I swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
Then I looked to Zander. “Did anyone learn anything else about the attack?”
His expression shifted, jaw tightening.
Cordelle stepped forward then, holding a charred piece of parchment wrapped in waxed cloth. “I found this tucked into the noble’s satchel. Protected. Almost like theywantedus to find it.”
He handed it to me. I unwrapped it slowly.
And saw the unmistakable mark of theCrimson Sigil—burned into the center of the paper like a warning.
Or a calling card.
I stared down at the insignia, a red sickle against a stark white field, bold and blood-bright, the curved blade curling like a grin through the silence.
The Crimson Sigil.
There was something chilling in its simplicity. Something permanent. Like it had been burned into the parchment with intent, not ink.
“This suggests he was acting as a courier,” I said, my voice steady but grim. “Moving information between Warriath and the outer kingdoms. He was aligned with the Crimson Sigil.”
Tae nodded, crossing his arms. “Then it’s likely the Varnari had him killed. If a noble sides with the Sigil, he becomes a liability to the opposing faction.”
I unfolded the letter again, skimming the coded missive tucked inside. The symbols were faint, the wording strategic—just veiled enough not to trigger suspicion.
“He was leaking guild movement reports,” I said quietly. “Exact deployment routes. Details about training grounds. Weaknesses.”
Jax rubbed the back of his neck, his expression darkening. “He’s lowborn, but he still has fae blood. Why the hell would he side withthem?”
I looked up from the parchment, considering the question. “The Order has ways of…bribingpeople into doing its bidding.”
Naia tilted her head. “He betrayed the crown formoney?”
I folded the letter with care and handed it back to Zander. “Actually, the Order rarely has to resort to monetary bribes. Not that theywon’t,” I added. “But that’s not their preferred method.”
Riven narrowed her eyes. “Then what do they use?”
I looked at each of them, letting the weight of my answer settle before I spoke.
“They find a person’sweakness.”
Ferrula’s brow furrowed. “Define weakness.”
“Sometimes it’s greed. Sometimes it’s the nature of their… appetites,” I said carefully. “Other times it’s ambition. Desperation. The need to belong. To feel powerful. Cyran has many operatives at his disposal—skilled ones. They research a target thoroughly. And then theyexploitwhatever they find.”
Silence fell again, thicker now.
Because this wasn’t just aboutonenoble.
This was about the way the Orderwormedthrough power. Quiet. Patient. Unforgiving.
And no one was untouchable.
Zander moved to the charred remains of the carriage, kneeling before his hand brushed ash and splintered wood aside with care. The smell of smoke still clung to the wreckage, faint but distinct, like something refusing to die.
He shifted a shattered plank and pulled something from beneath the bench—tarnished metal glinting in the sunlight.
A keyring.
