Rain fell lightly over Gildcrest, muting the sounds of the city. The usual ruckus of carts, hawkers, and bells faded into a rhythmic pattering—like the city was holding its breath.
Lucien sat in a candlelit library, deep in the estate of Lady Vernelle, a noblewoman with secrets too dangerous for the surface. Books lined the walls like soldiers standing at attention, and old dust danced in the air with every flicker of the flame.
Across from him, Lady Vernelle poured tea with the elegance of someone who'd been trained to do it even during war. Her smile was polite, but her eyes—sharp, calculating—never left him.
"You've been very busy," she said softly.
Lucien sipped the tea. "It's a busy city."
"You've unseated two bishops, crippled a merchant cartel, and now the nobles whisper your name. They don't say it out loud, but they know. Someone is outplaying them."
He set the cup down. "I'm just a man with a good memory and a long list."
She leaned in. "And a smile that unsettles the devout."
Lucien's lips curled slightly. "It gets the job done."
Lady Vernelle studied him for a moment. "Tell me, Lucien… What is it you really want?"
It was a question most people asked for negotiation. With her, it was curiosity.
Lucien didn't answer right away. His gaze wandered to the rain-laced window. Beyond it, the city stretched like a wound still healing.
"I want a world where people like me aren't born only to burn," he said. "Where the powerful bleed when they sin, and the poor aren't just stories written in ledgers."
Her brows rose. "That's idealistic."
"That's survival," he corrected. "It's not about tearing down the Church or the crown. It's about balance. About control."
Lady Vernelle exhaled. "You sound more dangerous than you look."
"I take that as a compliment."
---
Later that evening, Lucien met with Silna and Orren at the bell tower ruins, their unofficial gathering spot. The rain had soaked their cloaks, but no one complained. They had grown used to discomfort—it was the tradeoff for purpose.
Silna handed him a folded note. "From the orphanage contact. They say the Inquisition is sniffing around. A new officer arrived—Father Mikel. He's thorough."
Lucien read the note by the lightning's flash. "Then we'll need to stay three steps ahead instead of two."
Orren chuckled, tired. "Why not just kill the bastard?"
Lucien shook his head. "If we kill him now, we confirm our presence. Let him hunt shadows. Let him think he's close."
He paused, then added, "But plant a decoy. Someone who looks just guilty enough."
Silna grinned. "On it."
They worked for another hour, voices low and movements precise. Each conversation, each plan, was another piece in a puzzle no one else could see.
---
Back at his chamber—an underground room lined with stone and maps—Lucien opened an old, tattered book.
It was his mother's.
One of the only things that survived the fire.
He traced the ink with his fingers. She used to read him stories of noble knights, of justice served in full and evil punished without mercy.
He used to believe those stories.
Now, he lived in a world where justice was sold in silence and evil smiled from gilded thrones.
Still, part of him… part of him wanted to believe again.
He stood, facing the mirror on the far wall.
His reflection stared back—so calm, so controlled. But beneath that, he saw it: the faint tremble in his jaw, the tension in his brow.
He forced a smile. Not the cold grin. A real one.
It cracked.
But it held.
---
At midnight, as the city slept and the rain turned to mist, Lucien climbed to the top of the broken spire above the ruins. From there, he could see the cathedral glowing like a golden cage. The nobles' district shimmered in the distance.
So much wealth. So much power. So many blind eyes.
And yet… so many watching him now.
He closed his eyes and whispered to the night, "You'll remember me. Not as a king. Not as a martyr. But as the one who smiled when everything was burning."
He opened his eyes.
And the devil's smile returned.
---
End of chapter 20