Date: 11 Desnus, 4707 AR  
Time: Late Afternoon
Place: Varnlo’s Antiquarian, The Heights, Korvosa

The sign above Varnlo’s Antiquarian hung like a forgotten promise, its paint chipped and peeling, barely legible against the weathered wood. Tucked between a shuttered tailor’s shop and an abandoned tenement, the narrow storefront seemed to shrink from the bustle of The Heights. Soot smeared the door’s glass pane, and a cracked bell let out a mournful jingle as Kaelus Shade pushed his way inside.

The shop was a labyrinth of shadow and clutter, its walls lined with teetering bookshelves, locked cabinets, and rolled maps bound in brittle twine. The air carried the faint bite of dried herbs, moldy paper, and pipe smoke, as if time itself had settled here to rest. No lanterns burned—Varnlo always claimed his eyes preferred the dark. From somewhere deep within the stacks, the soft rustle of a turning page broke the silence.

“I’d say you’ve come to borrow something,” came a voice from the gloom, sharp and dry, “but you never return what I give you.”

A shape stirred behind a pile of tax ledgers and Acadamae treatises. Uncle Varnlo stepped into the dim light, his worn green coat hanging loose on narrow shoulders. Iron-gray hair, cropped shorter than Kaelus remembered, framed a face etched with new lines, but his pale eyes gleamed with the same piercing clarity. Thin reading spectacles perched on his nose, catching the faint glow of a distant sunbeam.

“I heard your name twice this week,” Varnlo said, his tone mild but weighted. “Once from a girl with ink under her nails. Once from a man who smells of fish and lies for coin.” His gaze pinned Kaelus like a blade through parchment. “Neither said anything I didn’t already know. But old names don’t get whispered for nothing.”

He gestured to a leather chair beside a cluttered desk piled with maps and a brass kettle. “Sit. Before your shadow outgrows your plans.”

Kaelus grinned, tossing a small pouch of Tian Xia tea across the desk. It landed neatly in Varnlo’s hand, his fingers closing around it without a glance. “Something to make up for what I don’t return, Uncle,” Kaelus said, dropping into the chair with an easy grace. “You know better than to listen to rumors.”

Varnlo’s fingers lingered on the pouch’s drawstring, a faint grunt of approval escaping him as he tucked it into his coat. “I listen to all rumors,” he said, settling behind the desk with a creak of wood and bone. “But I only believe the ones that smell of ash and blood.” He poured a cup of steaming tea from the kettle, setting it just beyond Kaelus’s reach—a silent reminder of the shop’s unspoken rules. The second cup he kept for himself, its fragrance curling between them.

“You’ve stirred something, boy,” Varnlo said, tapping the rim of his cup. “You always wanted to leave a mark, but marks draw eyes. And eyes bring memories you might not want.” His gaze sharpened over his spectacles. “You’re not here to boast. You’ve got that look—like you’re reading a ledger and wondering if it’s real, or just a list of everyone you’ll disappoint.”

Steam rose in the quiet. Dust drifted through a lazy sunbeam. Varnlo leaned forward. “What did you find this time?” His voice was softer now, not jabbing but searching, as if he could hear truth before it was spoken.

Kaelus met his gaze, his own voice low. “A fulcrum.” He let the word hang, heavy with intent. “Tell me, Uncle, how would you like a city where the shadows answered to Barvasi?”

Varnlo’s hand paused, the cup halfway to his lips. His eyes didn’t waver, but a slow breath hissed through his nose. He set the tea down, untouched. “A fulcrum,” he echoed, tasting the word. “You found something that could tip Korvosa.” He leaned back, fingers steepled beneath his chin, his stare dissecting Kaelus like a scholar parsing a cursed text. “Barvasi doesn’t rule shadows. He borrows them from men who bleed slower. If he ever truly ruled, Korvosa wouldn’t have crime—it’d have a new kind of nobility. Sharper knives. Lower ceilings.”

He gave a faint scoff, then fixed Kaelus with an unreadable look. “You’re not asking what I want. You’re asking if it can be stopped. And if you can stop it.” A pause, then, sharper: “Tell me what’s in your hands, Kaelus. Not what you gave him. What you kept.”

Kaelus hesitated, weighing his words. This was delicate ground. “Knowledge,” he said at last. “Vices. Bribes. Names. Ledger information. Barvasi has it.” He took a breath, steadying himself. “I might have broken Rule Two.”

Varnlo’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something—disapproval, perhaps—crossing his face. “Rule Two,” he murmured, as if summoning its weight. “Don’t look at the take.” His jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he rose, slow and deliberate, and crossed to a shelf, pulling free a slim red book without a title. He laid it open on the desk, revealing an old siege plan of Castle Korvosa—lines of attack, escape routes, kill zones. He tapped the center of the map.

“Knowledge is a fulcrum, yes. But only if it’s placed right.” His voice was quiet, but it carried the edge of a blade. “Barvasi has it, you say. But you know what he has. That makes you more dangerous than he thinks—and more valuable than you meant to be.” He closed the book with a soft thud. “What does he think you don’t know?”

Kaelus leaned forward, his voice steady despite the weight of Varnlo’s stare. “He thinks I don’t know what I stole. He believes he’s the only one with the information.” He shrugged, a calculated nonchalance. “Here’s the thing, Uncle. I’m no fan of the Cerulean Society, but a city under Barvasi would be a rotting cesspool. I don’t have the power to use this knowledge myself, not to oppose him. I need a buyer—someone with the kind of influence to keep him in check. I want to level the playing field, make sure Barvasi has competition.” He gave Varnlo a searching look. “You know people I don’t.”

Varnlo let out a low breath, almost a laugh that didn’t quite surface. “So,” he said, “you want to sell a secret to balance the scale. Not for coin. For consequence.” He nodded once, as if the clarity pleased him. “I know people. But knowing them isn’t the same as trusting them with what you’re offering. You need someone who won’t flinch at that ledger—and won’t turn it into another empire of mud.”

He moved to a shadowed shelf, where the books bore no titles, only brands and wax seals. From between two volumes, he drew a slender wooden box, unlocking it with a small brass key from around his neck. Inside was a bundle of letters tied in red silk. “I could make introductions,” he said, his voice low. “But once this leaves your hands, it’s no longer leverage. It’s a fuse. You can’t sell it twice. You can’t unsay it. And you won’t control what follows.” He set the bundle on the desk and tapped it once. “Three people might qualify. I’ll tell you about one.”

His eyes locked onto Kaelus’s, sharp as a blade’s edge. “But if I do, you’d better be damn sure why you’re doing this. Not just what you’re stopping. Not just what you’re building.”

Kaelus didn’t flinch. “Give me the name, Uncle. Set up a meet if you can. I don’t mind a fuse, as long as it keeps the balance now. The explosion’s a problem for Future Kaelus.” He flashed a faint smile. “Rule Six—let the future fend for itself.”

Varnlo’s sharp breath might have been a laugh or a sigh of resignation. “Rule Six,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You and your damned rules.” He untied the silk, pulling a single yellowed letter with a wax seal—five concentric rings in tarnished gold. He studied it briefly, then slid it across the desk. “She won’t read it,” he said. “But she’ll know the seal.”

He paused, letting the moment settle. “Her name is Velindra Thrice.” His voice dropped, careful now. “Not a noble. Not Cerulean. She was a city magistrate once. Fought corruption. Lost everything. Vanished.” He met Kaelus’s gaze. “She’s back now. I don’t know who she works for—or if she works for anyone. But she collects knives she never plans to use, just to remind people they’re there.”

Varnlo took a sip of his now-cold tea, grimaced, and set it aside. “She won’t trust you. Not at first. But if you offer her something Barvasi thinks he owns, she’ll listen.” He pushed the letter closer. “She moves between Safehouse Row and Tanners’ District, disguised as trade inspectors or corrupt customs officers. I’ll try to get word to her. But move fast—once she knows what you’re holding, you’re part of the balance.”

He raised an eyebrow, a faint challenge in his gaze. “And I doubt she believes in Rule Six.”

The shop fell silent, the weight of the letter and the name it carried settling between them like dust in the fading light.

Date: 12 Desnus, 4707 AR
Time: Late Night
Place: The Crypt, Brinna’s Corner Workshop, Old Korvosa

The crypt beneath the Chapel of Aroden was a world apart from Korvosa’s clamor, its silence punctuated only by the faint drip of water seeping through ancient stone and the distant clatter of carts in the city above. In Brinna Flintnose’s corner workshop, the air hummed with a different kind of life. Tools clinked, gears whirred, and the occasional hiss of alchemical powder catching heat broke the stillness. The space was a chaotic shrine to invention—wire coils dangling like jungle vines, lenses glinting in the dim light, and a small forge glowing sullenly in one corner, casting a ruddy warmth over the jumble of stolen clockwork and apothecary scraps.

Kaelus Shade stepped into the workshop, his boots soft against the stone floor. Brinna was hunched over a brass contraption the size of a melon, its surface etched with tiny runes that flickered under her deft fingers. She didn’t look up. “Gimme the thin file,” she said, her voice clipped with focus.

When no file appeared, she paused, glancing up through a pair of goggles pushed haphazardly onto her forehead. Her soot-streaked face split into a grin. “Oh, it’s you. Thought you were Caldus again, hovering like a crow with a guilty conscience.” She slid the device aside and stood, stretching with a jangle of tools tucked into her belt. “You here to talk shop, boss? Or did you finally realize what a terrible idea it was not to sell that ledger twice?”

Kaelus hopped onto the workbench, his grin sharp and easy. “Pretty sure crows don’t feel guilt,” he said, settling in with a casual air. “Was wondering what you’re working on… and who said I wasn’t selling it twice?”

Brinna barked a laugh, sharp and bright. “That’s the spirit,” she said, tugging off a leather glove with her teeth and tossing it onto the bench. “Long as nobody knows how many copies you’ve made, you’re not selling anything—you’re licensing opportunities.” She leaned against the wall, the forge’s glow catching the mischief in her eyes. “As for this…” She nudged the brass device with a finger, coaxing a low whir as gears shifted and clicked back into place. “A gift for Barvasi. If he ever decides you’re worth stabbing. Non-lethal. Probably.” Her grin widened. “Mostly a message: ‘Next time you send someone through my door, they’ll leave with less eyebrow than they came with.’”

She grabbed a stirring rod and poked at the forge, sparks flaring briefly. Then her voice dropped, almost too casual. “You think she’s gonna be the better tyrant? Velindra.”

Kaelus tilted his head, catching the weight behind her words. “I’m only selling it twice,” he said, his grin returning. “Second time, the currency’s not primarily gold.” He nodded at the contraption. “How many times has one of these blown up on you? And yeah, I think a rabid bunyip would be a better tyrant than Barvasi.”

“Only twice this month,” Brinna shot back, tapping the device like it was a pet. “Second one was a ‘rapid unplanned disassembly,’ thank you very much. This one’s got better manners. I think.” She straightened, her grin fading into something more serious. “Good. I was hoping that was your answer.” She crossed to the workbench, dragging a rag through her hands, and stopped beside him, her voice low and steady. “Look, Kael… I don’t care who sits on the gutter throne. Not really. But I care about you getting caught underneath it. That ledger’s the kind of thing people kill dynasties over. And people like us? We don’t have dynasties. We’ve got hidey-holes, fake names, and a couple deadbolts between us and a noble’s bad day.” She gave him a sideways glance. “You’re selling to buyers bigger than you. If they turn on each other, which side are you on? And don’t say ‘the side that wins.’ That’s Rule Seven, and it’s boring.”

Kaelus picked up a stray tool, twirling it absently. “I’m on the side I chose to sell to, not the one I was obligated to,” he said, his tone firm. “Barvasi knew what he was stealing. Paid us a pittance and acted like he’d done us a favor. That tells me what kind of relationship we’d have with him. Besides, he’s… wrong.” He set the tool down, meeting her gaze. “Don’t sell us short, Click. There might just be a throne for us out there.”

Brinna watched him, her expression still for a long moment. Then she nodded, slow and deliberate. “Alright. That’s the kind of stupid I can follow.” She dropped into a chair, kicking her boots onto the workbench with a clatter. “Just promise me, if we get that throne, you let me wire the legs. Just in case.” Her grin returned, warmer now. “And Kael… make sure it’s got room for all of us. I don’t want to die in an alley watching someone else rule with what we bled for.”

She pulled a bent gear from her pocket, working it with a file as the forge hissed softly behind them. The moment settled, not resolved but banked, like a fire waiting for the next gust.

Date: 13 Desnus, 4707 AR
Time: Early Morning
Place: The Crypt, Upper Hallway, Makeshift Library Nook, Old Korvosa

The upper hallway of the crypt smelled of damp stone and old ink, its shadows softened by the pale morning haze filtering through cracked windows. Kaelus moved quietly, his steps barely stirring the dust on the ancient floor. A faint golden glow spilled from a small study chamber, candlelight flickering beneath the doorframe.

Inside, Selene sat in a high-backed chair, her hair braided and pinned, her attire more suited to a noble salon than a thief’s hideout. A goblet of wine sat untouched beside her, and an unopened book rested in her lap, its ribbon marker dangling. She didn’t look up as Kaelus paused in the doorway.

“I heard you made contact with Velindra Thrice,” she said, her voice calm but edged with something unspoken. Her eyes flicked to his. “You didn’t give her the ledger. Not yet.” She leaned forward, her gaze sharp but not hostile. “I would’ve liked to know. Before.” She paused, leaving space for him to step into. “I assume you have a reason. Something more than a gamble. Or is this your idea of building trust—keeping everyone at just the right distance?”

Kaelus shut the door softly behind him, noting the tension in her posture. She was upset, though her composure hid the depth of it. He took a chair across from her, settling in with a quiet intensity. “You’re upset,” he said, not a question but a statement, his voice low and direct. “Why?”

Selene let the silence stretch, her eyes searching his—not for weakness, but for intent. Then she exhaled, her tone softening but no less precise. “I’m not upset because you met her. I’m upset because you didn’t think I’d be useful.” She gestured to the wineglass, the book, as if they were props in a play she no longer wanted to perform. “Velindra Thrice is one of Korvosa’s best-kept secrets. She doesn’t take meetings, and when she does, they’re not polite. That she spoke to you means she’s curious. And that makes her dangerous.” She leaned forward, the candlelight catching the silver thread in her sash. “You’re playing a political game now, Kaelus. With nobles, fixers, people like Barvasi and Velindra who trade in fear and favors and public ruin. I’ve walked those circles. I know what’s said behind fans and masks. And I know what happens to men who think they’re still just thieves.” Her voice held steady, but there was a plea beneath it. “I’m not upset you made the play. I’m upset you didn’t think I could help shape it.” She softened further, almost imperceptibly. “I want to be part of what you’re building. Not just the cleanup crew after your decisions are made.”

Kaelus nodded, her words sinking in. “That’s fair,” he said, his tone earnest. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Selene, I don’t understand you. I get the others, even Rhyssa—which might say something about my sanity. You’re good at what you do, and you pull your weight. No complaints there. But you come from up there, another world. You’re late, or you don’t show. You’re not here with us day in and day out. I know what the others want, mostly. Not you. If we build this thing and you get a chance to jump back to that world, will you abandon us for it? Are we just a stepping stone? What do you want?”

Selene didn’t flinch, but her expression shifted, a flicker of something raw crossing her face. She traced the rim of the wineglass, her voice quiet but unyielding. “I was raised behind red curtains and silver lies. My father taught me to smile while bleeding. My mother taught me to disappear while owning the room.” She paused, her gaze distant. “They gambled our name away before I was fourteen. By sixteen, I knew I’d never go back.” She looked at him now, not as a noble but as a survivor. “I don’t want that world. I just know how to navigate it—and what it takes to survive it.” She stood, crossing to the bookshelf, her back to him. “If you want honesty, I didn’t join you to climb back into ballrooms. I joined you because your world—the one with teeth—lets people like me bite back.” She touched a leather volume but didn’t pull it free, then turned, her face bare of pretense. “If we build something real, something that doesn’t beg nobles or the Society, I’m staying. Not because I have nowhere else to go. Because it might be the first thing worth staying for.”

Kaelus rose, stepping closer, his usual guarded demeanor giving way to something softer. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, a rare gesture. “That… I can get behind,” he said, his voice steady. “I want a place that doesn’t crush people just because it can. Somewhere that tells the powerful where to stick it. I’m sorry I didn’t bring you in on Velindra. Frankly, I didn’t know where you were and got impatient. That breaks Rule Eight: Patience. I should know better.” He turned her gently to face him, his eyes meeting hers. “I don’t abandon my friends, Selene. You’ve got a place here. Always.”

Selene’s gaze softened, a quiet breath escaping her. “I can work with Rule Eight,” she said, a whisper of a smile touching her lips. “As long as you don’t break Rule Nine—don’t lie to your crew.” There was no accusation, only a quiet boundary drawn between two people who’d walked alone too long. She covered his hand with hers, a brief, grounding touch. “Alright, Kaelus. Let’s build it.”

She stepped back, her poise returning but warmer now, the connection unbroken. “I’ll start assembling a dossier on Velindra,” she said, crossing to the desk and lifting the goblet, swirling it once. “No one knows what she’s after, but I can sketch the best picture the shadows offer.” Her smirk returned, faint but genuine. “Just let me know next time you light a fuse. I like to dress for the occasion.”

The candle flickered, its light steadying as the crypt’s quiet reclaimed the space. The game hadn’t paused, but for a moment, Kaelus and Selene stood on the same side of the board, their trust a foundation stronger than the stone around them.

 

Date: 16 Desnus, 4707 AR
Time: Late Morning
Place: The Crypt, Entrance Hall, Old Korvosa

The knock came like a heartbeat—three slow, deliberate raps echoing through the crumbling sanctuary above the crypt. It wasn’t loud, but it carried purpose, slicing through the damp stillness. Rhyssa moved first, slipping up the narrow stair like a wisp of smoke. Brinna Flintnose—Click—glanced up from her corner, her fingers pausing over a half-assembled gadget before sliding something sharp beneath a pile of cloth. Caldus was already climbing toward the surface, his robes swaying with a quiet urgency.

Kaelus Shade emerged into the sanctuary just as the intruder stepped inside, halting at the edge of the sunlight spilling through the broken façade. The man was middle-aged, his city-cut jacket and polished boots marking him as someone who belonged in finer districts. A retired magistrate’s seal gleamed on his lapel, its shine too pristine for active duty. He carried a black leather folio under one arm, and his posture was crisp, professional, unarmed. He bowed with practiced precision as Kaelus approached.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” he said, his voice smooth as polished stone. “I was told you’re a man who handles… delicate correspondence.” He opened the folio and produced a sealed envelope—thick vellum, unmarked by any noble crest but stamped with a dark red wax sigil: a single vertical eye, stark and unsettling, without pupil or border.

“I was instructed to deliver this to you directly,” the man continued, extending the letter. “You are Kaelus Shade?”

Kaelus studied him, his silver eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s polite to introduce yourself before asking after someone else,” he said, his tone light but pointed. He glanced at his crew, now gathering silently around the edges of the room. “In my business, it’s generally good to be polite. Rule Ten and all that.”

The man blinked, a faint smile curling one corner of his mouth—professional, not warm. “Of course,” he said, adjusting the folio. “I’m called Lurien. No surname you’d recognize, no office I still claim. I courier for clients who prefer shadows to stages.” He inclined his head. “I’m also a firm believer in Rule Ten. Though in my line, it’s often phrased: Names first. Knives second.” He offered the envelope again. “No weapons in this message. Just an invitation.”

Rhyssa had returned, leaning against the broken doorframe, her gaze unblinking. Caldus lingered on the stairs, his expression wary. Kaelus took the letter gently, his fingers brushing the vellum. The wax seal seemed to stare back, its abstract eye unnervingly alive. “You’re an efficient messenger,” he said, his voice casual but probing. “What if I wanted to send a message someday?”

Lurien’s smile deepened, a sign Kaelus had crossed an invisible line. “If it’s normal, I suggest a bird,” he said lightly. “If it’s important, find a woman named Esmé at the Shattered Flagon every Oathday. She’ll get it to me.” He tapped his folio once, a subtle gesture. “If it’s dangerous… fold it twice, seal it with wax, and burn a corner. Leave it in the fifth bench at the Bone Garden, just before dawn. I check it before the gravediggers.” He paused. “If I pick it up, I’ve accepted. If I don’t… you’re better off never sending it.”

He stepped back into the light, adjusting his cuffs with meticulous care. “No reply expected,” he said, nodding at the envelope. “But someone will know whether you read it… and how long it took.” He offered another bow, then added, almost as an afterthought, “They called you a quiet one. I didn’t expect the rules. But I like them.” With that, he slipped through the arch and vanished into the city’s hum, leaving only the weight of the letter behind.

Kaelus watched him go, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I like him,” he murmured. He crossed to the altar-table, gesturing for the others to join him. “I doubt this just concerns me.” He cracked the seal, the wax hissing as it split, and unfolded the single page inside. The parchment was heavy, its ink dark and shimmering, like oil on steel. No signature, no date, just words:

Mr. Shade,  
There is a truth beneath Korvosa that most are content to forget. You recently touched it.  
Some seek to rule with knowledge. Some seek to sell it. Some know better.  
If you would understand the game you are in, come to the place where the city weeps. One hour before midnight. Three nights hence.  
Bring no lies. Bring no blades.  
If you bring the ledger, do so knowing you will not leave with it.  
—👁

Rhyssa leaned closer, her eyes narrowing. Click tilted her head. “City weeps?” she muttered. Caldus spoke up, his voice gruff. “Either poetic nonsense or the Graywash Docks, where the old drains spill in flood season.” Rhyssa’s gaze lingered on the final line, her silence heavy: *Do so knowing you will not leave with it.*

“It could be the Gray,” Kaelus said, leaning back, his eyes narrowing in thought. “We weep when we lose someone… or so I hear.” He looked at the others. “Well, I ain’t taking the ledger, that’s for sure. It’s still hidden, right?”

Click nodded firmly, her fingers drumming the table. “Wrapped, waxed, untouched. Stone cradle beneath the altar. I check it daily. Rhyssa’s ward means only one of us can open it without screaming runes waking half the city.” Rhyssa’s voice was calm, certain. “It hasn’t moved. Neither has the alarm.” Caldus exhaled sharply. “I’d have bet on someone trying to snatch it by now. That they’re asking means they don’t know who has it. Yet.”

Click’s gaze flicked to Kaelus. “They’re done being polite. That’s not an offer—it’s a line in the alley.” Rhyssa spoke softly, her words cutting through. “They want to see who you are. Not what you’ll give.”

Kaelus stood, his decision settling like stone. “Move the ledger,” he said. “Protect it physically and magically, best you can. Don’t tell me where it is. Tell Selene when she gets back.” He met their eyes, steady and resolute. “I’ll go to their meet. Alone. I don’t think it’s the kind where you don’t have spies watching. If they try for the ledger, I won’t even know where it is.”

Click grinned, though her eyes were sharp. “Hate how smart that is. Means I can’t yell about it.” Caldus grunted, approving but reluctant. “Good doctrine. If you don’t know, they can’t take it from you. Still don’t like you going alone.” Rhyssa rose, her shawl rustling. “I’ll handle the protections. And the move. Quietly.” Click waved a hand, already moving. “I’ll help. If anyone sniffs it out, I want them chasing decoys.” Rhyssa paused at the stairs, her gaze lingering on Kaelus. She nodded once, understanding without protest. “Selene will understand,” she said simply.

The crypt hummed with quiet purpose, the crew moving as one. Kaelus had made his call, and they followed, the ledger set to vanish into shadows he wouldn’t trace. Three nights remained until the meeting, and the Eye’s game waited.

Date: 7 Neth, 4707 AR
Time: Early Evening
Place: The Crypt beneath the Chapel of Aroden, Old Korvosa

The crypt was alive with its own rhythm—Brinna’s quiet laughter as she packed away a spring-loaded snare, the faint clatter of her tools, and Caldus’s low mutterings from a corner alcove, a blend of prayer or complaints about whiskey and morality. At the long stone slab that served as their strategy table, Selene sat, surrounded by scrolls, wax-sealed notes, and a folded map of Old Korvosa. A pot of tea steamed beside her, its fragrance mingling with the crypt’s damp air. Her arrangement was meticulous—too precise for a noble’s affectation, too deliberate for chance. She’d changed since joining the crew, or perhaps found her true self in its shadows. Dressed in fine but practical attire, she looked up as Kaelus approached, one eyebrow arching. “Kaelus. Come to collect a report? Or to ask if the snake bites?” She gestured to the notes, her smile dry. “Velindra Thrice. She’s… layered. Shall we talk before you walk into her jaws?”

Kaelus grinned, settling into a chair. “That’s why I pay you and host you in the lap of luxury,” he teased, waving for her to continue. “All joking aside, go on. I don’t like going in blind.”

Selene sighed theatrically, leaning forward, her voice slipping into its velvet cadence. “Then let’s skip the rehearsal and get to the performance.” She tapped the map, pointing north of the docks. “Velindra Thrice, born to House Thrice, minor nobility tied to a long-dead Chelish admiral. Their fortune sank three generations ago—bad debts, worse decisions. She rebuilt it. Alone.” Her eyes sharpened. “Started with rumors and leverage—a bribe here, a secret sold there. Five years, she had mid-tier dock captains paying in coin or compliance. Ten, she was laundering money for nobles, running blackmail so quiet the Acadamae would envy her.” She smirked faintly. “Now, she runs half the gambling dens in Old Korvosa, whispers in three seneschal ears, and has a deal with the Cerulean Society to stay out of each other’s shadows. That’s rare. They hate independents.”

She slid a scroll across the table. “She keeps promises—if they’re written in blood or fear. She doesn’t bluff, never forgives betrayal, and she’ll test you, Kaelus, because that’s how she measures worth. But she’s not needlessly cruel. Pragmatic. Right now, she thinks you’re dangerous and useful. That’s why she hasn’t moved on you.” Her voice softened. “She’s likely read the ledger or guessed its contents. She knows you don’t trust Barvasi. She may not know why you’re doing this, but she knows it’s with intent.” She hesitated, then met his gaze, serious. “She’s not your enemy yet. Not your friend either. Go in clear-eyed. And don’t go alone unless you’re ready to bleed for what you bring.” She leaned back. “You sure you want to give her the copy?”

Kaelus leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “I don’t want to not give it to her. Barvasi’s got one. Someone else needs one to balance the scales, unless you want Barvasi as the big fish.” He grimaced, then fixed her with an intent look. “What do you think, Selene? What would you do?”

Selene’s gaze drifted to the scrolls, then to the crypt’s shadowed corners, her fingers drumming once on her teacup. “If it were me?” she said, her voice low and deliberate. “I’d give it to her. But not for free. And not without a noose in the other hand.” She met his eyes. “You’re right—Barvasi can’t hold that powder keg alone. But Velindra doesn’t need truth to be dangerous. She needs plausibility. Give her the ledger, she burns people with it—people who’d pat your shoulder one day and choke you the next. Keep it from her, she might see you as the bigger threat, hoarding cards no one else can touch.” She leaned closer. “So yes, I’d give it to her. But I’d make sure it’s just real enough to be useful, without handing her the fuse and the match. And I’d ask for names in return. Not coin, not favors—names. Korvosa’s moved by blackmail and quiet threats, not coin. Give her a weapon, but let her think it’s half-dulled. That’s what I’d do.” She sipped her tea, the cup clinking softly as she set it down. “But if you walk away, I’ll back you. Every step. Just don’t think she wants a partnership. She wants an angle.”

Kaelus nodded, his plan crystallizing. “Here’s the play,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m going in with Morlen on my shoulder, like a pet. I’m not taking the ledger. Rhyssa will have it, somewhere nearby. If I strike a deal, I’ll say so, loud enough for Morlen—and Rhyssa through him—to hear. She’ll deliver it.”

Selene’s lips curved, a predator’s grin flashing briefly. “Clever. Keeps you in control and tells her you don’t walk in blind. I like it.” She leaned back, her tone warming with approval. “Rhyssa’s subtle. If anyone can stay close without being seen, it’s her. Morlen might just seem like a decorative oddity to Velindra. Good choice.” Her expression turned serious. “Be ready. If she smells a stall, she’ll test you fast. But if she respects the game, she’ll play. Maybe even lean in.” She nodded once. “Go be charming. And careful. If it goes sideways, I’ll make sure the others are ready to burn the Goblet to the ground if we have to.”

The crypt’s shadows seemed to tighten, the crew’s loyalty a palpable force. Kaelus’s plan was set, a delicate balance of trust and caution, ready to face Velindra’s jaws with his crew’s strength at his back.

 

Date: 7 Neth, 4707 AR
Time: Late Evening
Place: The Copper Goblet, Hidden Room, Old Korvosa

The hidden room in the Copper Goblet was a shadowed cocoon, its layered rugs muffling sound, the air heavy with spiced wine and the weight of old secrets. Kaelus Shade stood as the false cask door shut behind him, Morlen’s tiny claws a familiar pressure on his shoulder, the raven’s presence a silent link to Rhyssa waiting somewhere beyond these walls with the ledger. Velindra Thrice stood by a table strewn with scrolls and a single goblet of dark red wine, her velvet gown blending into the flickering lamplight like a piece of the night itself.

Her eyes flicked to Morlen, a brief, amused glance that cataloged him without comment. “Kaelus,” she said, her voice warm iron. “You do dress for the occasion. And you brought a familiar? Or a spy? Or both?” Her smile didn’t touch her eyes. “I assume the ledger is close.” She gestured to the chair across from her. “Let’s not waste time. I’m ready to deal, and you’ve made it clear you came with terms. So. What do you want for it?”

Kaelus took the chair, leaning forward, his silver eyes steady. “Both and yes,” he said quietly, answering her question about Morlen. “You want the broad strokes or the details? What I want isn’t easily said in a word or two.”

Velindra’s brow arched, her gaze appraising, like a jeweler studying an uncut gem. “Give me the strokes first,” she said, settling into her seat. “Paint me a picture. If I like the shape, we’ll chisel out the details.” She sipped her wine, her eyes never leaving his. “And don’t worry about poetry. I’m fluent in ambition.”

Kaelus met her gaze, his voice matter-of-fact. “I want South Shore.” He let the words hang, watching her reaction. “I have a crew to pay, so I want a reasonable sum for them, but that’s minor stuff.”

Velindra’s goblet paused halfway to her lips, her expression still but charged with calculation. “South Shore,” she echoed, testing the name. “A noble district. New money. Clean faces. Guard patrols that don’t look the other way.” She set the glass down gently. “That’s not ambition, Kaelus. That’s a declaration.” She leaned forward, mirroring him, her voice silk over steel. “You’re not carving territory—you’re drawing a line across the map. You know who owns those estates? Who launders coin through them? Whose children marry in those manors? And you think the ledger buys you the right to plant your flag.”

She didn’t mock, didn’t scoff. Her eyes worked the angles, sharp and unyielding. “Alright. Let’s say I don’t laugh you out of the room. Let’s say I like the picture. What does South Shore look like with your shadow over it? What do you plan to build?”

Kaelus leaned closer, ticking off points on his fingers. “First, I’m planting a flag, but it doesn’t have to be just mine. I’m not stupid or unreasonable. Second, I don’t want you to just hand it to me. You’re getting the ledger—that means war with Barvasi, in the shadows or the open. I’m on your side in that war. I’ll be useful, and you’ll see how I operate. Third, let’s be real—nobody in our world wants South Shore. It’s too clean, not enough vice or coin. It’s a nice place, and our kind don’t like nice. Backing my claim there doesn’t cost you much. Fourth, I want it neutral territory. I’m a guy who does jobs and gets paid, not interested in vice or violence, though I dabble when needed. South Shore’s perfect for a place where talks can happen without anyone catching a case of the deads. I’ve got ideas, not fully fleshed out, but that’s the shape.”

Velindra listened, her gloved finger tracing the goblet’s rim. When he finished, she let the silence stretch, her posture alert, deliberate. Then she smiled—appreciative, almost curious. “You surprise me, Kaelus. You think like a man playing a longer game than most alley rats. That’s rare.” She exhaled softly. “You’re right about Barvasi. The ledger puts a dagger at his back. Whether I whisper it to the Arbiters, the Archbanker, or the Society, it’ll shake him. He won’t fall overnight, but he’ll flinch. And South Shore? Not worth much on paper—yet. But neutral territory?” She nodded slowly. “That has value. Especially with your face behind it. Quiet. Precise. Ambitious, but not burning bridges for sport.”

She studied him, then shifted to a tone of pure contract. “Alright. You give me the ledger—real, uncut. I’ll back your claim to South Shore. I’ll pull strings with the Watch and magistrates to give you breathing room—not free rein, room. I’ll steer conversations so nobles see you as an independent agent, not a threat. You get neutrality. I get a staging ground. But this isn’t charity. Fail, cross me, or go soft, and I cut you loose. Play both sides, and I’ll make sure even Barvasi sends flowers to your funeral.” She tilted her head. “Deal?”

Kaelus raised a finger. “Yes. Except the small matter of payment for my crew. I want 200 gold for each of them. I’m not included—that’s my payment.” He gave a small smile. “Rule Five: Take care of your crew.”

Velindra’s soft breath held amusement, not irritation. “Rule Five,” she echoed, a twitch at her lips. “Spoken like a man who wants them alive long enough to matter.” She sipped her wine, savoring it. “Done. Eight hundred gold. Four bodies, I assume? The witch, the drunk, the girl, and the spider?” She made no effort to hide her knowledge of them. “No strings on the coin. Payment for services rendered. I won’t try to own them.” She extended a gloved hand, palm up. “Give the word to your bird, Kaelus. Let’s change the balance.”

Morlen clicked sharply, and Kaelus felt Rhyssa’s faint mental presence, waiting. “Bring it,” he said quietly, handing the raven a piece of bread. Morlen took it with a practiced motion and vanished through an unseen gap, silent as shadow.

Velindra’s gaze lingered on the empty space, then returned to Kaelus. “I assume she won’t be long. Rhyssa Varn doesn’t dawdle.” She rose with fluid grace, crossing to a carved cabinet. A hidden latch clicked, revealing a small vault. She withdrew a satchel that clinked with weight and set it beside Kaelus’s glass. “Eight hundred. Sorted, sealed, counted. Don’t insult me by checking it here.” She paused, her voice softening. “Do you know what I like about this moment, Kaelus? You didn’t sell me a kingdom. You sold me leverage. Territory is temporary. The ability to make others move? That’s lasting.”

A knock sounded at the panel—a deliberate pattern. Velindra didn’t flinch. “I believe our courier’s here.”

Kaelus stood and opened the door, hoping to see Rhyssa. Relief flickered as she stepped inside, hood low over her silver-threaded hair, a gray oilcloth bundle cradled like something sacred—or deadly. Her eyes met his, sharp and steady. “Everything went smoothly,” she murmured. “No tails. No watchers.” She glanced at Velindra, the table, the satchel, then back to Kaelus. “You good with this?”

Kaelus held Velindra’s gaze, his voice firm. “I’m committed to it.”

Rhyssa nodded, laying the bundle on the table. Velindra unfolded it with a whisper of gloved fingers, revealing the ledger—crisp, flawless, bindings tight. She scanned the first two pages, then closed it with reverent care. “That,” she said softly, “is how you build something real.” She slid the ledger into the vault, the latch clicking shut like a sealed fate. Turning back, she placed the satchel in Kaelus’s hands. “I’ll send word when the stones shift. South Shore will quiet. Guards will blink slower. Your name will carry new caution.” Her expression sharpened. “One piece of advice: you’ve told Korvosa you’re a player, not a piece. Don’t act like anything less.”

To Rhyssa, she added, “You’re smarter than you look, Varn. Ever consider changing allegiances?”

Rhyssa’s voice was calm, unyielding. “I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.”

Velindra chuckled. “So be it.” She gestured to the door. “Unless there’s more, we’re done.”

Date: 8 Neth, 4707 AR
Time: Evening
Place: The Velvet Latch, South Shore, Korvosa

The booth at the Velvet Latch was a quiet island amidst the tavern’s warm hum, its curtains drawn to shield the crew from prying eyes. Brinna sat still for once, her usual fidgeting absent. Caldus cradled a mug of dark brandy, untouched, his eyes on Kaelus. Rhyssa watched over steepled fingers, her gaze unreadable in the candlelight. The satchel of gold rested in Kaelus’s hands, unopened, its weight a silent promise.

Brinna broke the silence, her voice softer than usual. “So, was it a setup? Are we at war, or just rich?”

Rhyssa’s eyes didn’t flicker. “Both are still on the table.”

Caldus snorted. “I’m ready for either. Just tell me who we’re drinking to tonight.”

Kaelus glanced around the table, noting Selene’s absence. “Where’s Selene? We need her here tonight.”

Brinna blinked. “Selene? She wasn’t with you?”

Rhyssa frowned, scanning the room. “She said she’d come. Wanted to hear the outcome herself.”

Caldus grunted. “Not the first time she’s ghosted a meeting, but not like her to miss this.”

Tension tugged at the edges of the booth’s warmth. Then, a shadow moved behind the draped entrance—light, measured steps. Selene Arvintino stepped through, rain-slick cloak glistening, her hair wind-tossed. She met Kaelus’s eyes across the tavern and crossed to the booth, sliding in beside Rhyssa. “I’m late,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “But I came.” Her gaze swept the table—empty of satchels, brandy untouched. “So? Are we still alive, or preparing last rites?”

Kaelus grinned. “We’re… ambulatory.” He leaned back, savoring the word. “Learned it from a Taldan scholar last week. Sounds refined, doesn’t it?” He tossed the satchel onto the table, the clink of gold unmistakable. “Rule Five, people. Take your cuts.”

The crew stared as the satchel landed. Brinna whistled low. “You weren’t kidding. That’s a real cut.” Caldus peered inside, his grin spreading. “By the Dawnflower, haven’t seen this much coin since I had a temple roof.” Rhyssa nodded once, approving. Selene’s faint smile held warmth. “Rule Five indeed. I hope the city learns it soon.”

As they divided the gold—200 for each—Kaelus spoke again. “That’s the gold part of the deal. I asked for a little section of territory in the city.” He leaned back, feigning nonchalance, watching their faces.

Caldus raised an eyebrow. “A little section? You don’t ask small, do you?”

Brinna leaned forward, eager. “What kind? Warehouse? Street corner? Please not the sewers again.”

Rhyssa’s small smile was knowing. Selene’s gaze sharpened. “You’re burying the lede, Kaelus. Spit it out.”

Kaelus took a breath, his voice steady. “South Shore.”

The word landed like a stone in still water. Brinna froze mid-swig, then laughed sharply. “South Shore? Where they gild their laundry and the worst crime is mispronouncing a noble’s name at brunch?” Caldus whistled low. “Bold. But brilliant. No one’ll see it coming.” Rhyssa’s voice was quiet, certain. “It’s exactly where we need to be. Not the Docks or Midland—those are crowded games. This rewrites the rules.” Selene studied him longest, her smile faint. “You’re staking a claim where no one dares. No one’s ready to defend it. Or attack it. Not yet.”

Kaelus nodded, his eyes moving from face to face, reading their reactions. “Yet is the key word. It won’t stay that way. We need an organization. People. Funds. That means jobs—not just pay-the-bills jobs, but the kind that pull serious coin. We’re not playing safe anymore.” He laid out the plan he’d shared with Velindra: a neutral South Shore, a hub for safe dealings, backed by her influence but shaped by their hands. “If this is more than you want, I understand. I’ll still call you friend, and we can part ways on business. But if you stay, things are about to be very different.”

Rhyssa’s gaze held his, unwavering. “I’m with you,” she said simply. “I always knew you aimed higher.” Brinna grinned, leaning back. “Told you we’d do something crazy. I’m in. Just no uniforms.” Caldus exhaled roughly. “Guess I’d better dust off my conscience. If we’re building something, might as well be worth standing for.” Selene spoke last, her voice soft but resolute. “You know this changes everything. But I didn’t join to whisper behind curtains. I’m not walking away.”

The booth fell silent, not with doubt but with purpose. The crew was in, their loyalty a foundation stronger than the gold now split between them. South Shore loomed ahead, a dream as dangerous as it was bold, and Kaelus knew they’d face it together.