“Not at all.” Tarsus’s posture relaxed slightly. “Though I’m surprised you didn’t try to stop her from handling a poisoned artifact.”
“I assumed your curator knew what she was doing. She’s clearly competent.” Brevan gestured to me. “Though perhaps next time I’d appreciate a warning before watching someone handle deadly weapons. Bad for the nerves.”
Tarsus smiled. Not warmth. Satisfaction. “Of course. I forget that not everyone is accustomed to dangerous artifacts.” He turned back to me. “Curator, please prepare a full authentication report. Include toxicity analysis and historical provenance. I want Mr. Korven to understand exactly what he’s considering purchasing.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent.” He gestured to the door. “Mr. Korven, why don’t we continue our discussion in more comfortable surroundings? I have several pieces to show you. Including something I think will interest you far more than Nerath weaponry.”
“I’d be honored.”
They left together. Master and guest. Senator and buyer. The performance continued.
I stayed in the lab, staring at the dagger on the bench. Still beautiful. Still deadly. Still exactly what Tarsus had intended it to be.
Another test. Another trap. A reminder of who held power.
But I’d passed. I’d touched the poison and survived. I’d maintained my cover. I’d stood next to Brevan and lied to Tarsus’s face.
We’d lied together.
Flinx approached, his sleek black form moving silently across the floor.
“I know.”
“I know, Flinx.” I picked up the dagger carefully, using a containment cloth this time. The blade still showed traces of green. Still poisoned. Still dangerous. “He saw the trap and saved me anyway.”
“I don’t know yet.”
BREVAN
The service corridors were darker than I expected, but Carys moved through them like she’d been born in these tunnels, her footsteps silent on the metal grating, despite her weak human vision.
We’d arranged this meeting through the encrypted comms after I’d left Tarsus’s office that morning. One last walkthrough before the gala. Timing had to be perfect.
“If anything goes bad, this is your route back out of the villa,” she said quietly.
“And the security patrols?”
“Krelaxian guard passes through here every twenty minutes. Mondian backup every forty-five.” She stopped at a junction and pointed left. “Camera coverage ends at that panel. Blind spot for approximately three meters. After that, you’re visible again until you reach the office corridor.”
I studied the route. Clean. Efficient.
“You’ve timed the patrols,” I said.
“Seventeen times over the past six months.” She moved forward, gesturing for me to follow. “The Krelaxian is predictable. Same route, same pace. The Mondian varies bytwo minutes depending on whether he stops to check the environmental controls.”
“Which he does how often?”
“Sixty percent of the time.”
“So we plan for him checking.”
“Obviously.” She turned a corner, her movements precise. “The office corridor has its own security. Two guards stationed outside Tarsus’s door during events. They rotate every two hours. The shift change happens during the second hour of the gala.”
