“He can be trusted,” Talsen murmured, his voice barely audible over the soft crackle of the azure flames dancing in the hearth.
Lady Anisia, seated comfortably in a modestly lavish chair, gracefully set her porcelain cup aside. She tapped the head of her gryphon-capped cane resting on her lap to the matching crackle of the flames.
“Trusted to remain loyal,” she inquired with measured voice, “or trusted to complete the deed?”
Talsen replied curtly, “The latter.”
Anisia allowed herself a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “That is, after all, the least we can demand,” she mused. With a small wave she continued “You know the drill, Talsen. If he becomes a loose end... ensure it’s tied off neatly.”
Talsen bowed deeply, his movement precise and deliberate.
A knock at the door drew Talsen’s attention. He turned toward it as Lady Anisia’s voice rang out.
"Enter."
The door swung open, and Mikhil stepped inside with a methodical march. With a respectful bow, he took his place beside his seated mother, silently standing at attention.
"Child, we are going to fix your problem," Lady Anisia stated.
Mikhil remained silent.
"But you are going to have a hand in repairing it."
Though his fingers twitched slightly, he nodded, his expression cold and unreadable.
"I trust Talsen and Kalsev have roughly briefed you on our plans?"
"They have, Mother."
"Good. Before you depart, we will go over the details again. A few minor adjustments are being made now by our allies. Iomadae espionage capabilities could be considered... lacking."
"Agents indicate Algrod is tightening his security. He suspects foul play," Talsen reported, conjuring several pieces of parchment covered in scribbles and diagrams.
"When have the Restoves not suspected anything? Their own palace is a labyrinth of tunnels, some of which they don’t even fully comprehend," Lady Anisia muttered.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"Do you think our plans were leaked?" Mikhil inquired.
"Unlikely. Even if they were, there is not enough physical evidence to implicate us fully," Talsen replied, pulling a quill from his blonde hair and adding more notations to his reports.
"All our cross-house communication was conducted through personal channels," Lady Anisia remarked, taking another sip from her porcelain cup. "It makes interception difficult—unless someone is willing to openly attack a house-affiliated messenger going about his business... supposedly."
She set the cup down. "Then again, I am certain they know we are trying to kill them. But we know that they know we are trying to kill them."
Talsen smirked. "This also cuts both ways, Mikhil."
After a few more moments of frenzied scribbling, he tucked the purple quill back into his golden hair before shoving the papers into his coat, where they dissolved into a misty twilight haze.
"The true secrets," he murmured, "are always when, where, and how."
Another knock at the door echoed through the chamber as Kalsev and Palgrin lumbered in, their chainmail rattling beneath their black and red plate armor.
Kalsev bowed gracefully, while Palgrin kneeled, resting his axe on the ground.
"You summoned, Lady Anisia?" Palgrin rumbled respectfully.
With a wave of her hand, Anisia gestured for him to rise.
"Have you been briefed?" she inquired.
Kalsev nodded, while Palgrin responded, "Yes."
"Good. Then you know your role. Ensure my son does not get too many bones broken."
She turned to Mikhil, her gaze steady.
"It is time for you to become a true Opetlev man and join the family business."
A silence settled over the room.
"You are all dismissed."
Talsen, Kalsev and Palgrin gave a final nod before bowing and exiting, leaving mother and son facing the flickering blue flames of the fireplace.
After a long pause, Mikhil finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm. "Is this right, Mother?"
Lady Anisia did not answer immediately. Instead, she swirled her drink playfully, tilting her head slightly. "Is what right, child?"
"What we are about to do," Mikhil continued.
A soft chuckle escaped Anisia’s lips as she set her cup aside. "That woman struck a chord of affection with you?"
"Not that, Mother. It feels wrong."
Lady Anisia turned to face him fully, a smirk curling at the edge of her lips. Mikhil held her gaze, his expression unreadable but his posture unwavering.
"Child, do remind me who we are again."
A pause.
"I am an Opetlev, Mother."
"And what is the price of our ascension?"
"Blood."
"And better for whom to be charged the price?"
Mikhil's voice was barely above a whisper. "Not us."