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Chapter 13: A Declaration of War
“I hope we haven't worn you out too much, Ivy," Carina said apologetically as they sat down at their table in the refreshingly charming salon of Blooms of Paradise. A waiter soon returned with a tray of Black Raven Tea accompanied by freshly baked mini strawberry cakes drizzled with chocolate icing and fresh strawberries.
“Oh, I enjoyed myself, your Grace,” Ivy replied with tired enthusiasm as the tall waiter with curiously thin brows and mustache filled their cups. “You have more than spoiled me.”
“It was just a few fans, gloves, and some jewelry,” Carina replied with a dismissive shrug. “Accessories are an absolute necessity, even when a lady is in the forest.”
Ivy raised her brows at the Duchess’s less-than-serious tone and then turned to Hana. “Thank you as well, Viscountess, for allowing me to use your dresses.”
“Please, consider them a gift of friendship,” Hana returned with her usual bright smile. “Perhaps it is because our complexion is so similar, but I think the colors and designs suit you very well, Lady Ivy.” She glanced after their waiter and then laid her folded napkin on the table. “If you ladies will excuse me, I need to find the powder room to freshen up.”
The Duchess looked up from her teacup to check if Hana wanted company, but the Viscountess shook her head and nodded at Ivy before moving off towards the nearest waitress.
“Well,” Carina cleared her throat as she traced the delicate cherry blossoms painted on the teacup in her hand. “It looks like you and Hana have gotten to know each other a bit better.”
“I suppose,” Ivy replied as she fanned her pale cheeks and watched the faint coil of steam that hovered over her cup. “Kirsi—there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
‘Thank the Saints. I didn’t know how much longer I could hold back.’ The Duchess straightened in her chair as she fixed her gaze on Ivy attentively.
“But—perhaps not here,” Ivy amended with a guilty smile as she folded her new fan and set it on the table. “When we get back to Bastiallano?”
“Of course,” Carina replied with a hasty nod. “I’m glad you decided to tell me. I could tell that something was weighing you down. You—don’t seem to be feeling all that well either.”
Ivy nodded slowly as she fidgeted with the lace of her fan.
“It’s alright,” Carina said reassuringly, then reached across the table to touch her friend’s hand. Ivy didn’t pull away immediately, but a flicker of pain and what might have been disgust crossed her face.
‘I just have to hold on a bit longer. This isn’t the best place to have a private discussion.’ The Duchess pulled her hand back and wrapped it around her teacup awkwardly. “We’ll talk about it once we return home.”
Ivy raised her gaze questioningly and smiled. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you call anyplace home.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Carina replied with a faint chuckle. “Perhaps because it’s the first time I’ve lived somewhere that was entirely my own.”
‘Well, mine and Kirsi’s.’
They moved on to talking about the Royal Hunt, how Carina was responsible for the Royal Family’s safety, and Ivy’s uncertainty about joining the hunt on horseback since she had barely ridden over the past ten years. Carina could only sympathize. While she might have Kirsi’s memories when it came to riding, her body lacked both experience and stamina.
Hana rejoined them and settled into her chair with a frown directed at the salon’s street-facing window.
“What is it?” Carina turned to follow the Viscountess’s gaze. She watched as Lieutenant Collins dragged a small boy out of the street before forcing him toward the front of the salon. “How strange. I wonder what’s going on?”
The Lieutenant continued to manhandle his small captive through the startled guests until they stood before the Duchess's table. “Apologies for disturbing you, your Grace. This runt has been tailing us since we left the jewelry store. I thought he might be a pickpocket, so I nabbed him, but he claims that someone sent him to deliver this to you.”
Collins held out a sealed blank envelope while the boy continued to squirm beneath the knight’s firm grasp.
Carina checked the envelope and confirmed that it had no identifying markers aside from the circle of hardened black wax that sealed it. She glanced up at the boy curiously. “Who gave this to you?”
“Donno,” he replied bluntly.
“What did they look like?”
“A noble. Just like you.”
The Duchess arched a brow and tapped the envelope against the table. “Well, were they a man or woman?”
“He was a man, of course.”
“Mind your tone,” Collins snapped with a light smack to the back of the boy’s head.
“What did I say wrong? It was a man, I said. Dressed all nice, with shiny boots, and smelling like a flower.”
“Leave him be, Lieutenant,” Carina retorted harshly, then quickly refocused on the scowling boy. “Did this nobleman mention a name, his or whoever the letter came from?”
“No name.”
The Duchess frowned. “What did he say exactly?”
The boy shrugged. “He pointed at your carriage, asked me to follow it, and give you this letter. Said that if I didn’t, he’d know, and I’d be in trouble.”
“I see,” Carina murmured and then narrowed her eyes curiously. “Did he tell you who I am?”
The boy shrugged again. “He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. It's best not to ask questions, especially from nobles. Since he paid upfront, I didn’t care.”
“How much did he pay you?”
The boy looked at her warily for a moment before replying. “He gave me six crescents.”
“I see. Well, you delivered the message.” The Duchess turned her attention to the boy’s clothes and shoes, which looked too big and heavily patched. “Would you be interested in doing me a favor for double the price?”
The boy’s brown eyes lit up quickly, but he deliberately cleared his throat before replying, “That depends on the details of the job, my Lady.”
Carina smiled as she opened her purse and then counted out the crescents that she stacked neatly at the edge of the table. “It’s a simple job. I want you to go back out on the street, then take a good look around to see if you can spot the man who gave you this letter. If you see him, remove your cap, smack it on your knee twice, then wave it in his direction.”
“What if I don’t see him?”
“Then the fee is yours to keep, and you’ll be free to carry on with your day, pretending you never saw either of us.”
The boy pursed his lips and then turned to glance at Collins. “Will he be following me?”
“The Lieutenant will remain by the shop door when you go outside.” The Duchess turned to Collins and added, “If he gives the signal, see if anyone in the street reacts, pursue, and detain them if possible.”
“Understood, your Grace,” Collins replied, then waited for the boy to collect his payment before leading the way back to the front of the store.
The Duchess waved down a waitress and asked for a clean knife. Once the waitress brought back a suitable utensil, Carina quickly opened the letter and pulled out two sheets of paper wrapped together. She opened them and stared down at the oddly official-looking document.
“What is it?” Hana whispered as she and Ivy watched the Duchess curiously.
“It—appears to be some sort of investigative report,” Carina murmured in confusion as she scanned the document, several sections of which appeared to have been blotted out. The top of the document had been stamped Copy in red ink.
The Duchess narrowed her brows in confusion and then froze as her ice-blue eyes settled onto a familiar name, Ivy Koresh.
‘What?’
She scanned the document again, focusing on what bits of the investigation that remained legible.
The third person of interest. Slave of the Turnbell household, one Ivy Koresh. Served as a personal maid to Lady Maura at the Turnbell residence for eight years. Previously, purchased to serve as a maid to one Lady Edith Merton, the maternal aunt of Lady Helena Turnbell, for two years. Ownership transferred to Lady Maura after the Viscountess's death. Cause of death: complications to health after many years of suffering from consumption and ulcers.
Ivy Koresh is the daughter of one Baron Spenser Koresh (deceased), who served at the royal palace as a scribe and historian. Mother, Mrs. Miranda Koresh, is no longer a noble after her husband’s arrest and subsequent execution for treason.
Explicit details as to Lord Koresh's death have been sealed. However, it should be noted that Koresh's punishment did not extend to family members beyond the loss of their titles. Neither mother nor daughter was forced into slavery. The Koresh marital home was sold due to debt primarily incurred by Mrs. Koresh over a period of eight months before her husband’s arrest and the two months following his death.
Mrs. Koresh sold Ivy to a family friend (Lady Merton mentioned above), who promised to look after her until the family debt was paid. Mrs. Koresh has shown no interest in tracking down her daughter, likely due to the remaining debt she still owes. She maintains minimal payments each month by working as a housekeeper for one Baron ████████, a widower.
Ivy remains the closest associate of the original Person of Interest, Lady Maura (no surname). Other than the blemish of her father’s name, which she does not use on any public records, Ivy has had no interaction with the law, criminals, etc. However, during her sixth year of service to Lady Maura, Ivy was witnessed purchasing illegal herbs that are commonly used to terminate an early pregnancy. Witness's name █████████████.
After tracking down some old servants of the Turnbell family home, I have reason to believe that if there was a pregnancy, the likely father was either a foreign slave known as Gus (location unknown) or Lord Josiah Turnbell (deceased), who has a record for becoming too familiar with the household staff. There is also the possibility of the father being Lord Lincoln Turnbell (deceased), an older half-brother of Lady Maura, but I have found no evidence of this beyond mere speculation and idle gossip.
With sufficient evidence that Ivy Koresh was very likely pregnant and obtained illegal herbs to terminate her pregnancy, I believe a case could be brought before a local judge and priest to have her tried for heresy. Given that all possible fathers of the unborn child are either dead or missing, the case would require the testimony of a relative or a close, personal friend.
My interview with Mrs. Koresh leads me to believe the mother will suit your needs in that regard. She has not adjusted well to her life as a commoner. She has remarried under her maiden name and was subsequently divorced after her debt was discovered. She is very agreeable to any offer that would improve her position or remove her debt. Remaining balance: ██████.
The following three witnesses have agreed to testify to witnessing Ivy Koresh buying Devil’s Root: Mr. ████████, Miss ████████, and Mrs. ██████. Payment to witnesses: █████.
Unable to investigate the murder of Lincoln Turnbell any further due to misplaced investigation records. The original investigator is missing, so I have hit a dead end. Additionally, there appears to be significant pressure from above to discourage anyone from digging further.
The deaths of Lady Maura’s mother and stepfather have both been ruled as accidents in connection to the witch attack on the Sister’s Chapel outside the Capital. Unlikely to connect to Lady Maura. I have already verified her presence inside the palace at the date and time of the attack.
I will end the report here until I receive further instructions from ████████.
Respectfully, ████████.
Carina could barely hear Hana’s repeated question about the letter’s origins over the rapid pounding in her chest and ears. She quickly switched to the second document, which contained a very short, handwritten note with no signature.
‘If you don’t wish to see Miss Ivy Koresh publicly tried, persecuted, and branded for her sins, then withdraw from the Royal Hunt.’
The Duchess quietly folded then shoved the letters inside her purse. Cold needles of ice burned beneath her fingertips as she clutched the table and tried to compose herself. Her mind was spinning, connecting the information in the letters surrounding the explicit behaviors of Maura’s family to a period two years ago when Ivy claimed to have been attacked while running an errand away from the Turnbell estate. She had requested a week off to visit nearby family and recover, which Carina had granted readily, suspecting the threat was a lot closer to home.
‘I can’t be sure it’s the exact date mentioned in the report—but it's close enough. Damn it. Is this real? Did Josiah or Lincoln—I feel sick.’
“Kirsi!” Hana’s cool hand wrapped around her wrist as the Duchess blinked through the tears hardening against her eyelashes.
“I need to go outside,” Carina whispered tensely as she pushed back her chair, then stopped when she noticed their unfinished meal. “Ivy—are you ready to head back? I can wait—"
“We can go,” Ivy replied swiftly as she rose to her feet. The expression of concern on her face only tore at the hole in Carina’s chest. The Duchess forced a numb smile into place and led the way to the salon’s front entrance.
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Lieutenant Collins looked faintly surprised as he observed their approach, then quickly opened the door ahead of them.
“Did the boy give any signal?” Carina asked tensely as she paused beside him.
“No. I saw him look about, but then he just ran off,” Collins answered. “Shall I bring your carriage around, your Grace?”
“Please. We’ll wait for you inside.” The Duchess folded her arms and took in a deep breath before she turned to follow Hana and Ivy back inside to wait at a table by the front window. The familiar sensation of eyes crawling over her like spiders, accompanied by whispers and distorted laughter, set Carina’s teeth on edge as she fought to remain calm. She could feel her body temperature dropping rapidly, and judging by the way Ivy shivered and hugged her shawl closer, the sudden change in the temperature of the room around them had not gone unnoticed.
“What’s wrong, Kirsi?” Hana whispered as she nudged the chair closer. Her turquoise blue eyes were patient but overflowing with concern.
Carina shook her head and tapped her purple fingernails against the table as her mind spun erratically through each sickening possibility and mounting guilt.
Right now, there was no way of knowing who had sent the letter, but it was clear they had done some sort of investigation into Maura’s background. The fact that this blackmailer had chosen to use that information to block Carina from attending the Royal Hunt and carry out her responsibility to protect the royal family narrowed the possible subjects down to those with potentially dangerous ambition.
Only one noble brazen enough to threaten the crown came to mind. A Marquess whose daughter had been passed over as Nicholas’s bride and future queen. The same Marquess that Carina and Nicholas had been investigating in connection to an illegal child sex slave ring and the even more treasonous crime of enlisting a private army of mercenaries.
‘I could be wrong, but I don’t have a lot of time to work this out. The Royal Hunt starts first thing tomorrow morning. Backing out this late would completely undermine my authority and position as Duchess. It seems unlikely that Duke Hargreve will be able to step in so last minute.
‘There’s also the possibility that whoever did this isn’t after me but the Crown Prince. I know there was a hunting accident in the past timeline. What if that wasn’t an accident but an attempt to assassinate a member of the Royal Family? If I back out now and either Nicholas or Eleanora is killed or injured as a result—we'll be facing the threat of war or rebellion on top of fighting a plague.'
“Kirsi, our carriage is here,” Hana whispered as she pulled the Duchess to her feet and led the way out to the carriage.
Carina sank stiffly into her seat and then glanced toward Ivy. Once again, her old friend was watching her with a familiar worried expression. ‘If I don’t take this threat seriously and refuse to comply with their demands, chances are they will come after Ivy to punish me. I need to be prepared.’ The Duchess’s gloved hand quickly tightened into an icy fist as Carina reached inwards. ‘Viktor, I need your help.’
‘I am here, little ice witch,’ The immortal replied as the chaos inside the half-blood’s chest subdued slightly. ‘You already know what you must do.’
Carina fixed her gaze on Ivy and smiled apologetically. “Ivy, when we get back, there is something I need to discuss with you.”
“Yes?” Ivy blinked in surprise and looked suddenly anxious. “What about?”
“It can wait until you’ve told me what you’ve been waiting to say first,” Carina replied firmly. “But we will talk in my office the moment we get back. Alone.” She turned her gaze to Hana. “I’ll fill you in on the relevant details later.”
‘It's possible this might be the secret Ivy’s been meaning to tell me. Even if it isn’t, I still need to know everything that’s been going on. If Ivy was the third person of interest, who were the first two? Countess Constance? Sir Everly, perhaps? I need to figure out who’s behind this threat quickly so I can retaliate before they get the chance to carry out their threat. I have an army at my disposal, but what I really need is information, and the Fox Den is obviously out of the question.’
In the distance, the distinct tune of steel hammers smashing against the anvil carried over the rumble of carriage wheels. Carina's ice-blue eyes narrowed as she glanced out the carriage window. Dense funnels of smoke from the blacksmith furnaces on the streets below spread across the rooftops of the market district, now bathed beneath the midday sun.
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Master Iker continued to smoke his cigar lazily as the setting sun outside his bedroom window lit the clay rooftops of Lafeara in a rusty golden hue. He heard the heavy tread of footsteps on the staircase which led up to his private residential floor but did not immediately turn around when his men entered, dragging the sputtering nobleman through the door.
“What is this? What the hell is going on? Someone had better explain why I’ve been dragged here against my will!”
Iker exhaled another cone of sand-colored smoke towards the window, then stood up slowly to face the flushed and trembling Viscount.
“You—do you even know who I am?” Gladestone barked out furiously as he focused on the notorious Blacksmith. “My brother is a member of the House of Lords! He'll have you arrested and hung for kidnapping me!”
“Viscount Wyatt Gladestone, loyal dog and friend of Marquess Borghese,” Iker recited as he leaned against his desk and tapped on the worn leather folder in front of him, which contained the noble's public and private information. “A well-trained heeler who knows when to bark and when to roll over and beg. The rebellious younger brother of Counselor Henely Gladestone, who kicked you from his estate after your failed attempt to poison him in order to take over his seat on the House of Lords."
Gladestone’s face took on a comical expression as he veered between sputtering fury and fear. Iker continued before the nobleman could form a response.
“You became a Viscount, not because you inherited the title, but because you married the Viscountess, Lady Charlotte Dallin, with whom you have two sons. Despite your wife's steadfast belief that you will 'make something of yourself,' you spend most of your time in the company of showgirls, your various mistresses, and even the occasional streetwalker. Your wife remains blissfully ignorant, but her cousin, Earl Chase Coldwell, has threatened to expose you numerous times if you do not correct your behavior. So—” Iker held his hands wide dramatically, “—what I'm curious to know is how exactly you hope to remain a Viscount after your debauchery is exposed to your very loving and pious wife. Especially given that my men had to go all the way down to Candle Street to drag you from Ms. Dolly’s bed?”
Gladestone appeared to have stopped breathing midway through the Blacksmith’s debrief. Iker nodded to one of the ex-soldiers behind the noble, who gave the Viscount a loud smack across his left ear.
“W-what is that you want?” Gladestone sputtered out quickly. “Is it money?” His trembling lips stretched into a sneer as he choked out a laugh. “Given how much you’ve dug into my personal life, you must know that it is my wife who controls the purse strings. I have to beg her for pocket money in order to go out and enjoy myself these days. Yeah, that’s right. You picked the wrong cheating bastard to blackmail. So, what are you going to do, cut off my ear and send it to her for ransom? You clearly know who I work for. Even if the Marquess only treats me like an errand dog, he knows I’m loyal, and while my brother remains unmarried, the next in line to inherit the Gladstone estate and seat at the House of Lords. He'll hunt you down if you so much as—” The Viscount’s rant ended with a sharp yelp as the ex-soldier grabbed his ear and twisted it viciously.
“Yes, I did mention the Marquess earlier, didn’t I?” Iker mused as he drew in another mouthful of smoke and then exhaled. “You see, I’ve become rather curious as to what sort of information he entrusts you with, Viscount.”
Gladestone inched away from the men behind him and cupped his tender ear as he glared at the Blacksmith.
“Perhaps the Marquess has mentioned something recently about his plans for the Royal Hunt?” Iker smiled through the haze of smoke directed down at the nobleman, whose pale complexion now glistened beneath a layer of sweat.
“I’m not going to tell you anything. Either kill me or let me go,” Gladestone barked back almost proudly, only to flinch as the ex-soldier stepped closer.
Iker shrugged and turned to rest his cigar on a waiting ashtray. He then picked up the iron hammer which lay next to it. “Before we get further acquainted, I'd like to cover all your options so you can make an informed decision. You only get two options; that's it. So chose wisely.” Iker wrapped his left hand around the head of the hammer and then held up two fingers. “Option one, if you give me the information I’m looking for, then you get to walk out of here completely intact, free to continue your liaison with Ms. Dolly without further provocation from myself or my men.”
Gladestone snorted but continued to listen as Iker lowered the first finger.
“Option two ends with you dead, but—not right away. Should you refuse to cooperate, I will break every bone in your body one by one until you either tell me what I want to know or drown in your own blood. That said, gentlemen with your hobbies and background do tend to die from heart failure first, so we'll take as many breaks as necessary to keep you with us longer.” Iker smiled as he watched the blood drain from the Viscount’s face. He nodded to the heavy wooden workbench near the corner of his desk, and his men quickly dragged the reluctant nobleman over. “Make sure you take his rings off. We can always smelt those down and pawn the jewels.”
“Wait! No, no! Stop this!”
The men ignored the Viscount’s protests as they roughly removed his wedding band.
“They have to come off first; otherwise, the swelling will take the whole finger later,” Iker explained as he tapped the hammer lightly against his chest. “Not that you’d live long enough to see that happen if you don't talk. What do you say? Shall we start with the smallest finger first and work our way up? Wouldn't want to deprive the ladies of your best appendages if it can be avoided.”
“You-you can’t do this to me! You won’t get away with this!”
The leader of the Burning Blade laughed and ran a hand over his braided onyx hair. “Come now, Wyatt. How exactly do you see this playing out? Either you tell me everything you know about Marquess Borghese's plans for the Royal Hunt, or we see how many broken bones it takes for you to change your mind. You only walk away breathing if you work with me. And don't bother with empty threats. There are plenty of burning furnaces still lit we can toss your chopped remains into, and you wouldn't be the first noble to rain down as ash upon my streets. So what do you say? Personally, I’d prefer it if you took option one because the smell of roasted noble is just awful and lingers for days.”
The Viscount had stopped breathing again. His hazel-green eyes, transfixed on the hammer in Iker's hand, had expanded to the point they appeared ready to pop free from his skull. The Master blacksmith sighed and nodded to his waiting men.
Gladestone whimpered as the ex-soldiers pinned him down against the table, extending his right arm and then hand against the surface.
“Last chance, Wyatt,” Iker chimed in cheerfully as he tapped the nobleman’s trembling fist with his hammer.
“E-even if I tell you. What’s to s-stop you from killing me afterward?”
“And why would I do that? I told you there were only two options.”
“Because—I could tell the Marquess—about you—”
“You’re going to tell the Marquess that you betrayed him?” Iker snorted loudly and shook his head. “While that might make whatever information I get out of you less than valuable, you’d be the first person the Marquess would put into the ground. I, on the other hand, have more than enough men and weapons to look after myself."
Gladestone appeared to consider this. His panicked, hazel-green eyes danced between the hammer and his right hand.
Iker took in another deep breath, then exhaled. “Alright, time to get started. I don’t want to be up all night washing out the blood.” He shifted into a swinging stance as his men leaned their weight against the Viscount’s trapped body.
“Wait!” Gladestone yelped the moment the Master Blacksmith hefted his hammer into the air. “Wha-what do you want to know?”
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Carina remained silent behind the curtain that separated Iker’s bed from the rest of his office. She listened as the Viscount spilled out every possible bit of information he had on Marquess Borghese's movements and that of his mercenary army, which wasn't very much. All Gladstone could confirm was that the Marquess had called a meeting with his military commander and officers just a few days ago and had since seen Borghese pouring over maps of Gilwren forest.
Once the Viscount got started talking, he didn’t seem capable of stopping. Iker steered the conversation toward the slave rings. Gladestone didn’t know where the new tradeoff locations were located and actually looked disgusted as he described a safe the Marquess kept all important records hidden inside beneath the floorboards of his home office.
"I know he keeps a secret ledger in there with records of all business transactions, to nobles in particular. He doesn't know I've seen it," Gladstone explained with a hint of smugness. “I spilled a glass of wine during one of our weekly meetings. Borghese almost lashed out at me and then sent everyone to the dining room while he cleaned up. I came back with some towels to apologize and saw him closing the floorboards over a safe. Didn’t say anything afterward because he was already in a foul mood.”
When Iker turned the conversation towards Duchess Kirsi, Gladestone seemed to relax as he rambled on without restraint. The insulting names he used when mentioning Carina went in one ear and out the other as the nobleman confirmed that the Marquess had invested a great deal of trouble into digging up Maura’s past.
“It's not just Borghese,” Gladestone fumed. “The entire Royal Faction is upset about losing the influence and power of Bastiallano. Borghese’s determined to do whatever’s necessary to kick that manipulative bitch out. Although, from what I gather, it will be difficult without the support of the Crown Prince.”
The interrogation wrapped up soon after. Carina sank down against the bed as she listened to the footsteps and the Viscount’s grateful babbling as he was led out the office door that slammed loudly behind him. The Duchess watched the Blacksmith’s shadow through the curtain and met the man’s amber eyes as he pushed the fabric to one side to study her.
“It looks like your hunch was correct, your Grace,” Iker commented with a thin smile. He glanced at the untarnished hammer in his hand, then tossed it onto the bed with a heavy sigh. “Still, this seems incredibly reckless and shortsighted, coming from the Marquess. Even if he succeeds, the blowback this would create for the Marquess and the Royal Faction... I don’t see Duke Hargreve standing behind the assassination of the Crown Prince, especially while there remains no royal heir to take his place.”
“Would pulling me away from his Majesty’s side even work?” Carina asked quietly. “Surely, Nicholas wouldn’t leave the palace grounds without a proper military escort.”
Iker tilted his head thoughtfully. “In the past, King Henri would often ride through the streets with only two dozen Royal Knights at his side. He would arrange for Duke Striker to meet him well out of sight of the Capital to avoid any panic or congestion with the populace. Admittedly, this left the King somewhat exposed for a short period of time, but the Royal Hunt itself could also be considered dangerous. The Duke was never permitted to attach more than ten of his best knights to the King’s Royal Guard—to avoid frightening away the King’s deer.”
‘Wow, that’s probably why the Royal Hunt only happens once a year.’
Carina shook her head slowly. “So, if I don't meet the Crown Prince on the bridge by Oakrest River—Nicholas would be vulnerable, especially if he never received word that I had backed out of the Royal Hunt.”
“There would be a problem even if you did send word, your Grace,” Iker replied with a faint shrug. “Duke Striker is away from the capital for at least a week to ensure the border between Lafeara and Zarus remains quite safe for the arrival of the Pope on Holy Saint’s day. The Capital Knights under Knight Commander Quentin are one option, but their number and skill can't match that of Bastalliano's knights."
'Yet another suspicious coincidence surrounding Octavia's suddenly transferring Bastalliano to me.'
Iker growled out a sigh as he turned to collapse onto the bed beside her. “All that matters is that a last-minute change in the Crown Prince’s protection detail would probably leave a few obvious gaps in security. But since I assume you’re still going—”
“I plan to do more than that,” Carina replied grimly.
“Then I’d like to offer my assistance, that is, if you’d care to continue this temporary partnership.” The Master Blacksmith turned to offer her a faint smirk as he gestured between them. “It might interest you to know that I have a man or two inside the Marquess’s secret army.”
The Duchess narrowed her eyes. “You do? Why?”
“I may have done business for him in the past. The number of armor and weapons he commissioned from me were certainly enough to rouse my suspicion. Of course, Borghese tried to mask his involvement by issuing small orders that were submitted under the names of different Viscounts, but it was always the same men and wagons that met us near his territory." Iker shrugged and tapped his forehead. “I happened to fancy a drive and went along disguised as one of the delivery men. Followed their wagons back under cover of darkness and got lucky."
"You know where Borghese's secret training camp is?"
The Master Blacksmith's grin widened as he responded with a single nod.
Carina stared at him for a moment in mild disbelief. “But, why go through all the trouble if you were going to fill his orders anyway?”
“So I can take him down if the opportunity presented itself.”
The Duchess raised both eyebrows. “Again, why?”
“Because of our mutual friend, Ghost.”
‘Ah, I had almost forgotten. Ghost causing quite a bit of trouble for the slave ring before his return to Ventrayna.’
“Which is why I propose we continue our partnership,” Iker rocked up into a sitting position and then extended his hand toward her. “Until the Marquess has been dealt with, once and for all.”
Carina accepted the offered hand and then smiled when the Master Blacksmith reacted to the chill radiating off the silver medallion that she slipped into his grasp. “Make an impression of this and have your men carry its mark on their person so they can identify themselves to my knights if necessary.” She stood and moved past him through the curtains. “I can’t promise that they won’t be caught up in the fray should this rebellion play out, but I will do my best to take prisoners once the Marquess is dead.”
Iker studied the cold silver metal against his palm and smiled. “A wolf suits you, your Grace. I’ll advise my men to slip out undetected the moment things get heavy.”
Carina hesitated as she glanced at the hammer on the bed. “Are you sure letting him go was the right decision?"
The Master Blacksmith shrugged and lifted the hammer. “I’ve seen enough men to measure their quality and durability. The Viscount won’t say a word. He values his own hide too much to risk owning up to such a betrayal.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“If I’m wrong, you won’t be implicated,” Iker replied with a shrug before he stood and moved past her to replace the hammer with his cigar. “It’s a pleasure to finally do business with you, your Grace.”
“Likewise.” The Duchess turned, pulled up her hood, and made her way outside to where a rented carriage waited around the corner. She nodded to the knights in their street clothes, boarded the carriage, and stared out the window as the Capital blurred by.
However calm her reflection appeared in the glass, inwardly, Carina was still reeling from the events Ivy had finally laid before her. The fact that Jade had become something monstrous that had left Ivy with a curse eerily similar to the disease she had seen in the slums was too much of a coincidence for Carina to ignore.
‘The Six must have something to do with Jade—if that was really her—coming to Lafeara. Based on what Kirsi told me, Arachne is probably somehow linked to this—witch plague. And the only one I can go to for answers now is Viktor.'