Vencian stood in the gardens a while longer, watching the palace windows glow as if nothing inside them could ever fracture.

The thought of Terin's last words refused to settle.

A council member, here, tonight. During an engagement that had drawn half the realm into one building. The Pentarch did many things quietly, methodically, but this felt careless, like crossing a board without checking the opposing pieces.

It did not fit.

Vencian turned the idea over again, slower this time, pressing at its seams.

A royal palace swarmed with guards, priests, nobles, and watchers. A meeting here would leave too many eyes, too many paths that could intersect by chance. Even arrogance had limits.

Maybe Terin had lied.

It was the possibility from the start but Vencian didn't want to believe in it. But the more time passed with the normalcy, the more probable it seemed.

Terin had been cornered, bleeding, and afraid of a blade that had may end his life for once and for all. Lies came easily at that point. Inventing importance, inventing reach, inventing proximity. Dust trying to look like stone.

Yes.

That made sense.

Vencian exhaled through his nose and turned back toward the hall.

The noise reached him before the doors did, music and voices folding back around him as he crossed the threshold. Heat followed, along with the smell of wine and polished stone. The event had lost none of its momentum in his absence.

Near the edge of the main floor, he found Elias and Rulen standing together, both with cups in hand, their postures relaxed in a way that only came from familiarity.

"There you are," Elias said, spotting him. "I thought you'd vanished."

"Almost," Vencian replied. "I'll be leaving shortly. Duke Hadethon asked for a brief meeting."

Rulen lifted a brow. "Now?"

"Before the night stretches any longer."

Elias grimaced. "That's a waste. You should stay. Enjoy the noise while it's still friendly."

Rulen nodded. "You could stay the night. There's room enough, and tomorrow will be quieter."

Vencian shook his head. "Another time."

His gaze slipped past Rulen without meaning to.

Two figures stood a short distance away. One was broad through the shoulders, posture alert, eyes tracking the room rather than the conversation he pretended to be part of. A soldier's habit, polished but not erased. The other man beside him was thin and stooped, hair white and uneven, hands clasped at his front as if he were unsure where to put them.

The old man was staring directly at Vencian.

Not idly. Not with curiosity.

Intently.

Vencian felt it land, that fixed attention, and could not quite tell why it unsettled him.

"Who's that?" he asked, quietly.

Rulen followed his line of sight. "Kael," he said, nodding toward the broader man. "My bodyguard. And Narin."

"The Dawnseer," Elias added.

Vencian's mouth twitched faintly. Dawnseers. He had read enough to know what that meant. Court astrologists, readers of cycles and convergences, the ones who decided which days were fit for coronations, marriages, wars. Officially tolerated. Quietly mocked. Convenient when they were right.

He nodded once.

Narin moved before Vencian could turn away.

The old man stepped into his space with surprising speed and seized his hand, fingers bony and cold, grip far stronger than it should have been.

"Ah," Narin said, eyes bright and unfocused. "The cup that walks. "

Vencian froze.

The words made no sense, strung together without shape, but the way they were said scraped against something older than language. He pulled, testing the grip.

It did not loosen.

"I don't—" he began.

Narin leaned closer, breath warm and uneven. "How I've long to see you once. Still carried, still poured."

Vencian tried again, sharper this time, and failed.

Kael was there instantly, one hand closing around Narin's wrist, the other bracing his shoulder. Rulen stepped in as well, voice firm.

"That's enough."

Narin resisted, muttering, fingers tightening once more before Kael wrenched them free. The old man laughed, a thin sound, already being guided away.

"Forgive him," Rulen said to Vencian, tension clear beneath the apology. "His condition worsens when there's too much noise."

Kael did not look back as he escorted Narin away.

Vencian stood where he was, hand tingling, watching the old man's white head vanish into the crowd. For a moment, the room felt misaligned, as if he had stepped half a pace out of time.

Then a servant appeared at his elbow.

"My lord. Duke Hadethon requests your presence."

Vencian looked at the servant, then once more toward the direction Narin had been taken. The old man's words echoed without meaning, hollow sounds that wanted weight.

A Dawnseer. A senile one, by all appearances.

He let the thought settle where it wanted.

Vencian nodded and followed the servant.

The fountain terrace lay open to the night, water murmuring softly in its basin. Duke Hadethon stood near the stone railing, hands clasped behind his back.

He was not alone.

General Herrera was with him, posture straight as ever, gaze sharp despite the hour. And beside them stood another man, relaxed in a way that suggested nothing in the world surprised him anymore.

Abnet.

They had been speaking when Vencian arrived. The conversation paused cleanly, like a door closing.

Vencian felt his posture adjust on instinct, shoulders settling, breath leveling as his mind ran a quick inventory of what he was presenting.

He had not expected Abnet to be here.

"My lord Vicorra," Hadethon said, turning. "Thank you for coming."

Vencian inclined his head. "Duke."

Herrera gestured. "Lord Vicorra, this is Abnet. A loyal servant to the throne."

Abnet smiled faintly. "A pleasure."

"There was an incident earlier," Herrera continued. "An attempt, brief and poorly timed. Neutralized before it could develop."

"By Abnet," Hadethon added.

Vencian acknowledged that with another nod, keeping his expression politely blank. An assassination attempt. Here. Tonight. The words slid into place without resistance, incomplete enough to be believable.

"I'm glad it was handled," Vencian said.

Abnet's eyes flicked over him, assessing without weight. "I enjoyed your match earlier," he said. "Especially the way you used staff. Clean work."

Vencian smiled when expected, all the while aware of the faint, unreasonable thought pressing at the back of his mind.

Can he tell there's something wrong with me?

Vencian let out a small laugh. "You flatter me."

"I've taken on a disciple recently," Abnet went on. "He could learn a thing or two from watching you."

Vencian felt the smile hold while something tightened beneath it. The ease of the compliment was wrong, too distant from the man Abnet had been with Lucian.

"I'll take that as encouragement," Vencian said.

General Herrera cleared his throat. "Duke, if that's all, I'll leave you to your discussion."

Hadethon raised a hand. "Stay, General. I'll need you."

He turned to Abnet. "You're excused."

Abnet inclined his head once and stepped away, leaving the terrace quieter for his absence.

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