Date: 7 Desnus, 4707 AR
Time: Late Evening
Place: Eel’s End, Old Korvosa — The Spider Deck
Rain tapped the river in soft rhythms, turning the pilings and rotting gangplanks of Eel’s End slick with algae and shadow. The four ships that made up the floating den of vice bobbed gently in the water, their lanterns hazy with pipe smoke and sin. Music spilled from one, sobs from another. But Kaelus Shade wasn’t here for a drink, a girl, or a game of knives.
He was here for the Spider.
The Dancer, Devargo Barvasi’s flagship, loomed ahead—its lacquered hull etched with stylized webs, and a massive iron spider bolted to the prow. Two of Devargo’s enforcers flanked the gangplank, arms crossed, faces hidden beneath masks fashioned to resemble spider eyes.
“You’re expected,” one of them rasped, stepping aside.
Inside, the heat and musk hit like a punch—perfume, sweat, and old wood. Kaelus passed curtained rooms and bruised-eyed courtesans until he reached the rear chamber: The Spider Deck. A wide, low room with a view of the dark river and the lights of the city beyond. Thick ropes stretched from ceiling to floor like a tangled nest. Webs, real and artificial, shrouded every corner.
And there, on a throne made of driftwood and barbs, lounged Devargo Barvasi.
He wore no crown, but the jeweled ring on his thumb glinted like one. His black hair was braided with tiny bones, his pale eyes unblinking. A long-legged spider crawled lazily across his hand, and he smiled as if amused by a private joke.
"Kaelus Shade," Devargo said, his voice like oil poured over silk. "Korvosa’s quietest ambition. Sit."
He gestured to a worn chair across from him—spindly, creaking, barely sturdy.
"I’ve got a job. Not for a bruiser. For a planner. For a man who can slip in, listen, and slip out with something that doesn’t belong to him anymore."
He leaned forward.
"A nobleman’s ledger. Hidden. In his manor. He’s got friends in the Guard, and secrets that could bury a dozen of us. I need it before he leaves the city in three nights’ time. Quietly. And clean. You up for that?"
The spider stopped crawling. It perched atop Devargo’s hand like punctuation.
Kaelus kept his face still, but he really didn't like being talked to like he was someone's servant. Still, it was Barvasi's place and that gave him some prerogatives, so he sat in the indicated chair and listened.
"I'm up for many things, Barvasi," Kaelus said quietly with a nod. "But you know the deal. I don't come free or cheap. You want me to get the ledger, that's agreeable. The question is how much do you want it?"
Devargo’s smile widened, just slightly—a slow curl of lips that could have meant amusement… or approval. He tapped one finger against the side of his throne, the spider still poised on the back of his hand, twitching as if it understood the stakes.
“You misunderstand, Shade,” he said, voice smooth as glass dragged across velvet. “It’s not a matter of how much I want it. It’s a matter of how much you want to prove you belong in the game we’re all pretending not to play.”
He leaned forward, shadows dancing across the ropes behind him. “But I’m not without generosity. Do it clean—no blood, no noise—and I’ll make sure your name gets whispered in better places than this floating sty. That, and two hundred gold. Half now, half when the ledger’s in my hand.”
A flick of his fingers, and one of the enforcers stepped forward with a small leather pouch.
“But if it goes loud, if it gets traced, if this noble slime so much as wonders who took it…” Devargo’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Then I send Garr Vancaskerkin a note that says you’ve been asking questions about his mother.”
The threat wasn’t shouted. It didn’t need to be.
“So,” he said, sitting back once more, “do we have an understanding?”
The pouch hung in the air like bait over water.
Kaelus leaned back, unimpressed. "Maybe." His voice was cool, bored. "What noble? What ledger? Nobles tend to have more than one. I'd hate to get the wrong one. Where is the ledger kept? There's questions that need answers. Did you really think I was going to say yes to a job without knowing who and what? I'm young, Barvasi. I'm not stupid."
Devargo’s chuckle was dry and rasping, like a saw dragged through bone. He gestured lazily, the spider on his hand skittering up his wrist and vanishing into his sleeve.
“There’s the Shade I keep hearing about,” he said, voice dropping into something quieter—and far more serious. “Not the boy looking for a fight. The man who wants to win.”
He reached beside the throne and plucked a folded parchment from a lacquered box—black vellum, sealed with green wax in the shape of a coiled viper.
“Name’s Ornelos. Aemon Ornelos. Of House Ornelos.” He let the name hang, giving it weight. “Tied to the Acadamae. Not a headmaster—no, no, nothing so convenient. A patron. Gold-deep. Guard-connected. But not untouchable.”
He tossed the sealed parchment to Kaelus’s feet.
“He keeps a red ledger in his study. Not one he shows to taxmen or friends at court. Names, payouts, debts—some owed, some… collected. Word is it’s warded, hidden under a floor panel. You’ll find it, or you’ll find the pieces left behind. Either works.”
Devargo leaned forward again, fingers steepled.
“His manor’s in Heights. Marble tower, fourth from the western wall, gold lions at the gate. He leaves for Cheliax in three nights. If that ledger’s not in my hand before then…” He spread his hands. “Opportunity lost. Coin lost. And your little ambitions? Lost.”
He stood—not all the way, just enough to loom.
“So now you know the who, the what, and the when, Kaelus. All that’s left is the how. And that, my silver-eyed friend… is where you earn your name.”
The rain outside thickened, pattering harder on the deck’s canopy. Somewhere distant on the ship, a violin began to play. A slow, mournful tune.
Kaelus barked a laugh. "I can do that but... The Heights? For 200 gold? Find someone else to stick their head in the hornet's nest for that much." He stood up. "I respect you, Barvasi. You're the boss in these parts. I wouldn't come to you asking for favors and then offer a pittance for them. I'd pay what they were worth. You want me to do this thing. You wouldn't be askin if you thought someone else would do it better. Pay me what the job's worth and it'll get done. Otherwise... find someone cheaper."
Devargo didn’t move for a moment. He just watched Kaelus stand, fingers drumming slowly against the arm of his throne. His expression didn’t darken. If anything, the corners of his mouth twitched again—like a man who’d just found out his favorite snake had grown fangs.
“You know,” he said slowly, “I thought you’d take the gold and disappear into the fog like most gutter-bred hustlers. Play it safe. Avoid offense. But you’ve got brass.”
He rose—graceful, fluid—and stepped down from the throne. He didn’t come close, didn’t try to loom. He just crossed to the side table where a decanter of black Varisian brandy waited, poured two measures, and turned.
“Four hundred,” he said, handing Kaelus a glass. “Half now. Half after. And I’ll toss in a name—a noble from Magnimar who just lost a shipment on the docks. You recover that ledger and I’ll give you the first word in. Might be you end up with two favors instead of one.”
He raised his glass in toast.
“But say no, and you walk out. No hard feelings. You’ve earned that much.”
The music in the background faded, the strings stilling.
The deal now hung in the air, richer than before. The gold alone wasn’t the lure—it was the access. The spider’s web was opening. But stepping into it always came with a cost.
Kaelus took the glass and nodded. "I'll do it."
Date: 8 Desnus, 4707 AR
Time: Just after midnight
Place: Crypt beneath the Chapel of Aroden, Old Korvosa
The crypt welcomed Kaelus back with stillness and the faint smell of damp stone and burnt sage. Shadows pooled in the corners like coiled cats, unmoving and watchful. The air was cooler here than on the river, and quieter too—no pipe music, no oily charm.
Just the faint scrape of Brinna “Click” Flintnose hunched over a half-assembled pressure plate in the corner, muttering to herself about “tension slippage” and “idiots with fat boots.”
Rhyssa sat cross-legged within the faint haze of her ritual circle, eyes half-lidded as smoke spiraled around her raven, Morlen. The bird stared at Kaelus the moment he entered, then said, flat and toneless: “Blood. Ledger. Heights.”
Brother Caldus sat against one of the stone pillars, arms crossed over his chest. A small clay jug rested beside him, untouched. For now.
Selene, as usual, was nowhere to be seen.
Kaelus stepped toward the old altar-turned-planning-table, the sealed parchment in his hand. It was time to prepare.
Morlen cocked his head. “Trouble,” he muttered, then hopped down onto the back of Kaelus’s chair.
Rhyssa finally opened her eyes. “Something’s moving in the web,” she said. “You’ve brought it here.”
Brinna snorted. “He always brings it here. That’s the point.”
Caldus raised an eyebrow. “What’s the job?”
The ledger waited. The map waited. And the clock had already started ticking.
"Where's Selene?" Kaelus asked as he walked to the planning table. He had almost forgotten that it was an altar and not really a table. "We're gonna need her."
Caldus grunted and gestured vaguely toward the ladder. “Slipped out before sunset. Said she had to ‘keep appearances’ at some theater thing uptown. She was wearing one of those masks again. The smiling one.”
Brinna looked up from her work, eyes smudged with grease. “Said she’d be back by morning. If she’s not, it means she found someone rich, boring, and easy to fleece. Or maybe got herself locked in a wine cellar again.”
“She’ll come,” Rhyssa murmured from the smoke. “She’s part of this. Whether she knows it or not.”
Morlen bobbed his head once. “Web tightens. Strings pull. Masks lie.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Then Brinna added with a shrug, “We can catch her up. If you’re ready to talk shop, Boss, lay it out. If Selene shows up mid-plan, we’ll adjust.”
The old altar creaked under Kaelus’s hand as he unrolled the parchment.
Kaelus explained the job and let the team look at the parchment with the map as long as they wanted. He kept quiet. Sometimes looking brilliant really amounted to just shutting up long enough for someone else to come up with a good idea and then agreeing with it.
"Thoughts?"
Brinna was the first to speak.
“Floor panel’s gonna be the trick. Warded means it’s either got a glyph baked in, or something tied to a mage’s heartbeat,” she muttered, squinting at the sketch. “We don’t want to trigger a silent alarm—or worse, a fireball. I’ll need to see it up close, but I can prep a few things. Smoke powder, rune chalk, and I’ve got a little shard of quartz that'll tell me if there’s any active arcana in a tight radius.”
Caldus rubbed his jaw. “What’s security like on the outside?”
Kaelus tapped the parchment. “Four guards on rotation. Mage servant inside. Guest traffic is unpredictable.”
The priest frowned. “Unpredictable means bad. Might be empty. Might be full of nosey bluebloods who’ll remember your face. You’ll want options—disguises, distractions, or both.”
Rhyssa finally spoke. “I can veil the entrance. Just for a moment. If the wards are alive, I’ll know. But this ledger—” She touched the note gently, eyes dark and far-off. “It’s not just numbers. There’s intent. Heavy things tied to it.”
She looked up at Kaelus. “Barvasi isn’t the only spider on this string. Someone else wants this web to shake.”
Morlen croaked, “Shake!”
Brinna grinned. “You’re a regular sunbeam, Rhyssa.”
She ignored the dwarf completely.
Caldus looked to Kaelus. “We doing this with a plan or with luck?”
“I don't do luck. You know that.” Kaelus said. “We need Selene before making final plans. The ledger is leaving the city in three days. We have to get it before then. Need to know what is going on at the estate between now and then. Selene can find out.”
“No casualties on this job.” He looked to Rhyssa. “Prep the veil. Good idea. Also look at charm and misdirection magics.”
He looked at Brinna next. “Get started on all that. Better ready than not.”
“Caldus, protections and blessings right now. Maybe disguises but I don't know what yet, so we wait on that. Also, think on distractions. Rhyssa can compliment you with her magics. Talk to her.”
He stood up and crossed his arms. “Here's the big one. We need to figure out how to copy the ledger quickly. I want it.”
Brinna gave a sharp nod, already reaching for her tools with muttered curses about wax sticks and chalk burns. “You’ll have options,” she said. “If that ledger’s got tricks on it, I’ll prep a containment wrap too. Something I can slip under and lift clean if needed.”
Rhyssa’s smile was unreadable, her fingers already drawing unseen glyphs in the candlelight. “I’ll find the right whispers,” she said. “Veil, charm, confusion. I’ll make sure whoever’s watching looks the other way.”
Caldus uncrossed his arms and stood. “You’ll have your blessings,” he said simply. “And if Selene comes through with the layout of the estate's comings and goings, I’ll have ideas for distractions that don’t involve burning anything down.”
The crypt grew busier, each of them moving in rhythm—quiet, efficient, and dangerous in their own ways. Plans would wait until Selene returned, but Kaelus had lit the fire.
Date: 8 Desnus, 4707 AR
Time: Just after dawn
Place: Crypt beneath the Chapel of Aroden
The smell of ashroot tea mingled with old stone and lantern oil. Outside, the city stirred beneath a low mist, the kind that turned Korvosa’s alleys into echoes and made footfalls vanish into wet cobblestones. Down below, the crypt remained still—until the sound of boots against the iron rungs echoed faintly from the entrance tunnel.
Selene descended, one hand still adjusting the sleeve of her rose-colored overcloak. Her eyes, rimmed in faint coal, swept the chamber with a performer’s ease—quick, measured, and entirely aware she’d kept them waiting.
“Well,” she said, setting her gloved hand on the altar’s edge, “I do hope you didn’t start without me.”
Brinna barked a laugh from the corner. “You’re lucky we didn’t end without you.”
Selene ignored her. She pulled a folded silk envelope from her satchel and laid it on the table beside the black parchment Kaelus had already unsealed.
“I was at the estate,” she said, unfastening the envelope’s clasp. “Not inside, of course. But I attended a garden performance across the square. Boring play. Excellent angle.”
She laid out a delicate, hand-drawn map of Vyreview’s grounds—slightly different from Devargo’s version, with notations about gate timings, servant windows, and a detail that hadn’t been mentioned yet:
“Ornelos has a guest,” she said, tapping the east wing. “A priest of Asmodeus. Arrived two nights ago. Staying until the 10th. I recognized his robes—High Order. And his guard. They don’t wear steel. They wear contracts.”
Selene looked up at Kaelus, one brow arched just enough to be annoying.
“So,” she said. “Still feeling lucky?”
"Know of any events or activities happening at the estate in the next day or two?" Kaelus studied the new map. Never trust the client's map. That was a hard and fast rule. You always got your own, if possible. "Priests don't bother me too much. Don't plan on introducing myself."
Selene tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Two things,” she said. “First—tomorrow night, the Ornelos family is hosting a private recital. Small affair. Strings and wine, all on the garden terrace. About a dozen guests, mostly lesser nobles and a couple of Acadamae names. The priest is expected to attend.”
She pointed to the garden wing on her map. “It’s a perfect distraction—outdoor focus, minimal guard rotation. The house staff will be busy inside prepping drinks, watching servants, posturing.”
Then she flicked her finger toward the side alley bordering the estate wall. “Second—food deliveries. Same merchant cart, every morning, right after dawn. No guard escort. That’s a soft entry point if you want it.”
She smirked. “And if you’re not worried about the priest, you’ll love this part: he has a scribe traveling with him. Young, pale, nervous. Carries a long scroll case everywhere. Could be irrelevant. Could be something worse.”
Rhyssa whispered, “He’s not the threat. He’s the echo of something louder.”
Brinna didn’t look up from her packing but snorted. “If you’re going in on recital night, I want to be setting traps the night before. Just say the word.”
Caldus glanced toward Kaelus but didn’t speak. He was watching. Waiting.
"Caldus, you and Selene see if you can find out if the estate is using any caterers or outside help for their little recital. That might be a good way in." Kaelus gave Rhyssa a calculated look. "These guys are Hellknights. The little guy probably carries something related to their contracts."
He sat back. "Brinna, assume we're going to the recital."
"Selene," Kaelus said. "Who are the Ornelos?"
Selene didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stepped away from the planning table, pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, and dabbed the corner of her mouth—as if the question had made her taste something bitter.
Then she turned back, all grace and calculation.
“The Ornelos are old blood,” she said. “Chelish transplants like most of the noble houses, but they came here before the Sable Company, before the Acadamae even had doors. The family claims arcane lineage, and they do have mages—but their real power is political. They’ve funded five Lord Magistrates and three Acadamae Rectors.”
She tapped the parchment again, more sharply this time.
“Aemon Ornelos is a patron of the Acadamae, not a professor or spellcaster. That’s important. He holds shares in its infrastructure—housing, ritual halls, imported components. He owns the shell of the school, not its soul.”
Then, quieter: “He’s also known to sponsor quiet apprenticeships. Young nobles who can’t test in officially. Off-the-books instruction. If he’s keeping ledgers like this one, they’re not just bribes. They’re investments. Strings.”
She met Kaelus’s eyes. “If you steal this thing, you won’t just be stealing from him. You’ll be taking leverage away from half the upper ring. That’s why Barvasi wants it.”
Rhyssa gave a faint nod from the corner, her voice low and dry: “Pull one stone from a bridge, and the river remembers.”
Brinna didn’t even look up. “So we definitely copy the thing before we hand it over. Right, Boss?”
"Yes," Kaelus answered Brinna. "We also need something that looks like it to replace it with. It'll keep the job from being discovered sooner. I'd really like them to be three days out of Korvosa before they notice the theft."
Brinna grinned, already rifling through a crate of vellum scraps and binding wire. “I can fake a book,” she said. “Won’t hold up to inspection for more than a glance, but it’ll buy you days if no one opens it. I’ll even weight the spine with tin—it’ll feel right.”
Selene added, “If you get me a peek at the real thing—even just the outer cover—I can copy the binding style and handwriting well enough to fool a valet or steward.”
Rhyssa gave a low hum. “I can veil its aura for a short time. Even if they do check, they won’t know what they’re looking at. But the spell won’t last forever.”
Caldus crossed his arms. “Three days is a long time to believe a lie. But if all goes right… they won’t have reason to check.”
Your crew’s locked in. Everyone has their task, and the window is clear: two nights from now—at the recital. Time to gather last-minute tools, watch patterns, and polish the plan.
Kaelus plopped the bag of coin on the table. "Here's the up front money. Caldus, divvy it out. We got work to do."
Date: 8 Desnus, 4707 AR
Time: Late Afternoon
Place: The Heights, outskirts of the Vyreview estate
The cobbled streets of the Heights were still slick from the morning mist, though the sun had finally burned through the worst of it. Afternoon light filtered through the high white walls and wrought-iron balconies of the nobility’s quarter. It smelled of garden moss, perfumed oil, and coins that hadn’t touched a beggar’s hand in generations.
Kaelus walked with deliberate ease, hands tucked in the folds of his cloak, just another quiet man in a district that didn’t expect his kind to linger. Beside him, Rhyssa kept pace in a charcoal-gray shawl, a bundle of dried herbs and trinkets hanging from a threadbare pouch at her hip. She looked like someone’s forgotten aunt—until you saw her eyes.
Morlen circled once above them and landed gracefully on the wrought-iron fence along the estate’s southern perimeter. The raven’s head tilted sharply, a single white streak catching the light.
“Golden lions,” Rhyssa murmured, nodding toward the gateposts. “They sleep, but their teeth are sharp.”
The estate—Vyreview—was serene from this angle. Marble towers gleamed behind a high garden wall, trimmed hedges curled in precise angles, and somewhere inside, the faint sound of strings being tuned drifted across the square.
Rhyssa didn’t look directly at the house. She looked at the shadows around it.
“There are threads here,” she said softly. “Tied to coin, to memory… to fear.”
She pulled something from her pouch—a small piece of chalk—and began idly sketching a sigil into the side of a low stone planter as they walked past. “One of the wards... it’s old. Not active, but anchored. The kind nobles use to ‘keep memory out.’ It’s not meant to stop thieves. It’s meant to keep ghosts away.”
Morlen gave a low whistle.
Kaelus held up a hand holding a bit of bread for Morlen. Never hurt to spoil the familiar a little. Good to have these little spirits on his side, if possible. “We’re not ghosts yet, so that ward isn’t for us. Good to know.” He said quietly.
Morlen fluttered down from the fencepost and landed on Kaelus’s outstretched arm with unexpected delicacy. He plucked the bread with his beak, then turned his head sharply and murmured, “Watcher.”
Rhyssa paused, her eyes narrowing.
“Top balcony,” she said, voice barely a breath. “Curtain moved. Didn’t open. Just… shifted.”
She didn’t stop walking. Just tugged her shawl a little tighter, as if warding against the evening chill.
“Someone’s watching,” she continued, “but not alarmed. Curious, maybe. Not a guard. A noble, most likely. Or the scribe.”
She leaned in slightly, voice colder now. “There are places in this city where no one looks unless something unusual walks by. You just became unusual.”
Ahead, a street performer tuned a battered violin near the corner, bow dancing absently over the strings. The kind of color that made two streetfolk and a black bird vanish into the paint of the city.
“Want me to veil us, or keep moving?” Rhyssa asked quietly.
Morlen clicked once and said again, softer: “Watcher.”
"A veil tells them we have something to hide," Kaelus said and smiled to Rhyssa. He offered his arm as a young man would a woman. "Don't suppose Morlen could scout the windows a bit and see if anything unusual is around?"
Meanwhile, Kaelus was taking in as many details of the estate as he could from his vantage point—without looking like he was looking, of course.
Morlen gave a sharp kraaw—not loud, but affirming—and took off in a slow, deliberate arc. He moved like a lazy bird following a scentless breeze, circling the estate’s southern and eastern sides. Nothing frantic. Nothing strange. Just a curious raven in a noble district.
Rhyssa slipped her arm into Kaelus’s without hesitation. Her hand was cold through the fabric, and her presence—though slight—seemed to pull some of the street’s attention away, like a dream drifting past a crowd.
“They’ll see us and forget us,” she said softly. “That’s its own kind of magic.”
Meanwhile, Kaelus watched.
Subtly. Carefully.
The estate’s front gate was closed but unguarded—noble homes often preferred unseen protection over standing soldiers. A faint shimmer lined the inner side of the wrought iron bars. Magical deterrent, likely alarm-based. No visible runes, though, meaning it was tied into the estate’s foundation—probably older enchantments maintained by the Acadamae.
The garden terrace, visible through a break in the hedge, had been swept and polished. Cushions arranged, strings being tuned, and a staff of three—a butler, a young servant girl, and a man in black livery—were adjusting the evening’s setup.
One man in half-cloak and crisp boots strolled the perimeter wall inside. Casual posture, but eyes alert—house guard, off-duty or plainclothes.
And the window where the curtain moved? Upper floor, east wing, corner tower. Heavy drapes now drawn tight. No further movement.
Morlen circled back, landed again, and clicked his beak once. “Two. Upstairs. Writing. Scroll.”
Rhyssa’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “The little one’s awake.”
"Any other wards you sense?" Kaelus asked Rhyssa. "Mark them if you do and let's mosey on along. If we hang out here too long, they will notice. That would be less than ideal."
Rhyssa nodded once, her hand already palming a stub of white chalk as they continued walking.
“One more,” she murmured after a moment, glancing sidelong at a rose-carved keystone near the rear wall. “Subtle—layered enchantment. Anchored to memory. If someone passes through with hostile intent, it won’t stop them… but someone inside might suddenly remember they left the window open.”
She leaned her weight into Kaelus’s arm just enough to make it look like a casual moment of affection—then reached out and brushed the base of a low stair with the heel of her boot. When she lifted it, a faint chalk sigil had appeared beneath the edge. Tiny. Almost invisible. Marked.
“That’s all I feel from this side,” she said softly. “If there’s more, it’s deeper in. Inside.”
Morlen circled once more before returning to Kaelus’s shoulder with a faint flutter of wings and a clipped whisper: “No alarms. No stir. All still.”
And just like that, they were two commoners walking through a wealthy quarter at dusk—unnoticed, unremembered, and now carrying more truth than most in the Heights ever dared speak aloud.
Date: 8 Desnus, 4707 AR
Time: Early Evening
Place: The Crypt beneath the Chapel of Aroden
The rusted iron ladder groaned as Kaelus descended into the dark, but the pressure-trigger ward at the bottom clicked softly and disarmed at his presence. Rhyssa followed in silence, brushing dust from her shawl as the scent of smoldering myrrh greeted them both.
Brinna was off in her corner with a magnifier over one eye and a decoy ledger half-bound in false leather. Morlen immediately winged to his perch, watching with his single white eye-streak like a judge awaiting testimony.
Caldus and Selene were already at the altar.
Selene leaned one elbow on a scroll case, her cloak tossed loosely over the back of a chair. She looked freshly powdered, but the weariness beneath her eyes betrayed a long day. Caldus sat with his forearms on his knees, a quiet jug beside him—untouched. Again.
When Kaelus entered, both looked up.
Selene was first to speak. “You were right to ask about caterers,” she said. “The food’s coming from Gallivarre’s—that stuck-up bakery on Goldstreet. But the wines? They’re coming from a cellar run by House Virmonte. That means servants, loaders, and inspectors from outside the Ornelos staff will be walking in and out all morning before the recital.”
She tapped her finger on a small page of notes. “With a little work, we could slot someone in. Maybe two someones.”
Caldus added, “I tracked down the service entrance. Narrow alley on the western side. Leads through a greenhouse arch, then directly into the pantry and lower hall. If we go in with crates or wine, we’re not getting searched—not unless someone upstairs gives the order.”
Selene sat back and raised an eyebrow. “So. We’ve got a foot in the door. How we use it… that’s up to you.”
"We need uniforms to match the outside staff. Need the inspectors' names." Kaelus gave Rhyssa a hand down the last bit of the ladder. “We’ll need uniforms for at least three of us, maybe four of us. Rhyssa might be doing her diversion outside the estate. Selene will be somewhere nearby as a lookout and ready to react should something unexpected happen.”
Kaelus put a hand on Selene’s shoulder. “Take Brinna and get uniforms tomorrow. Get some sleep tonight. You’re tired. That’s bad.”
Selene blinked once—caught off guard, maybe, by the gentleness more than the order. But then her expression settled into a small, appreciative smirk.
“I’ll rest,” she said, “but only because I know you won’t.” She reached up and gave Kaelus’s hand a light tap in return. “Gallivarre’s uniforms are white linen with gold trim—pretentious and easy to fake. Brinna and I will get you what you need. I’ll get the names of the inspectors too—might cost a bribe or a favor, but I’ll handle it.”
She turned to Brinna, who was already halfway into her satchel. “Let’s go see if my seamstress still owes me a favor or two.”
Brinna grinned wide, half-feral. “Love it when we get to borrow fancy clothes.”
The two vanished up the ladder, their footsteps fading into the rustling dark.
Rhyssa smoothed the hem of her shawl. “I’ll handle the diversion. I’ll draw their eyes without touching the wards. Old theater trick. Smoke and suggestion.”
Caldus nodded once. “I’ll be ready on the morning of. Magic prepared. Hands clean. I won’t go in unless you call me—but I’ll be close.”
Kaelus stood alone with them now—half his crew on the move, the other half sharpening spells and plans like blades.
"I may need you to go in with us," Kaelus said to Caldus. "Need your blessing and your abilities on the site." He took a breath. "Plus, they have a priest. Might need our own."
Caldus didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his hands—scarred, steady, the hands of a man who had once held light and now wrestled with shadows.
Finally, he nodded.
“If that’s the call,” he said, “then I go in.”
He stood, joints cracking slightly, and met Kaelus’s eyes squarely. “I’m not the man I was when I wore the sunburst proudly. But I can still give a blessing, still shield a friend, still swing a mace if things turn foul.”
He picked up his jug and set it aside, untouched once more.
“Just one thing,” he added quietly. “If we run into that Asmodean priest… don’t ask me to pretend respect. I can keep my voice down. But I won’t bow.”
Rhyssa murmured from the shadows, “The fire in you still burns, Caldus.”
He snorted. “Yeah. Sometimes I wish it didn’t.”
He turned back to Kaelus. “I’ll be ready.”
"It’s not respect," Kaelus said. "It’s deception. That’s the opposite. It’s looking them in the eye and stealing right from under them.” He patted the priest on the back. “You’re a straightforward man at heart… that’s going to get you in trouble sometime.”
Caldus gave a short laugh—dry, but genuine.
“It already has,” he said. “More than once. But I’ll take trouble over rot any day.”
He looked at Kaelus, and for a moment the years between them seemed to blur—like soldier to commander, or brother to brother.
“If we’re going to walk into the lion’s den,” he said, “then I’m glad it’s with you leading.”
He turned toward his small alcove, pulling the battered sunburst of Sarenrae down from its mount. “I’ll get my things ready.”
Rhyssa said nothing. She simply watched Kaelus through the curling threads of incense, eyes half-lidded, head tilted slightly—as if measuring fate by how he stood in its current.
The crypt grew quiet again.
Plans were in motion. Roles assigned. Tomorrow would bring the uniforms. And after that… the job.
Date: 10 Desnus, 4707 AR
Time: Mid-Morning
Place: Goldstreet Market, outside Gallivarre’s Bakery
The morning crowd was all perfume, silk gloves, and complaining about the price of saffron. Gallivarre’s was in full swing—deliveries loaded into iron-trimmed carts, kitchen hands barking at apprentices, and foremen checking lists against crates of candied nuts and smoked olives.
Selene stood beside Kaelus in a green velvet riding cloak, her hair pinned back like a noble’s second daughter running errands. She passed easily for someone who belonged here. Kaelus, in neutral grays and a cleaner shirt than usual, blended more with the merchant class—overlooked, but near enough to the action.
“There,” she murmured, nodding subtly.
Two men stood just behind the wine cart being prepped for Vyreview: one broad-shouldered with a chain of office around his neck, the other thin, clipboard in hand. Both wore Gallivarre’s white-laced coats, but theirs were trimmed with a different thread—wine-colored, marking them as inspectors.
Selene stepped forward with a satchel and a smile as smooth as warmed honey.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said brightly, slipping into their space with the practiced ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times. “My partner and I represent a client with a particular interest in today’s delivery to the Ornelos estate. A quiet interest.”
The broad-shouldered one—Velso, according to his stitched badge—eyed Kaelus with mild suspicion. The thin one looked at Selene, then at the satchel.
She offered it openly. Inside: 75 gold pieces in mixed Korvosan mint, no questions attached.
“No interference. No delay. Just a note on your ledger that you needed two extra hands today. Right faces, right uniforms. You let us in with the wine, no fuss. No memory.”
Velso grunted. “Bit risky. They’ve got a priest watching the inside.”
“Then it’s lucky we’re very good at not being interesting,” Selene said.
The thin inspector hesitated—then slowly nodded.
Velso reached out and took the satchel.
“You don’t cause a scene,” he said. “You don’t talk to the house staff. You go in, you unload, and then you’re gone.”
He gave Kaelus a longer look. “Your face sticks with me, though.”
Selene offered a soft smile. “No it won’t.”
Date: 10 Desnus, 4707 AR
Time: Twilight
Place: Vyreview Estate, The Heights – Western Service Gate
The sky was violet and gold as the sun dipped behind Castle Korvosa’s spires, casting long shadows over the manicured stones of the Heights. Carriages clattered beyond the walls, and the hum of strings drifted through the air like perfume.
At the western gate of Vyreview, the estate’s service arch yawned open just wide enough for the wine cart to roll through. Two stone-faced footmen in black waited inside the courtyard—unmoving, unspeaking, their eyes sliding over the inspectors and their team.
Kaelus wore the livery now: crisp, white-trimmed linen with a brass badge that caught the fading light just enough to look legitimate. Brinna was behind him, scowling under her breath about the fit of her coat. Caldus brought up the rear, a crate of vintage bottles balanced in his arms, his priest’s symbol tucked deep into his shirt.
The inspectors nodded once. One gave a muttered, “They’re with us,” and nothing more.
No questions. No halts.
They were in.
The western hall was cool and quiet, polished marble beneath Kaelus’s feet, lined with wine racks and spare linens. He passed a side room where two servants arranged porcelain platters under candlelight. No one looked his way. No one cared.
Overhead, laughter and clinking glasses signaled the recital had begun.
A moment later, as the inspectors moved on ahead with the cart, Kaelus found himself alone at the edge of Vyreview’s inner sanctum with Brinna and Caldus.
The study—their target—was two floors above. Eastern wing. Hidden ledger. Warded floorboard.
And somewhere in the house, a priest of Asmodeus with a scribe and a private scroll.
Brinna whispered, “This is the quiet part, right? Before it all goes loud?”
Caldus exhaled. “Let’s hope it doesn’t go loud at all.”
Kaelus picked up a tray with wine and nodded to the others to grab something to make them look like workers doing work. Act like you’re supposed to be there and most people never questioned it. Then he headed toward the servant stairs. Manors always had servant stairs. Couldn’t have the help using the same hallways as the masters. Two flights up... then the study.
They moved like cogs in the wheel—silent, steady, part of the machinery the house was too proud to notice.
Kaelus walked with the smooth ease of a man who'd carried things through tighter corners and darker corridors. The tray of wine rested naturally on one hand, his free hand close to his side but ready for anything. Caldus cradled a smaller crate, draped in cloth, muttering faint prayers that could easily pass as counting labels. Brinna carried a stack of folded linens under one arm and a brass polishing cloth in the other, grumbling like a servant two hours past her shift.
The servant stairs were exactly where they should have been: tucked between the pantry hall and a closet stacked with silver trays. They slipped inside without pause.
The stairs were narrow, the stone worn smooth from decades of foot traffic, and lit only by slit windows and a faint lantern hanging halfway up the landing. Every creak beneath their feet felt amplified—yet no shouts followed. No guards came.
At the second floor landing, the sounds of the recital faded into a distant hum, softened by thick walls and velvet drapes. This was the quiet floor—the private one. No music. No chatter. Just polished silence.
The study was close. Kaelus recognized it from Selene’s sketches and Devargo’s parchment. Brass-handled double doors. A long runner leading to a tower-facing window. Bookcases on either side. Curtains drawn. Locked, of course—but the kind of lock Brinna could whisper open with a bobby pin and a curse.
Brinna crouched at the door.
“Standard Korvosan tumbler,” she murmured. “Old, but tricky. Probably a second latch. Gimme a breath.”
Caldus stepped back, watching both ends of the hall.
Kaelus nodded to Brinna to continue. You didn’t bring a lockpick and then question her.
Brinna didn’t speak—she just gave a little tilt of her chin that said finally and pulled a slender pick from her sleeve like it was part of her finger.
There was the soft click of tumblers, a pause, then a barely audible thnk as the second latch gave way. She exhaled slowly, opened the door a hair, and slipped inside with the grace of someone born in tighter quarters.
Kaelus followed.
The study was exactly what he expected—and nothing like it.
Dark oak paneling lined the walls, polished to a dull gleam. A heavy desk stood in the center like an altar to coin and secrets, its drawers closed, its surface spotless save for a single inkwell and two quills laid out like ritual blades. Shelves crowded with treatises and record books climbed the walls. To the left, an empty brandy glass still glistened on a sideboard.
But the floor…
Kaelus spotted it immediately.
A faint seam between planks beneath the long reading rug. Just slightly misaligned. Too clean.
Brinna followed his gaze and knelt, hands brushing over the carpet. “Here we go,” she whispered. “You want me to open it? Or do you want Rhyssa’s veil first?”
Caldus hovered near the door, listening. Watching.
No one had come. Not yet.
But time never waited forever.
Kaelus leaned forward and whispered to Brinna as he entered the study. “You’re very sexy with lockpicks.”
“Rhyssa’s veil is going to get us out of here unseen,” he added under his breath. “Open it, but carefully. We need to be gone.”
He looked to Caldus and gave a nod of encouragement.
Brinna gave a wicked little grin without looking up. “Careful’s my middle name,” she whispered back. “Right after ‘Don’t Touch That, It’s Armed.’”
Her hands moved like dancers—light, precise, reverent in their irreverence. She peeled back the rug, exposed the seam, then tapped once with a narrow brass tool. There was a hollow thud beneath.
She exhaled and whispered, “Trap ward here. Old sigil work. Non-lethal. Probably alarm.”
Her fingers danced again—tracing the edge, sliding a needle beneath one rune and dragging it slowly, like a razor across glass. She whispered something low and fast in Dwarven, and Kaelus felt a pressure ease in the room. A silent weight that had been coiled, waiting.
Brinna clicked her tongue. “It’s quiet now.”
She lifted the board.
Inside: a long, narrow compartment lined with red velvet—and a thick, leather-bound ledger with a crimson ribbon threaded between pages. Its edges were gilded. No title on the cover. Just a small, pressed seal of the Ornelos crest in the lower right corner.
Kaelus didn’t need to open it to know it was the real thing. The air in the room had changed.
Brinna carefully lifted it out and handed it to him like a priestess passing a relic.
From the hallway, Caldus whispered: “Someone’s walking. Slow steps. One person. Still distant.”
Brinna already had the fake ledger in her hands. “Say the word, Boss.”
Kaelus took the ledger and slipped it into his belt. He dropped the fake in and nodded for Brinna to reset the safe. He then gestured for the others to gather with him in a corner between shelves—away from the door.
"If the walker comes in," he whispered to Brinna, "trigger the veil. It'll hide us until whoever it is leaves... I hope."
Brinna nodded, already lowering the board back into place with practiced care. The click was so soft it might’ve been imagined.
She pulled the rug over the seam, smoothed it with one pass of her hand, and joined Kaelus and Caldus in the narrow gap between two towering shelves. Shadows gathered there naturally—deepened by the heavy curtains and poor lighting of a room meant for private thought, not inspection.
Caldus stood to one side, hands low, breathing slow. Brinna crouched slightly, fingers hovering near the veil charm tucked in her belt pouch—a curl of silver thread and soft ash bound together with her own blood.
Footsteps approached. Slower now.
And then…
The door creaked open.
Kaelus held his breath.
A tall figure entered, robed in crimson and black. Not Ornelos—too gaunt, too pale, too meticulous in every movement. The Asmodean priest. He stepped to the desk without pause, opened a drawer, and pulled out a short scroll case. He didn’t glance toward the hidden compartment—didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.
But then…
He paused.
He looked to the brandy glass on the sideboard. Tilted his head. Frowned.
Brinna’s fingers twitched.
The priest took two slow steps toward the glass—lifted it, sniffed, set it down.
Then turned and left.
The door shut with a soft click.
Silence.
Brinna exhaled with a hiss. “That wasn’t just luck.”
Caldus nodded once. “He didn’t sense us. But he felt something.”
Kaelus nodded toward the door. “Let’s get out of here. Same way we came up. Act like you belong.”
Brinna gave a quick double-tap to her coat buttons, resetting her “working servant” scowl. “I always belong,” she muttered.
Caldus gave a single nod, face returning to the calm, detached expression of a man carrying wine and not a holy grudge.
They slipped from the study, pulling the door softly shut behind them.
The hallway was empty—just polished floor, quiet sconces, and the distant sound of strings and laughter still drifting from the recital below. The priest had vanished deeper into the east wing. No guards. No stewards. The house was focused elsewhere.
Step by step, they moved.
Down the servant stairs, one creak at a time. Back through the hallway where another delivery team unloaded baskets of sugared fruit, none of them giving more than a glance.
They exited the side door with the last of the empty crates.
No shouts followed.
The inspectors saw them and gave only the smallest nod—just enough to mark the deal kept.
And just like that, Kaelus was in the street again. Just three tired workers finishing a shift. No ledger. No crime.
No trace.
Date: 10 Desnus, 4707 AR
Time: Late Night
Place: The Crypt beneath the Chapel of Aroden
The soft sound of boots on stone echoed as Kaelus descended the ladder first, the weight of the ledger firm against his ribs. Caldus followed in silence. Brinna came last, muttering about the smell of dry incense and “old stone that judges you."
Rhyssa was already waiting.
She sat in the corner with her hands folded, Morlen perched above her on the beam, one eye glowing faintly in the low lantern light. The bird turned its head at Kaelus’s arrival and croaked, “Thread pulled."
“Good,” Rhyssa said simply. “The web tightens."
Selene sat near the altar, half-draped across a bench like she’d just woken from a nap she’d never meant to take. Her eyes lit up when she saw them return whole.
“Smooth?” she asked, standing.
Brinna shrugged. “Quiet. Close. But clean."
Caldus unslung the crate and sat. “No alarms. But the priest… sensed something."
Selene’s brow furrowed, but she nodded and stepped aside.
Kaelus placed the ledger on the table—the real one this time.
The red ribbon was still tucked neatly inside. The crest of House Ornelos caught the candlelight like blood on black velvet.
Brinna rubbed her hands together. “So… we cracking it open?”
Rhyssa didn’t move. “We should be ready. Words in a book are more dangerous than blades."
Caldus looked to Kaelus. “This is your game now."
All eyes turned to him.
The book waited.
Kaelus walked to Morlen. "I like you, bird, but you creep me out sometimes." Then he gave the raven a piece of bread.
Morlen clicked his beak, accepted the bread delicately, and said with eerie clarity, “Disappointment... noted."
He placed the book on the table. "Rhyssa, Caldus... make sure there's no magical wards or traps that will trigger if we open this. To the best of your abilities, of course. If a fireball goes off and we all die, I'll be highly disappointed though."
Rhyssa rose in one smooth motion, stepping into the soft pool of candlelight that framed the ledger like an unspoken shrine. Caldus moved opposite her, drawing out a small bronze medallion—its sunburst edges chipped, but still potent.
“No promises,” Rhyssa said as she reached into her pouch, “but if it’s warded, we’ll know before it bites."
She drew a pinch of silver ash across her palm and muttered a Varisian phrase under her breath—old dialect, older rhythm. Her eyes glazed for a moment with a shimmer of green-blue light.
Caldus intoned a soft blessing, fingers hovering near the book but never touching.
For a tense moment, nothing happened.
Then Rhyssa spoke.
“It’s clean. No glyphs, no traps, no tracking tether. But—” her gaze narrowed, “—something was bound to it once. A sigil stripped. Torn away, not dispelled."
Caldus nodded grimly. “That’s dangerous magic. They hid the book’s past before it left the manor."
Rhyssa added, “If we open it, we won’t trigger anything arcane… but what’s inside might not be the only danger."
She stepped back.
"Brinna, check to make sure no more mundane protections are being used," Kaelus said. "This thing is valuable. I don't want to stumble into anything."
Brinna gave a short, two-fingered salute and stepped up to the altar like it was just another lock to pick—or possibly disarm.
“No blades in the spine, no pins in the binding,” she muttered as she circled it slowly. “Could be poisoned paper, ink laced with belladonna, false pages, cipher seals… never trust a noble with secrets.”
She pulled a narrow wand of wood from her belt—not magical, but carved with measuring marks and inlaid with a faint strip of brass. With it, she prodded the edges of the ledger, then slid a thin loop of wire between the pages near the ribbon marker.
Tick.
She froze.
Her eyes narrowed. “Ah. Clever bastard.”
She reached in carefully, tweezers now, and extracted a hair-thin needle tucked into the binding—designed to jab the finger of the first fool who flipped to page twenty-one. “Poisoned. Not instantly fatal, but you’d lose a night or two of your life.”
She tucked the needle into a stoppered vial and blew a short breath.
“Now it’s clean.”
She stepped back, grinning. “And whoever set that trap just lost their little secret.”
Kaelus stepped forward and gently flipped the cover of the book open. He scanned to see the shape of what they had gotten before actually looking more closely to read.
The ledger opened with a faint creak of leather and gold-threaded linen. The paper inside was thick, finely pressed, faintly yellowed from age—but pristine in its care. Kaelus knew quality when he saw it. This wasn’t a ledger made to survive; it was made to last.
The first page bore no title. Just a number in the upper corner—I—followed by a single line of elegant, curling script:
“Every debt is a lever. Every favor a blade.” —A.O.
He turned the page.
What followed was not a simple ledger of coin. This was no merchant’s book. It was a map of power, written in a language of bribes, veiled threats, blood-deep loyalty, and precise ruin.
Each entry contained:
A name. Sometimes a noble. Sometimes a merchant. Sometimes a guard captain, or a tax clerk, or a minor mage.
A transaction. “Secured son’s acceptance into Acadamae, bypassing trial.” “Silenced servant who overheard Council conversation.” “Removed competitor’s ship from harbor schedule—permanently.”
A cost. Gold. Flesh. Silence. Favors owed in return.
Dozens of entries, all neat. All deliberate.
Some bore symbols beside them:
A spider for Cerulean Society ties.
A coin for bribes still unpaid.
A sword for favors enforced through violence.
A flame—used sparingly—for loose ends tied too neatly.
Near the midpoint of the book, Kaelus’s eyes landed on a name:
“Garr Vancaskerkin – Field Contract”
And beside it: a coin, a sword, and a spider.
Brinna leaned in behind him. “Mother of traps. This isn’t a ledger—it’s a menu for leverage.”
Selene exhaled slowly. “Barvasi’s going to be a god with this.”
Rhyssa only watched Kaelus.
“What are you going to be?”
"I'm going to do what we were paid to do," Kaelus said as he sat back in thought. "The first rule is what? Never renegotiate the deal."
After a few seconds he turned to Brinna and Caldus. "How quickly can you copy this?"
Then, to Rhyssa, "Do you have any memory charms?"
Brinna leaned against the table, tapping one calloused finger against her temple. “Copying, huh? Depends on what you want. Quick and dirty? I can get the bones of it in a couple hours—names, symbols, some shorthand. Want it exact? Script, formatting, paper weight, the works? That’s a full day, maybe more.”
She looked at the book again and muttered, “Though I do have some stencils from that shipping forgery job…”
Caldus gave a small nod. “I can help. My script’s clean, and I know when to keep my mouth shut.”
Meanwhile, Rhyssa tilted her head at Kaelus, eyes distant and measuring. “Memory charms are… volatile,” she said softly. “They work best on those who want to forget, or at least fear remembering.”
She reached into her pouch and drew out a folded scrap of vellum, held shut with twine. “I have one. Single use. If cast right, it will cloud the memory of the last hour—soften it, scatter details. But it leaves a taste in the mind. And it doesn’t erase intent.”
She fixed her gaze on Kaelus. “You thinking of using it on Barvasi?”
Selene frowned from her seat. “That’s a tightrope. If he catches wind you touched his mind…”
Brinna snorted. “He’ll peel us all and wear our faces to the next ball.”
The crypt quieted.
“No. You’re going to use it on me,” Kaelus said, grinning. “I’m going to deliver our prize to him. He’s going to ask me if I looked... and likely have some sort of magical lie detection going. I want to have forgotten that I looked. You all can give me my memory back or clue me in again when I return.”
He rested a hand on the ledger. “I don’t care about it looking exactly the same as this ledger. I just want the information. Someone besides Barvasi needs to have this. It'll make the playing field more even.”
For a moment, the crypt was dead quiet—only the faint crackle of the lantern and the slow, deliberate tapping of Brinna’s finger on the table.
Then Selene let out a low breath and gave a small, crooked smile. “That… is exactly the kind of move I’d expect from you.”
Caldus folded his arms. “You sure about this? Rhyssa’s good, but memory’s not like a coat you take off and hang up. Sometimes it… folds.”
Brinna raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna forget what we’re copying. Forget the leverage we have. Might forget how close we came to getting caught, too.”
Rhyssa, silent until now, stepped forward and unwrapped the scrap of vellum with a care that made the others stop talking. The inside revealed a simple sigil—drawn in black and silver, flickering faintly in the candlelight like it was breathing.
“It will take the memory of the last half hour,” she said. “You’ll lose the ledger. The priest. The corner of your mind that just started weighing names like gold.”
She looked at him deeply, seriously. “Do you choose this?”
Kaelus didn’t blink.
Rhyssa nodded. “Then sit.”
She placed the charm on his brow, her fingers light and cold, her voice whispering words that bent the air—not harshly, but like mist drawn away from glass.
And then—
A flutter. A blink. A breath.
Kaelus opened his eyes.
The book sat on the table. Closed.
The others looked at him with a weight in their expressions he couldn’t quite place.
Rhyssa stepped back. “You’re clear.”
Selene said, “You asked us to remind you when you came back.”
Brinna grinned, bittersweet. “That was clever as hell. Let’s just hope he doesn’t ask you what your second-favorite entry was.”
Caldus looked to Kaelus with calm certainty. “We’ve got your memory in ink now. You bought us time.”
Date: 11 Desnus, 4707 AR
Time: Mid-Morning
Place: Eel’s End – The Dragon’s Deck, Devargo Barvasi’s Private Lounge
The river stank of rotting fish, perfume, and secrets. Sunlight caught on the oily surface like scales, and the creak of wood beneath Kaelus’s boots was the only warning before the guards stepped aside to let him pass.
He climbed the steps to the Dragon’s Deck, past bloodstained railing and fluttering silks that had seen better years. Inside, the stink of sweat, ale, and smoke curled around blackwood furniture and blood-red carpets. Devargo Barvasi sat on his old, throne-like chair with one leg draped over the armrest, spinning a thin-bladed dagger slowly between two fingers.
A cup of something dark and thick rested beside him.
He didn’t rise. He didn’t smile.
But his eyes flicked to the wrapped object in Kaelus’s hand like a starving dog watching a butcher.
“Well,” Barvasi said. “You don’t look dead. That’s promising."
One of the guards closed the door behind Kaelus. Soft. Final.
“You got my ledger?” Barvasi asked, eyes narrowing. “And more importantly… did you read it?”
A shimmer—not visible, but felt—hung in the air. A magic like warm breath against the skin. The kind of truth-detection spell that didn't ask politely.
"Second rule," Kaelus said as he handed the ledger to Barvasi. "Don't look at the take." He stepped back after delivering the goods. "You paid for a job. I did the job. That's the way it works, Barvasi."
Barvasi caught the ledger with one hand, but his eyes stayed locked on Kaelus for a long, dangerous moment.
The shimmer of magic tightened in the air… then dissipated like a sigh.
He chuckled.
“Second rule,” he echoed, cracking the ledger open just enough to see the ribbon. “Glad someone remembers the rules. Seems like fewer and fewer do these days."
He closed the book gently, almost reverently, and set it beside him on the throne-arm like it was a crown.
“You did good,” he said, voice lower now, heavier. “You walked into a nest of silk-draped vipers and came back with the fangs. You didn’t die. You didn’t fold. And you didn’t get greedy."
He nodded once to the guard at the side.
The man brought forward a small, lacquered box. Inside: coin. Neat stacks of it.
300 gold. Clean, Korvosan mint.
“Consider this a bonus,” Barvasi said. “For professionalism. And because I’m curious what you’ll do with it."
He leaned forward slightly.
“You ever decide you want a bigger bite of the city—come back. Quiet operators are in short supply. Especially ones who know when not to look.”
Date: 11 Desnus, 4707 AR
Time: Late Morning
Place: The Crypt beneath the Ruined Chapel of Aroden, The Heights – Korvosa
The descent into the crypt was quiet, the city’s noise muffled by old stone and thick shadows. Dust swirled lazily in the shaft of light that filtered down the stairwell behind him, and the heavy air smelled of soot, wax, and cold iron.
Faint witch-light glimmered from sconces set in the walls—flickering softly where the warding lanterns still held power. The old circle at the center of the crypt, carved long ago into the floor, still pulsed faintly. The runes curled like sleeping snakes, their edges worn with time, but the magic held.
Rhyssa stood near the circle, already waiting. Her shawl hung loose around her shoulders, and a ring of small charms dangled from one hand, catching the light with dull glints of metal and bone. She didn’t speak at first. Just watched him with that unreadable expression of hers.
Click sat on a low stone bench nearby, hunched over a length of wire she was threading through some small, hinged contraption. She looked up when Kaelus entered, gave a low whistle through her teeth, and returned to her work without comment. Caldus wasn’t visible—likely upstairs, keeping watch.
Rhyssa finally tilted her head. “You’re back earlier than I expected,” she said softly. “Was he convinced?”
Kaelus looked confused. "Convinced of what? We did the job. We got paid." He tossed the pouch of gold on the table. "He even gave us a bonus for keeping to the contract. Am I missing something?"
Rhyssa didn’t answer at first.
She studied Kaelus carefully—head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing not in suspicion, but recognition. Like a puzzle was falling into place.
The small bag of gold clinked softly as it landed on the stone table, rolling to a stop beside a half-melted candle stub and a cracked ink bottle. Click paused mid-thread, glanced toward him, then toward Rhyssa, and frowned faintly.
“You really don’t remember,” Rhyssa said, more to herself than anyone else. “Not just the specifics… none of it. Not even the decision to forget."
She stepped fully into the circle, the runes beneath her feet glowing faintly in response. “You told me to make it convincing. That if he scanned your mind, there’d be nothing to find. You asked me to bury the memory of what you really did with the ledger until you were back in the circle. Until you were safe."
Rhyssa held up the charm-ring and let it spin lazily around one finger.
“I can unlock it now. But once I do… whatever you were trying to protect yourself from, you’ll know again."
She looked at him evenly.
“Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
Kaelus looked at Rhyssa and then Click. "Should I be? I told you to make me forget? What, exactly?"
Rhyssa’s gaze lingered on Kaelus as the runes of the old binding circle began to stir beneath her feet—just a flicker, like breath moving through old embers. The charm-ring in her hand clicked softly against her wrist.
"You had us copy it," she said, voice low but steady. "Caldus took the notes. Click drew the diagrams. You didn’t touch the thing once the decision was made."
Her fingers passed gently through the air, brushing unseen strands of magic back into place.
“It’s all here,” she murmured, “just behind the veil. Names, deeds, symbols… and that question you wouldn’t answer. The one I asked when we read it."
She didn’t repeat it now.
A few steps behind her, the stone sarcophagus that held the copy of the ledger sat undisturbed. Wax seals, linen wrapping—just as Kaelus had instructed. They hadn’t opened it since.
Rhyssa extended one hand toward him, palm up.
“I can give it back. All of it. Just say the word.”
The magic hummed, waiting.
"I trust you," Kaelus said simply and stepped forward.
The moment his foot crossed into the circle, the air changed. The hum of arcane potential rose in pitch—subtle, but undeniable. Dust stirred in unseen currents. Rhyssa’s outstretched hand remained steady as she reached up and laid her fingers lightly against Kaelus’s temple.
She closed her eyes. Her lips moved without sound. A single charm on her ring flared dull blue, then cracked—spent.
There was no violent flash, no scream or lurch. Just a pressure behind the eyes. A breath held too long. And then—
Memory poured back in.
Not in a rush, but in layers—soft and sharp, clinical and cold:
Page after page of names, written in an Ornelos hand: smooth, practiced, arrogant.
Transactions of power: admissions to the Acadamae arranged through bribery, threats, or blood.
A servant girl’s silence bought and broken, followed by the word “flame.”
A council vote overturned with three payments and one debt of flesh.
And more. Dozens more.
Some names Kaelus knew. Some he would need time to learn.
🕷️ Spider. 💰 Coin. 🗡️ Sword. 🔥 Flame.
The ledger wasn’t leverage. It was a map. A master key to how power actually worked in Korvosa—across noble houses, underworld guilds, and magical circles alike. Barvasi hadn’t lied when he said the job mattered.
The final memory settled into place like the last tile of a mosaic:
Rhyssa asking, her voice hushed and wary: “What are you going to be?”
And his answer—quiet, certain, and still true: “I’m going to do what we were paid to do. First rule? Never renegotiate the deal.”
But now, the deal was done. The rules? His.
The circle dimmed. Rhyssa stepped back, breathing a little heavier than before.
“Well?” she asked.
Click had stopped working. She was watching.
Kaelus stumbled for a second and reached out his hand to Rhyssa's shoulder to steady himself. "Well... that's disconcerting." He shook his head to clear it, then looked at the gold on the table and smirked. "I almost feel bad about taking the bonus now."
Rhyssa caught his arm without flinching, steadying him with a hand on his forearm. Her expression softened for a brief moment—just enough to show she was relieved he’d come through it whole.
Then her mouth quirked at the corner. “Almost,” she echoed. “I’ll alert the temple—you’re developing a conscience.”
Click snorted and leaned back on the bench, arms crossed. “We should spend it before it goes to your head. Or before Devargo decides he wants a refund."
She pointed a thumb toward the sealed sarcophagus. “That thing’s still wrapped. Still dry. I haven’t cracked it since the night we locked it away. If we’re going to use it… we should talk about how."
The faint creak of old stone above hinted at someone moving on the stair—likely Caldus returning. But for now, the crypt was quiet, and the weight of the memory still hung in the air.
Rhyssa studied Kaelus again. “You remember all of it?”
Click raised an eyebrow. “More important question—what do we do with it now?”
The ledger was a weapon. A map. A promise. And a threat.
Kaelus looked at the two women. "I don't know yet. I will though. I will."
Rhyssa nodded once, solemnly. Not pressing, not doubting—just acknowledging. “You always do,” she said, then turned away, moving to relight the old incense bowl near the circle’s edge. Her way of closing the ritual. Or maybe just clearing the air.
Click grunted, satisfied enough for now. “Good,” she said, pulling her tools back into her lap. “Let me know when you’re ready to crack open the city. I’ll bring the oil and the matches.”
The stairwell creaked again, and this time Caldus appeared—half-shadowed, robes askew, a flask of something suspiciously strong dangling from one hand. He paused at the sight of Kaelus in the circle and raised an eyebrow.
“Memory back?” he asked flatly.
He didn’t wait for an answer before taking a long pull and settling himself against the wall.
For a moment, everything felt still. Not quiet—there was too much behind their eyes for that—but steady.
The ledger was remembered. The copy remained sealed. And the city above them hadn’t changed… yet.