Chapter 99: The Grand Duke Receives Too Many Confessions (2)
Marcellus blinked, as though the shift in subject startled him. "I do not know."
"She revised the rehearsal protocol this morning."
His face changed. "You are certain?"
"Do not ask foolish questions."
"She should not have that authority."
"Yet she did."
Marcellus looked toward the reports on the desk, thoughts moving quickly behind his eyes. "The Office of Ceremonial Continuity is seasonal. It exists only during coronation rites. Its authority overlaps with archives, temple scheduling, and household ceremony."
"How convenient."
"It was designed that way for efficiency."
"Efficiency continues to be a criminal."
Marcellus swallowed. "Lady Marielle administered the Rouvier trust that funded charitable music instruction. But she also handled noble attendance logistics for founding ceremonies. If she had access to both sides, she could move names without raising suspicion."
"She did."
"Yes."
"Would she know the current holders of Halwen Grey?"
Marcellus’s eyes lifted. "Current holders?"
"Plural title. Grey gloves."
His face went still. He hadn’t known. Or he hadn’t let himself know.
"Interesting," I murmured.
Abi smiled faintly. Not kindly. "It seems the archivist was also underinformed."
Marcellus looked older. "She used the archive," he said quietly.
"Yes."
"My office."
"Yes."
His hands tightened. People were fascinating. A man could survive the guilt of children, rites, and lies for years, then finally feel insulted when the paperwork betrayed him personally.
Very human. Very small. Very useful.
"What would Lady Marielle need after the failed rehearsal?" I asked.
Marcellus thought, not long. "She would need a clean exit from the Capital, a document that does not rely on imperial gate records, and a route that cannot be followed by ordinary palace authority."
"The Verdant papers."
He nodded slowly. "Or a pilgrim passage under temple protection."
Fate’s warning had said Verdant. But if the papers were forged, the route might still begin through temple channels.
"How would she leave?"
"North lane from her residence leads toward the old botanical exchange," Marcellus said. "Before the founding anniversary expanded the city walls, that exchange handled foreign plant specimens and Verdant trade wagons. The building still has customs privileges for diplomatic cargo."
I stared at him. "You did not think to mention this before?"
"I did not know Lady Marielle was moving."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the truth."
How irritating. Truth could be deeply unsatisfying.
A knock came at the study door. William entered. "Young Master Spiro requests permission to speak."
"No."
The answer left me immediately. Too immediately. William didn’t move. My mother’s eyes shifted toward me.
I sighed. "What did he say?"
"He said Toma wrote another message, but he doesn’t want to give it to anyone except you."
Ah. Children. Tiny tyrants with fragile bones.
"Bring him," I said. "Only him."
William bowed and left.
Adrien looked toward the door. "You don’t want him involved."
"No."
"But he already is."
I looked at him. The prince held my gaze, not challenging, not exactly, simply stating something neither of us liked.
"He’s a child," I said.
"So were we."
The room went quiet. That was unfair. Accurate, but unfair.
"I know," I said.
Adrien looked down.
A moment later, Spiro entered, pausing at the threshold when he saw Marcellus, the Empress, the Crown Prince, my parents, Abi, Bernard, and the general atmosphere of a room that had just been dissecting old crimes. His eyes went immediately to me.
"Father."
"You’re supposed to be resting."
"I know."
"Excellent. Then this is disobedience with awareness."
His face turned red. Abi snorted softly. I glared at him.
Spiro walked closer, holding a folded paper in both hands, his posture careful, his eyes steady. Too steady.
I disliked how brave he’d become. No, that wasn’t right. I disliked that bravery had been required.
"Toma wrote this," he said. "Bell said his throat hurt too much, but he insisted."
I accepted the paper. The handwriting was worse than before, the letters staggered like injured birds.
Marielle has the white score. She said the third can fail if the witness refuses. She needs a witness who wants the door open. Not forced. Willing.
Beneath it, a second line had been added, smaller.
She asked Ansel once. He said no.
My fingers stilled. The room changed.
A willing witness. Not someone compelled through old phrasing. Not nobles caught in authority. Not a prince used as vessel. Not children tied to chairs and bells. Someone who wanted the door open.
That was worse. Force could be interrupted. Consent had different teeth.
Abi leaned over the paper, his expression darkening. "The witness must wish it," he said.
The word wish passed through the room too softly. No one noticed. Or perhaps only I did. A strange pressure brushed the back of my thoughts, then vanished.
I did not look at it. Absolutely not.
"Ansel refused," Adrien whispered.
Spiro looked at him. The Crown Prince’s face had gone very still. "He refused," Adrien repeated.
"Yes," I said.
The Empress covered her eyes with one hand. Not dramatically. Quietly. She didn’t make a sound.
Spiro looked confused, then concerned. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No," I said at once. Too fast again.
His shoulders eased. I looked at the paper. Marielle had tried to find someone willing. If she was now fleeing after the rehearsal failed, either she’d found that person or was going to fetch them.
"Where is Toma?" I asked.
"In the medical wing."
"Awake?"
"Yes."
"Did he say anything else?"
Spiro shook his head, then hesitated. I waited. "He drew something too."
He unfolded a second scrap. A circle. A door. A branch. And beneath it, a small carriage with curtains.
Not artistic. But clear.
My gaze moved to the Verdant letter on the side table. The Empress saw it. My mother saw it. Abi smiled without humor.
"Verdant papers," he said.
"Yes."
Spiro looked at the drawing. "I don’t know what it means."
"It means adults remain disappointing."
He accepted that solemnly. A child should not have understood that sentence. He did.
How troublesome.
I folded the message. "Spiro."
"Yes, Father?"
"You did well."
His face brightened. Just a little. Enough.
"Now go back to the south garden. Don’t speak of this with Toma or Bell unless they speak first. Don’t ask them to remember. Don’t carry their fear for them because you think it will make them lighter."
His eyes lowered. "I wasn’t."
"You were thinking it."
"Only a little."
A familiar answer. My chest tightened in a way I found unnecessary.
"Little things become heavy when carried long enough," I said. "Leave some on the table."
He looked up, then nodded. "Yes, Father."
William escorted him out. The door closed. No one spoke for several breaths.
Then Adrien said, quietly, "He reminds me of someone."
I did not look at him. "No," I said.
"I didn’t say who."
"You were going to."
He was silent. Good.
I stood. "We move now."
The Empress rose. "To Lady Marielle’s residence?"
"No. She left it."
"The botanical exchange," Father said.
"Yes."
My mother stood from behind my desk. "Take Arthur."
"He’s securing the hall."
"He’ll meet you there."
Of course. She’d already sent word. I loved my mother. I feared her deeply. Both truths coexisted very well.
"Abi," I said. He straightened. "Brother?"
"You are coming."
"Obviously."
"Father."
My father smiled. "Already prepared."
"Mother."
She raised a brow. "You remain here."
Her expression cooled. I smiled. "Someone needs to prevent our collection of prisoners from becoming a choir. Also, Adrien is here. Spiro is here. The children are here. And if Lady Marielle intends to use a willing witness, she may try to take one from the safest place available."
Mother stared at me, then nodded. "Correct."
Praise. Terrifying.
The Empress turned toward me. "I am coming."
"No."
Her eyes sharpened. I continued before royalty could become unreasonable. "You are compromised by guilt and politically visible. If you leave the estate with me, every person watching will know the Crown Prince is here. Your best use is here, where your authority can hold the palace messengers, your presence can protect Adrien, and your very visible distress can make people believe you’re guarding your son from scandal, not from an old rite."
The Empress looked as though she wanted to object. Then didn’t.
I appreciated intelligent women. They made refusal efficient.
Adrien looked at me. "I suppose I’m also staying alive."
"Finally, you understand your assignment."
His mouth twitched faintly. "Bring her back alive."
Lady Marielle. I looked at him. "Do you want to question her yourself?"
"Yes."
"Then say that."
His expression shifted. I waited. He exhaled. "Bring her back alive," he said, clearer now, "because I want to ask her why she stood beside me at the ball knowing what she helped build."
Good. Better.
"Very well."
I turned toward the door, then stopped when Abi spoke. "The willing witness," he said quietly. "If Marielle found one, they may not think they’re being used."
"I know."
"They may believe the door gives them something."
"I know."
"A wish."
The word landed. I looked back at him. For a moment, the room seemed to tilt toward an old memory. A battlefield. A sky without stars. Voices asking. Asking. Asking.
Then the moment passed. I smiled. "Then we shall introduce them to disappointment."
Abi watched me, his eyes too old, too knowing. "Of course," he said softly.
I hated that tone. I hated it enough to move first.
By the time we reached the courtyard, the carriage was ready. Arthur’s message arrived before we left the gate. He’d finished securing the hall. Father Lorian remained alive but empty eyed. Duke Rouvier had been placed under imperial guard. Lady Evelina had requested to testify under the Empress’s seal. The Verdant observer had disappeared from the palace shortly after the rehearsal hall was sealed.
Of course she had. Rude woman.
The carriage started moving. Abi sat across from me, strangely quiet. Father looked out the window, sword resting against his knee.
The Capital rolled past in gold and shadow, already humming with rumors we hadn’t yet had time to poison with official versions. Somewhere, noble houses were panicking. Somewhere, clerics were burning letters. Somewhere, Lady Marielle was moving through a route she believed hidden.
How delightful for her. She would learn soon enough that hidden roads belonged to people who knew how to walk them.
A folded note appeared on the seat beside me. No flare. No sound. No visible magic. Only rain scent.
I stared at it. Abi stared at it. Father looked amused.
I opened the note.
Grand Duke,
You are heading to the wrong door. The forged Verdant papers are bait. The woman in rose went to the old winter garden beneath the botanical exchange. Bring something sharp.
The note was unsigned.
How impolite. How useful.
I folded it. Abi leaned back. "The faerie observer?"
"Apparently."
"Are we trusting her?"
"No."
"Are we following her advice?"
"Yes."
He smiled. "You really are very interesting."
"I am very tired."
"Same thing, for you."
The carriage turned toward the old botanical district. Above us, clouds gathered though the evening had been clear. Rain began to fall, softly, politely, as though the sky had decided to attend.
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