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The faint glow of torchlight cast uneven shadows on the damp stone walls, and the muffled clink of armored boots echoed down the corridor. Rasa’s eyes remained fixed on the bars of her cell, her posture unyielding despite the chill that seeped through the air. She didn’t move when the sound of footsteps stopped in front of her.
“Quite the stir you’ve caused,” came a calm, teasing voice. Uriah leaned against the bars, his green eyes scanning her with measured curiosity. His armor caught the flicker of light, but the easy grin softening his sharp features didn’t match the situation. “You must know it’s not every day a prisoner turns themselves into an informant.”
Rasa’s gaze flicked toward him, her voice steady. “I told you about the dynamite because I don’t want to see your fortress burned to the ground. Don’t mistake that for loyalty.”
Uriah chuckled softly, stepping closer. “Fair enough. But you owe us more than a warning.”
“I owe you nothing.”
His expression shifted, the charm dimming slightly. “You owe yourself answers,” he said quietly, his tone less sharp. “And maybe a bit of honesty while we’re at it. May I?”
She studied him for a moment before offering the faintest nod. Uriah stepped inside the cell, taking a seat on the bench across from her. The tension in the air stretched as the silence deepened between them. Finally, he broke it.
“Let’s start with something simple. What’s your name?”
“Rasa Hoshino.”
“And where are you from?”
Her sharp eyes lingered on his face, measuring him. “My mother is Jabali, from the nomadic tribes in the west. My father was Kaitorian, from a village called Takahari.”
“That’s a long way from here,” Uriah said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “What brings you this far east?”
“Being nomadic is in my blood,” she said flatly. “My mother’s people never stayed in one place. Besides, home isn’t always where you’re born.”
“Fair point,” he acknowledged with a faint smile. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “I know what it’s like to start far from the top. I wasn’t born into wealth or privilege. I clawed my way up, step by step.”
Her expression remained unreadable. “And now you’re captain of the guard. Impressive. But what does that have to do with me?”
“I know what it feels like to have people doubt you,” Uriah replied, his voice quieter now. “I also know you didn’t tell us about the dynamite just to stir the pot. You want to stop whoever’s behind this. Am I wrong?”
Rasa’s jaw tightened. She glanced toward the flickering torchlight beyond the bars. “The man behind this is dangerous. I won’t let him succeed.”
“Tell me who he is,” Uriah pressed gently.
Her hesitation was brief but noticeable. “His name is Rufus,” she said, her voice low. “Blonde hair, sharp features, blue eyes. He’s clever and manipulative. The others with him… they don’t understand what he’s truly capable of.”
“And the others?” he prompted.
“They aren’t important,” she replied, her tone hardening. “Rufus is the one pulling the strings. Stop him, and you stop this.”
Uriah leaned back, studying her with a thoughtful expression. “Why tell me this? Why not let things play out?”
Rasa’s voice was firm. “Because I’ve seen what he’s capable of. I won’t stand by and let him destroy everything in his path. If you’re smart, you won’t either.”
Uriah rose, his movements measured. “Thank you, Rasa. I’ll make sure this information gets to the right people. And… I’ll make sure they know you’re trying to help.”
As he stepped toward the door, her voice stopped him. “You’ll take care of him?”
He turned back, his expression unreadable. “I’ll start by finding him. What happens after that depends on what he’s done.”
Rasa leaned against the cold stone wall after he left, her fists clenching. She had done what she could, but doubt gnawed at her. Alara might still be tangled in Rufus’s web of lies—or worse. And then there was Uriah, whose motives were no clearer to her than the shadows outside her cell. She couldn’t decide which man posed the greater threat. If Uriah couldn’t be trusted, then Rasa would need to act first—find a way to warn Alara before it was too late.
The torchlight flickered weakly in the dim library, its uneven glow stretching shadows across the shelves. Alara sat beside Du’lan at the long wooden table, her hands folded carefully in her lap as the door creaked open. Marta, a young kitchen servant, shuffled inside, her eyes darting nervously between the two of them. The apron she twisted in her hands looked like it might tear at any moment.
“State your name,” Du’lan said, his calm voice cutting through the silence.
“M-Marta, sir,” she stammered, barely above a whisper.
“You were on duty the night of the attack?” Du’lan pressed, his tone steady and authoritative.
Marta nodded quickly, still fidgeting. “Yes, sir. I was in the kitchens, cleaning up after the evening meal.”
Alara leaned forward slightly, forcing a soft and reassuring tone. “Did you notice anything unusual? Anyone moving through the halls who shouldn’t have been?”
Marta hesitated, her gaze dropping to her hands as if searching for answers there. “There was… a man. He wasn’t one of the regular staff. Said he was delivering wine, but I hadn’t seen him before.”
Du’lan’s sharp voice cut through her pause. “Did you see where he went?”
Marta shook her head quickly. “No, sir. He left in a hurry. I didn’t think much of it then. Everyone was rushing about.”
Du’lan turned to Alara, his expression unreadable. “Can you confirm what she’s saying as fact?”
Marta blinked in confusion, her brows knitting together. “You were a kitchen servant?” she asked, turning to Alara. Her tone wasn’t accusatory—just bewildered.
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Alara felt her pulse spike, the weight of Marta’s question pressing down on her. She forced a steady breath, keeping her voice even. “I… worked mainly in the storage areas,” she said quickly, managing a small, apologetic smile. “We must have been on different shifts.”
Marta looked uncertain but nodded slowly, accepting the explanation. “That must be it,” she mumbled.
Du’lan’s gaze lingered on Alara for the briefest moment before dismissing Marta with a nod. “Thank you. That will be all.”
Marta scurried out, leaving the door creaking softly behind her. The silence stretched for a beat before Du’lan turned his attention back to the records scattered before them.
“Another piece to consider,” he murmured, though his tone held little satisfaction. “But not enough to act on.”
Alara exhaled slowly, her thoughts racing. She barely had time to settle herself before the next interview began. Garin Dros stormed into the room moments later, his irritation trailing behind him like a storm cloud. He dropped heavily into the chair, crossing his arms with an audible huff.
“This is a waste of time,” Garin snapped, his glare flicking between the two of them. “I’ve already told you everything I know.”
“Humor us, Garin,” Du’lan replied evenly. “For the record, state where you were the night of the attack.”
“In the northern wing, overseeing inventory,” Garin said, his tone clipped. “And before you ask, yes, I have witnesses. Ask the guards stationed there.”
Du’lan tilted his head slightly, his voice calm but pointed. “You seem quick to list witnesses, Master Dros. Almost as if you expected to be questioned. Why is that?”
Garin stiffened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Because I know how these things work,” he retorted. “A man like me—someone not born into privilege—gets accused easily. So yes, I make sure my bases are covered.”
Alara leaned forward, narrowing her gaze. “And yet you seem defensive. Why is that?”
Garin’s sneer deepened, his gaze locking onto her with a mix of disdain and suspicion. “Funny how a stranger waltzes in with questions, expecting answers from someone who’s bled for this fortress. What exactly qualifies her, huh?”
“Enough, Garin,” Du’lan cut in sharply, his tone brooking no argument. “Your cooperation isn’t optional.”
Garin scoffed but finally leaned back, muttering under his breath. His gaze flicked between Alara and Du’lan, the suspicion still clear in his posture. “Who even is she?” he demanded, jabbing a finger toward Alara. “I’ve never seen her before, and now she’s questioning me like she owns the place.”
“Lari is assisting me with this investigation,” Du’lan replied coolly. “Her authority comes directly from my orders.”
Garin’s lip curled, but he didn’t press further. “Convenient,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “A new assistant shows up, and suddenly, I’m getting interrogated by someone who wasn’t even around before this circus started.”
Du’lan ignored the barb. “You mentioned inventory,” he continued. “What exactly were you overseeing?”
“Wine shipments,” Garin said curtly. “And before you get any ideas, every barrel was accounted for. Nothing out of place.”
“Were you alone?” Alara asked, her voice careful but probing.
“No,” Garin snapped, shifting in his chair. “There were porters moving stock, guards patrolling… Look, ask them. They’ll confirm it.”
Du’lan’s tone sharpened. “You seem very sure of your innocence. Did you notice anyone unusual near the northern wing that night?”
Garin hesitated, his gaze darting briefly to the table before he replied. “I… I can’t say for sure. It was busy. People moving back and forth. Maybe a new porter or two, but that’s normal.”
Du’lan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t remember, or you didn’t see?”
Alara glanced at Du’lan, a chill running down her spine as recognition hit her. She had seen Garin before—on the night of the attack, whispering to a hooded figure in the shadows. His posture, his voice—it was the same. Her breath caught, but she forced herself to speak evenly.
“Do you often work late into the night, Master Dros?” she asked, her voice smooth despite the growing tension.
Garin’s lips tightened. “It’s not uncommon. Shipments don’t stop just because the sun goes down. My job requires flexibility.”
“And yet,” Du’lan added, his voice quiet but probing, “you weren’t at the coronation. Why was that?”
Garin’s jaw clenched. “Someone had to ensure the shipments were managed properly. The coronation didn’t stop the need for work.”
“You didn’t think it was worth attending?” Alara pressed, her tone measured. “It was a significant event.”
“I have better things to do than stand around applauding,” Garin snapped, irritation flashing in his eyes. “I serve the fortress by keeping it running, not by playing politics.”
Du’lan leaned back, his expression unreadable. “Thank you, Master Dros. That will be all for now.”
“Not everyone in this fortress knows what’s really going on,” Garin muttered as he rose, almost to himself. He froze briefly as if realizing he’d said too much, then stormed out before Du’lan or Alara could stop him.
Du’lan let out a slow breath, his gaze lingering on the door. “He’s hiding something,” he murmured. “We’ll need to look deeper into his movements.”
Alara nodded, though her thoughts were far from settled. Garin’s defensiveness, the cryptic man in the corridor, and his sharp suspicion of her churned in her mind like a storm. “What about the wine barrels?” Alara said suddenly, leaning forward. “Could someone have tampered with them before delivery? It might explain why Garin is so defensive.”
Du’lan’s expression remained unreadable, though a glimmer of intrigue crossed his face. “Perhaps. But we’ll untangle it, piece by piece.”
He gestured toward the door. “Call in the next person.”
Alara nodded, rising from her seat. She smoothed her hands over her dress, a nervous habit, before moving to the door. The heavy wood groaned faintly as she pulled it open, expecting to see another servant waiting in the hallway. Instead, her breath froze mid-step.
Dal’akar stood there, one hand raised as though he’d been about to knock. His ice-blue gaze settled on her, piercing and unreadable. The weight of his scrutiny hit her like a gust of cold wind.
“Who are you?” His tone was calm but carried an undercurrent of curiosity that set her nerves on edge.
For a moment, Alara couldn’t find her voice. The faint echo of her father’s warnings about Dal’akar’s sharp intellect and unrelenting demeanor rang in her ears. She felt like a deer caught in the sights of a hunter.
Du’lan’s measured steps broke the silence as he approached. “Your Majesty,” he said smoothly, inclining his head. “This is Lari, my new assistant. She’s aiding in the investigation.”
Dal’akar’s gaze flicked briefly to Du’lan before returning to Alara, studying her intently. “You’ve chosen an assistant during an investigation?” he said, his tone tinged with skepticism. “Interesting timing.”
“She has proven herself capable,” Du’lan replied evenly, his stance unwavering.
Dal’akar’s expression remained unreadable as he regarded Alara. After a moment, he inclined his head slightly. “Welcome to the fortress. I’ll speak with Du’lan privately now.”
Alara dipped her head, stepping aside to allow the two men to leave the room. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her thoughts a chaotic blur. Relief flooded through her when it became clear he didn’t recognize her. But his gaze lingered too long, a silent warning that her secret was not as safe as she hoped.
In the war chamber, Dal’akar paced slowly, the heels of his boots clicking against the stone floor as Du’lan stood at attention. The tension in the room was palpable.
“Do you think it’s wise to bring on new staff during a crisis?” Dal’akar asked, his tone sharp and probing.
Du’lan’s reply came with steady confidence. “Lari has been helpful. Her insights have already proven valuable.”
Dal’akar’s ice-blue eyes narrowed as he turned to face his advisor fully. “You’re unusually protective of her.”
“She has potential,” Du’lan said firmly, meeting Dal’akar’s gaze. “That is all.”
Dal’akar tilted his head slightly, his scrutiny deepening. “She reminds me of someone,” he said after a pause. “There’s a resemblance, don’t you think? To Elira.”
The name hung in the air like a ghost. Du’lan’s composure wavered for the briefest moment, his jaw tightening. Memories rushed through his mind—Elira’s laughter, her fierce spirit, and the tragic end that still haunted him. His voice was carefully measured as he responded. “Perhaps. But that resemblance changes nothing.”
Dal’akar studied him for a long moment before nodding, his expression unreadable. “We need to wrap this investigation quickly." He shifted his stance, the conversation pivoting as his tone took on a sense of urgency. “If we delay any longer, the council in Valmira will question my leadership. We can’t afford to appear weak when the entire realm looks to us for stability.”
He hesitated, his gaze hardening as he added, “And Du’lan? Investigate this girl before you get too attached. She hides it well, but there’s something off about her manner. Her hesitation feels… deliberate.”
Du’lan paused as he reached the door, his hand tightening briefly on the frame. Turning back, he met Dal’akar’s unyielding gaze. His voice was calm but carried a weight of finality. “I’ll keep that in mind, Your Majesty. But for now, I trust my instincts.”
Without waiting for a reply, he stepped out into the corridor, his thoughts heavy. Behind him, Dal’akar remained in the quiet of the war chamber, his mind turning over the pieces of the puzzle before him. The fortress held more secrets than answers, and those secrets were running out of places to hide.