Frustrations of a Self-Proclaimed Villain Lord

Chapter 86: The Grand Duke Visits a Conservatory (1)

Preparing to visit an abandoned conservatory should have been simple. One gathered soldiers, reviewed the map, identified entry points, checked for hidden wards, then proceeded to break into the place with enough dignity to make trespassing look like lawful inspection. That was the proper order.

Unfortunately, my current household had become determined to turn every practical matter into a conference.

The Crown Prince, unconscious less than half a day ago and only recently graduated from broth to breathing without looking like an elegant corpse, insisted on participating. The Empress disagreed. His personal knight disagreed with the visible desperation of a man who wanted to disagree more forcefully but liked keeping his head attached. The physician disagreed loudly enough that I almost respected him.

My mother disagreed without speaking. That was the most effective one.

Adrien sat upright in the guest suite, pale but annoyingly composed, Spiro’s folded map still resting beside him on the bed. The absurd paper garden had become, somehow, a sacred object in the room. No one touched it carelessly. Even the physician had moved his notes away from it.

Children were frighteningly capable of weaponizing sincerity.

"I’m not asking to lead the operation," Adrien said, his voice still rough from the fever. "I’m asking to be present if the Conservatory is connected to my rite."

"You’re asking to be carried into a building designed to use you as a ritual pathway," I replied. "That isn’t strategic. That’s volunteering to become furniture." His mouth tightened. "I’m not helpless."

"No. You’re recovering."

"There’s a difference."

"I agree. That’s why I’m letting you sit upright instead of ordering the physician to pin you down with blankets."

The physician looked genuinely alarmed by the possibility.

Adrien stared at me, then glanced at his mother as if expecting imperial support. The Empress didn’t give it.

"You are not leaving this estate," she said.

"Mother."

"No." The word landed with the finality of a sealed gate. I appreciated it, not enough to say so, but I appreciated it. Adrien looked like he wanted to argue, then thought better of it, having spent his whole life learning to recognize when the Empress of Yarina had ended a conversation. I was glad someone in that family possessed survival instincts.

My father stood near the window, arms folded, expression mild. He’d returned from the western convoy only an hour ago, confirming that Mil and the two rescued children had crossed beyond the immediate ritual radius under Sonomian escort. Not yet in Sonomi, naturally, but moving with people who knew how to cross hostile territory, identify pursuit, and keep children away from ringing metal.

A better option than keeping them inside a Capital currently obsessed with hymns.

"Arthur’s latest map marks three likely approaches to the Conservatory," Father said. "The front hall, the old service entrance, and the aqueduct access from beneath Saint Orison’s. The small tracks he found came from the aqueduct route, then disappeared near the western service door."

"Disappeared?" my mother asked.

"Either the child was carried," Father replied, "or the tracks were made to be found."

Abi, standing near the fireplace as though he hadn’t spent the previous evening keeping a prince’s contamination from turning into architectural embarrassment, hummed in agreement. "Possibly both. Sound arrays enjoy leading people by the most emotionally irritating path."

"How specific," I said.

"It isn’t my fault your enemies have theatrical taste."

"They don’t have taste. They have an interest in props."

"That may be worse."

"It is."

Bernard, who’d been quietly arranging reports on a small table, pushed forward a copied deed. "Your Excellency, the Melverne Conservatory was legally closed twenty-eight years ago after a fire in the western recital hall. Ownership passed through three shell trusts, two temple charity accounts, and one noble trust connected to House Rouvier."

"Lady Evelina’s house," Adrien said.

His voice had changed, not surprised, careful. I looked at him. "You know her?"

"She was my first dance at the welcoming ball."

"Yes, I remember the spectacle."

"She isn’t involved in politics beyond what her family requires."

"That’s rarely comforting."

He frowned. The Empress looked toward Bernard. "Is there evidence Duke Rouvier himself authorized payments?"

"Not yet, Your Majesty," Bernard said. "The trust used a steward. The steward died six months ago from a fever."

"What a convenient fever," Abi murmured.

"Very convenient," I agreed.

Adrien leaned forward slightly, earning a sharp look from the physician. "House Rouvier is one of the central faction’s strongest pillars. If they’re connected, even through a trust, moving against the Conservatory openly may trigger factional panic."

"How terrible," I said.

He stared at me. I smiled. "Your Highness, factional panic is often a sign that the correct people have begun to be tense."

"That isn’t how governance works."

"It’s how cleaning works."

My father made a quiet sound that was definitely not a cough, and the Empress, unfortunately, looked as if she were considering the statement seriously. Good. At least one royal was willing to learn.

My mother turned toward me. "Who are you taking?"

"Abi, Father, six shadows, four knights, and Bernard’s copied inspection writ."

Bernard looked up. "Your Excellency?"

"You’re not coming."

His shoulders lowered slightly in relief, which he tried to hide too late. I did him the mercy of pretending not to see it.

"You’ll remain here," I continued. "Coordinate messages from Arthur, Fate, and the palace. No full names leave the estate. If anyone asks about the Crown Prince’s location, he’s under medical observation. If anyone asks whose medical observation, you say mine."

Adrien blinked. "You’re not a physician."

"No. But it sounds worse."

"That’s not a reason."

"It’s an excellent reason."

My mother stood. "I’ll remain at the estate."

Naturally, she was.

"What of Marcellus and Caldus?" I asked.

"Will answer questions," she said.

The room went still in a way that pleased me greatly. My mother hadn’t raised her voice, hadn’t threatened, hadn’t declared violence or punishment. She’d simply stated that two grown men, both tangled in rituals that harmed children, would answer questions. I almost felt sorry for them.

Almost.

"My lady," the Empress said slowly, "Lord Keeper Marcellus is an imperial officer."

Mother looked at her. "Yes."

A pause. "He should not be harmed."

"Then I suggest he not lie."

The Empress closed her mouth. Wise.

Abi leaned toward me. "I like Mother."

"You’re not helping," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"I didn’t say it aloud."

"You did."

His eyes widened, and Father laughed quietly. The situation was becoming unbearable.

Spiro appeared at the doorway before I could leave. He’d been listening, not all along, William wouldn’t have allowed that, but long enough to know we were leaving. He didn’t step inside without permission, which somehow annoyed me more.

"Spiro," I said.

"Yes, Father?"

"Come here."

He walked in, careful to avoid the physician’s tray and the Empress’s chair, looking at the Crown Prince first, then at me.

"You’re going to the academy," he said.

"The Conservatory."

"It’s an academy for music."

"An abandoned one."

His hands clasped in front of him, a posture I disliked, too controlled, too prepared to accept whatever answer adults gave.

"Do you know something about it?" I asked.

His eyes lowered. There it was, not guilt exactly, something older than guilt.

"I don’t know if it’s true."

"That’s fine. Many adults speak confidently without meeting that standard."

Adrien looked faintly amused despite everything. Spiro’s fingers tightened. "The dean used to say the children who couldn’t sleep were sent somewhere to learn quiet songs," he said. "I didn’t go. I only heard older children talk about it. They said the walls there sing back."

The room chilled. I felt Abi still beside me.

"What else?"

He shook his head. "That’s all I heard. I thought they were just trying to scare us."

"How old were the children who said that?"

"Older than me. Maybe twelve. Maybe more. I was smaller then, so they all looked very old."

Children’s sense of age was useless. A ten-year-old could be ancient to someone starving at five.

"Did Mil ever mention it?"

He looked up quickly. "No. I don’t think so. Mil didn’t like talking about things that happened after sunset."

I exhaled through my nose, not a sigh, a correction of air. If I sighed every time adults made children afraid of nightfall, I wouldn’t have enough breath left to remain beautiful.

"Thank you," I said.

He blinked. "Was it helpful?"

"Yes." A small, startled brightness touched his face. Then he looked toward Adrien.

"The voices like names," he said quietly. "They sound kinder when they’re lying."

The Crown Prince’s expression changed, not recognition exactly, but the words had touched the place where his half-returned memories sat.

"I’ll remember," Adrien said.

Spiro nodded, then turned back to me. "Father."

"Yes?"

"Please come back."

There were many ways to answer that. A reassuring lie. A confident promise. A joke. My mother’s gaze rested on me, my father watched from the window, Abi had gone quiet, and the Empress pretended not to notice, which I respected her for.

I placed my hand on Spiro’s head. "I intend to. I have too much paperwork to abandon conveniently."

His mouth twitched. "Okay."

Good. Not perfect. But he smiled, and that would have to do.

The Conservatory stood in the old western quarter, where the city had once tried to cultivate artistic prestige before deciding politics was cheaper and easier to monetize. It was larger than Saint Orison’s and considerably uglier, not because it had been badly built, the facade had impressive bones, wide steps, tall columns, arched windows, sculpted reliefs of dancers, singers, flutists, and dramatic harpists who seemed deeply pleased with themselves, but because of what abandonment had done to it.

Vines climbed the outer walls. Several windows had been boarded. One side still bore black scorch marks from the old fire. The main doors had been sealed with an iron chain, though the chain was so clean compared to everything else that it might as well have shouted recent interference.

I disliked loud evidence. It had no elegance.

Captain Arthur waited near the fountain in front of the building, dust from the chapel tunnels still on his armor, his expression promising violence with admirable restraint. He bowed. "Your Excellency. Former Grand Duke. Lord Abinatha."

"Report," I said.

"The front entrance is warded. The western service door has traces of recent passage. The aqueduct route beneath the building is open, but narrow. Our men found blood on the stone near the lower access."