispered, leaning forward as much as the chains would allow. Her voice softened with hope. “What’s the plan?”
Alara hesitated, her fingers twisting the fabric of her cloak. “Rufus is working on it,” she said, though the words felt heavy in her throat. Her voice wavered. “He… he says he has a plan to get you out safely.”
The hope in Rasa’s eyes faltered, replaced by a wary suspicion. She lowered her voice, her tone sharp. “Alara, listen to me. You can’t trust Rufus. People like him…” She paused, her jaw tightening as though recalling some bitter memory. “He’ll say whatever he needs to gain your trust, but he’ll always put himself first. Don’t let him use you.”
Alara’s stomach twisted. “He’s the only one offering to help,” she whispered, her words barely audible. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Rasa’s expression softened, though urgency remained in her voice. “Then be careful. Watch every step you take with him. Promise me that, Alara.”
“I promise,” Alara said, her voice steadier than she felt. Her blue eyes locked onto Rasa’s, and for a fleeting moment, she felt the faintest spark of determination.
Before either of them could say more, the sharp clang of boots on stone announced Uriah’s approach. “Time’s up,” he barked, stepping into the cell with Du’lan close behind. Alara stiffened, her nerves prickling as both men entered, the cold authority in their gazes sending a shiver down her spine.
Rasa’s eyes lingered on Alara, a flicker of worry shadowing her expression. Her voice was barely above a whisper, tinged with exhaustion and a trace of bitterness. “Not everyone who offers you a hand means to pull you up,” she murmured, the words carrying the weight of her distrust.
The sharp clang of iron broke the moment as Du’lan gestured for Uriah to shut the door. The sound reverberated down the stone corridor, its echo settling heavily in the suffocating silence of the cell. Alara flinched slightly, her heart quickening as the reality of their presence pressed down on her like the weight of the damp air.
“This is Advisor Du’lan Valewyn,” Uriah said, his tone brisk and formal as he motioned toward the older man. “He oversees matters of intelligence and internal security.”
Du’lan nodded, his sharp gray eyes locking onto Rasa with a gaze that seemed to weigh her every move. “You must be Rasa Hoshino,” he said evenly, his words devoid of warmth. “Let’s get to the truth without unnecessary trouble.”
Uriah’s tone shifted as he motioned toward Alara, softening just slightly. “And the girl you’ve already met is Du’lan’s assistant.”
Alara hesitated, her hand brushing the edge of her cloak as she stepped forward. Don’t overthink it. Just act natural. Her throat felt dry as she forced a faint smile. “I’m Lari,” she said softly, infusing her voice with what she hoped was a note of reassurance. Her pulse thundered as she searched Rasa’s face for any sign of recognition or doubt.
Rasa’s gaze lingered, her eyes narrowing slightly in confusion before she masked it behind a calm facade. She straightened her posture, though the subtle tremble in her hands betrayed her weariness.
“Rasa,” Du’lan began, his tone measured but firm. He gestured to a chair that Uriah had dragged into the center of the cell, its legs scraping loudly against the stone. “We need answers. Let’s make this easy for everyone.”
Rasa’s eyes flicked to the chair, her jaw tightening imperceptibly before she returned her steady gaze to Du’lan. “Ask your questions,” she said quietly, her voice unwavering.
Du’lan folded his arms, his expression calculating. “What do you know about Garin Dros?” His words cut sharply through the silence.
Alara winced at the abruptness of the question. Her gaze darted nervously to Rasa, her fingers twisting the edge of her cloak. What does he expect her to know? What happens if she doesn’t have the answers? She fought to keep her breathing even as tension coiled tightly in her chest.
Rasa’s brows furrowed briefly before she shook her head. “Nothing,” she replied evenly. “I’ve never heard the name.”
Uriah stepped forward, his green eyes narrowing as he leaned closer. “What about wine barrels? Did you see any during your time with Rufus’s group?”
Alara’s breath caught, and she instinctively moved a step closer to Rasa, though she stayed silent. Her presence felt like the only thing grounding her amidst the rising unease.
Rasa’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No,” she said after a beat. “Rufus had crates, but they were supposed to be filled with textiles. Even he seemed suspicious of what was inside, though he didn’t let me see.”
Du’lan exchanged a glance with Uriah, his expression thoughtful. “Textiles?” he echoed, his voice calm but probing. “Did he say anything about their purpose or destination?”
Alara’s hands fidgeted against the fabric of her cloak, her knuckles whitening as she silently urged Rasa to hold steady. Stay calm, stay vague.
“No,” Rasa answered simply. She met Du’lan’s gaze with quiet resolve. “He kept most of his plans to himself. If you want to know more, you’ll have to find Rufus. He’s the one pulling the strings, not me.”
Uriah’s jaw tightened, his frustration visible, but Du’lan raised a hand to cut off any further questions. “Noted,” he said, his tone even. He studied Rasa for a long moment, as though weighing the truth in her words. “We’ll verify your claims. In the meantime, consider whether you’ve left anything out. We’ll be back.”
The heavy door groaned shut, sealing Rasa inside once again. The clang of iron reverberated ominously down the stone corridor, settling into an uneasy silence. Alara felt the chill seep deeper into her chest as Uriah turned to her, his movements deliberate and sharp.
“What exactly did you say to her in there?” Uriah asked, his green eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. The deceptively calm tone of his voice was undercut by the sharp edge in his gaze. His posture shifted slightly forward, his frame looming as though ready to intercept a lie.
Alara’s breath hitched, and she forced her trembling hands to grip the folds of her cloak tightly. Stay calm. Don’t overthink it. Just enough truth to satisfy him. “I told her I had my own reasons to want to find Rufus,” she said carefully, her voice steady despite the thrum of panic beneath it.
Uriah’s brow furrowed as he leaned even closer, his shadow falling over her. “And that part about not everyone who offers you a hand means to pull you up?” he pressed, his words slow and deliberate, each syllable weighed with suspicion.
The muscles in Alara’s neck tightened, and she fought the urge to step back. Her fingers curled tighter around her cloak, the fabric twisting beneath her grip. “I tried to connect with her,” she said finally, her voice soft but even. “She warned me not to trust Rufus. She thinks he’s manipulating everyone around him for his own gain.”
Uriah studied her for a long moment, his piercing gaze searching for any crack in her facade. Finally, he stepped back, though the tension in his posture didn’t ease. “Fine,” he said, though his tone suggested anything but acceptance. “Just remember, Lari—if she’s lying, and you’re covering for her, it won’t end well for either of you.”
Alara nodded, her face a carefully constructed mask of calm. “Understood,” she replied simply, though the turmoil within her churned like a storm.
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Before the tension could settle further, Du’lan stepped between them, his movements deliberate but calm. “There’s no point in fighting amongst ourselves,” he said, his tone firm yet measured. His gray eyes shifted between the two, a quiet authority emanating from his steady presence. “We need unity now more than ever.”
Uriah scowled, his jaw tightening as he crossed his arms, but he held his tongue. The tension lingered for a heartbeat longer before Du’lan continued, his voice cutting cleanly through the silence. “Come. Dal’akar is waiting for our next meeting. Let’s focus our efforts where they’re needed.”
Alara glanced between the two men, nodding wordlessly as she fell into step behind them. Her legs felt heavy as they moved down the dim corridor, the flickering torchlight casting their shadows long and distorted on the stone walls. She exhaled shakily, clutching her cloak tighter as she tried to steady her nerves. I can’t let this slip. Rasa is counting on me.
The thought of her friend’s whispered warning echoed in her mind as they walked. Not everyone who offers you a hand means to pull you up. Alara’s resolve wavered, doubt clawing at her resolve. Was trusting Rufus truly the right choice? She replayed his charm, his calculated confidence, and wondered what lay beneath it. Manipulation? Deception? Yet, without him, how could she even begin to free Rasa? The question twisted painfully in her chest, each step weighing heavier as uncertainty gnawed at her.
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The war chamber hummed with a subdued tension, the shuffle of papers and the occasional creak of a chair breaking the heavy silence. The faint echo of footsteps on the stone floor added to the charged atmosphere. Dal’akar stood at the head of the circular table, his ice-blue eyes scanning the room with an intensity that made Alara grip her cloak tighter. The advisors seated around the table exchanged murmurs, their voices low but weighted. Du’lan, standing to Dal’akar’s right, exuded calm control, a stark contrast to the charged mood filling the chamber.
Alara sat quietly near the edge, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Du'lan instructed her to observe and remain silent, but every breath felt like it carried the weight of the room’s tension. Her heart raced as she tried to focus on the council’s words, her mind churning over how precarious her position truly was.
“Report,” Dal’akar commanded, his voice slicing through the murmurs like a blade. The room stilled immediately.
Uriah stepped forward, the clink of his armor echoing faintly in the chamber. “Your Highness, the prisoner implicated Rufus Faulkner as being behind the attack. She stated that he has been operating under the alias Edric Ralford.” His green eyes narrowed slightly. “If true, it’s a significant lead, but we need proof.”
Garin Dros, the merchant advisor, let out a sharp laugh as he leaned forward. “Edric Ralford?” he scoffed. “Your Highness, I know Edric Ralford. He’s a respectable trader with strong ties to the local merchant’s guild. The idea that he would conspire to harm the crown is preposterous.” He gestured dismissively toward Uriah. “This is nothing more than a desperate attempt by that girl to shift the blame away from herself.”
Alara’s fingers twitched against the folds of her cloak. He’s lying. The dismissive way Garin spoke made her skin prickle, but she dared not lift her gaze to meet his. What is he hiding? Her eyes darted toward Cedric, who stood silently behind Garin, his face unreadable. And what does Cedric know? Why does he follow so closely?
Dal’akar’s icy gaze shifted to Du’lan. “What have you learned?” he asked, his tone calm but charged with expectation.
Du’lan inclined his head slightly, his voice steady and deliberate. “Rasa mentioned that Rufus—under the name Edric Ralford—had crates supposedly filled with textiles. She claimed even Rufus seemed suspicious of their contents, though she wasn’t allowed to verify what was inside.”
Alara’s heart skipped at the mention of the crates. If even Rufus didn’t trust them, what could they be hiding? Her pulse quickened as she glanced toward Du’lan, who spoke with his usual precision, and then to Dal’akar, whose expression remained impassive.
Garin’s expression darkened. “Textile crates?” he echoed sharply. “I haven’t seen any textile shipments come through the fortress recently. If such crates exist, they’re being hidden—and not by me.” His tone grew more accusatory as he glared at Du’lan. “Perhaps someone else is using this Edric Ralford name to stir chaos while implicating innocent merchants.”
Dal’akar’s jaw tightened as his fingers tapped rhythmically on the edge of the table. Alara watched him closely, sensing the conflict in his eyes as he weighed the conflicting reports. The tension in the room seemed to coil tighter, suffocating her.
“Enough,” Dal’akar said at last, his tone clipped. “Investigate Ralford. If these crates exist, find them. And keep a close watch on the merchant’s guild.” His ice-blue eyes locked onto Garin, the faintest flicker of warning in their depths. “We cannot afford mistakes.”
As the room began to clear, Garin rose abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. “Your Highness,” he said with a slight bow, his voice smooth but clipped, “if there’s nothing else, I have matters of trade to oversee.” Without waiting for acknowledgment, he turned and strode toward the door, Cedric trailing close behind, his expression as opaque as ever.
Why is he so quick to leave? Alara wondered, her fingers tightening on her lap. And Cedric—does he follow blindly, or is he hiding something too? The hurried departure only deepened her unease.
Uriah and Du’lan exchanged a brief glance before preparing to rise. Alara hesitated, her hands clutching her lap tightly. Her stomach churned as the words fought to remain unsaid, but she forced them out. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn,” she began, her voice low and cautious, “but we are all suspicious of Garin, correct? Why do we not look into these wine shipments or his movements?”
The room fell silent. Every gaze turned to her, and her chest tightened. Her hands gripped the fabric of her cloak, and she forced herself to sit upright, meeting Dal’akar’s sharp gaze for a fleeting moment.
Du’lan’s voice broke the silence, calm but pointed. “Perhaps it’s because we are hesitant to believe that one of our own could be capable of this kind of betrayal. Trust, once broken, is not easily repaired.”
Dal’akar tilted his head slightly, his icy blue eyes narrowing in thought. “Du’lan,” he said, his voice neutral but laced with intrigue, “ensure that Garin’s dealings are included in the investigation.”
Du’lan inclined his head. “As you command, Your Highness.”
Uriah’s expression softened slightly as he glanced at Alara, a faint flicker of approval crossing his otherwise stern features. Alara swallowed hard, her pulse still racing, and lowered her gaze as she felt Dal’akar’s attention settle on her again.
“You are dismissed,” Dal’akar said to Du’lan and Uriah, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Lari, remain.”
The weight of the room shifted as the two men stood and departed. The door groaned shut behind them, leaving Alara alone under Dal’akar’s piercing gaze. Her breath hitched, and she couldn’t stop her thoughts from racing. Did I say something wrong?
For a long moment, silence filled the chamber, the faint crackle of the hearth the only sound. Finally, Dal’akar spoke, his tone measured but laced with curiosity. “You speak boldly. It takes courage to question someone like Garin in this chamber. Courage—and perhaps good instincts.”
Alara swallowed, her mouth dry as she nodded. “Thank you, Your Highness,” she managed, her voice steady despite the storm of nerves beneath it. “I only wish to serve.”
Dal’akar’s gaze lingered before he gave a slight nod. “See that you continue to observe as keenly as you speak. Keen observation often reveals more than bold words.” He gestured toward the door. “You are dismissed.”
Alara rose, her knees trembling as she bowed her head. “Your Highness,” she murmured, retreating toward the door. The corridor felt colder as she stepped into it, the weight of the day pressing heavily on her shoulders. The faint flicker of torchlight cast shifting shadows along the stone walls. What does he see in me? she wondered, clutching her cloak tighter, her fingers trembling slightly.
As she turned to leave, movement caught her eye. Du’lan stood leaning casually against the wall, his arms folded and his expression calm yet watchful. His presence, though quiet, carried an air of authority. "A word, Lari?" he asked, his tone polite but firm.
She hesitated, her heart still racing. “Of course, Advisor,” she replied softly, falling into step beside him as he began walking.
“It’s late,” Du’lan remarked, his voice quieter now, almost conversational. “Allow me to escort you to your room.”
Her steps faltered. Room? Her mind scrambled as she tried to process his words. She hesitated, her grip tightening on her cloak. “I… I wasn’t sure where I should sleep,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Should I find space with the kitchen servants?”
Du’lan frowned, his brows drawing together as he shook his head firmly. “Nonsense,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “You’ve earned a proper place to stay. You’ll be in the north wing, where the other advisors are housed. I’ve already had a room prepared for you.”
The finality in his voice settled over her like a weighted blanket. Her breath hitched, and she looked at him, wide-eyed. “You’ve done that for me?” she asked, her voice laced with disbelief and something unspoken—gratitude, perhaps.
Du’lan’s expression softened, his usual reserve giving way to a small, understanding smile. “It’s only fitting,” he said simply. “You’re part of this council now, whether you realize it or not.”
Warmth blossomed in Alara’s chest, but doubt flickered at its edges. Part of the council? Me? she thought, struggling to reconcile his words with her own insecurities. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice tentative. “I… I don’t have anything to bring. Everything I own is…” She glanced down, brushing her fingers over her cloak. “It’s just what I have on me.”
Du’lan’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, and the faintest trace of sympathy crossed his features. “Then there’s nothing to collect,” he said gently, his tone softening. “Come, I’ll show you to your room.”
They walked in companionable silence through the dimly lit halls. The steady rhythm of Du’lan’s boots against the stone floor grounded her racing thoughts. When they reached the north wing, he stopped in front of a modest but well-kept door. “This is yours,” he said, gesturing toward it. His hand briefly indicated a corridor behind him. “My room is just down there. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to knock.”
Alara swallowed the lump in her throat, her voice catching slightly as she replied, “Thank you, Advisor Du’lan.”
He inclined his head, his expression settling back into its calm, composed demeanor. “Goodnight, Lari,” he said simply before stepping away.
She pushed the door open and closed it softly behind her, leaning against it for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the small window. The room smelled faintly of polished wood and clean linen, a stark contrast to the dank air of the corridors she had wandered earlier. A simple bed sat against the wall, its coarse blanket neatly folded. She brushed her fingers over the fabric, its rough texture grounding her as the day’s events swirled in her mind.
She sat on the edge of the bed, exhaling a long, slow breath. So much has happened today, she thought. Sneaking into the fortress, being discovered by Du’lan, her new role as his assistant, meeting Dal’akar, questioning the servants and guards, Rufus offering his help, the ring discussion, speaking to Rasa in the cell, and finally, the council meeting—all of it replayed in her mind. Every moment has been a step closer to rescuing Rasa. I can’t fail now.
The exhaustion of the day tugged at her, and as she sank back onto the bed, the moonlight traced soft patterns across the walls. Her eyes drifted shut, her last thoughts a quiet promise to herself. I will stay unseen, do whatever it takes, and make sure Rasa gets out of here safely. Sleep claimed her, wrapping her in the silence of the night.