Page 69

Bren mutters something unflattering about every noble ever whelped and passes her a folded square of paper, sealed with black wax bearing no crest. His eyes flick past her shoulder and land on me. For one awkward second, we stare at each other.

He takes in my damp clothes, my probably still-gold eyes, the faint smoke rising from the cracked stone behind me, and Isolde’s flushed face.

“Well,” he says, voice dry as old sticks. “Archive work has changed since my day.”

Isolde’s composure almost survives.

Almost.

“Thank you, Bren.”

“Don’t thank me. Pay me.” He glances down the corridor and lowers his voice. “That came through estate relay. Vaerith’s mark was on the outer packet. I nicked the inner notice like Mira asked, but if anyone asks, I was never here and I don’t know either of you fools.”

“Understood.”

“And whatever you are doing with him,” Bren adds, pointing one crooked finger at me, “do it somewhere with fewer witnesses and better exits.”

I lift a hand. “That is the plan, apparently.”

“Then it’s a bad plan. Plans involving pretty people and demons usually are.”

“Hybrid,” Isolde says automatically.

Bren squints at her. “That correction does not make me sleep better.”

He shuffles off, bucket clanking softly as he climbs back toward the upper arcade.

Isolde shuts the gate and breaks the wax on the message.

The bond tightens before her face changes.

I feel it in her first: the cold drop of recognition, the anger she buries so quickly most people would miss it, the fear that does not slow her hands as she unfolds the paper. Her eyes move across the page once, then again.

“What is it?” I ask.

She does not answer immediately.

“Isolde.”

“Vaerith has announced a public contract demonstration.”

The chamber seems to shrink around the words.

I step closer. “What kind?”

She hands me the page.

The writing is elegant, formal, and poisonous in the way only noble announcements can be. Lord Vaerith Sylmorne invites select witnesses, guild representatives, estate officials, and interested parties to observe a demonstration of corrective infernal contract enforcement in the north registry courtyard at sunset tomorrow. The demonstration will address contamination risks, unlawful infernal residue, and emerging threats to civic stability.

My fingers tighten around the paper.

“That son of a bitch.”

“Yes.”

“He is staging it where the market can see.”

“Yes.”