He said, and with a wave, he motioned for Adolf.
"Adolf, bring the border reports for yesterday. Leave them with Morena."
The steward moved at once without hesitation in his movement.
"And fetch Marta from the infirmary when you go. The poultice burns like bad wine."
"Immediately, my lord."
Adolf said and slipped out.
Alina reached for the cup on the bedside table and held it while her father drank. She set it down with care, fingers lingering on the wooden table.
"Father. We’ll be careful."
She said in a soft tone, concerned that if he worried about their well-being, he would only get worse.
"I know you will, you’re both smart. After all, you take after your old man."
He chuckled slightly, groaning from the pain as he did. His gaze tracked from her face to Morena’s and back again.
"Be careful who you speak to, the words you say, and the things you do. The walls have ears, and there is no telling which one comes with a knife as well."
A small knock preceded Adolf’s return. He set a stack of folded notes and two bound ledgers on the low chest at the foot of the bed, then stepped back to the door.
"Marta’s on her way."
He said, then continued.
"The guard captain requests a word when you’re able."
"When I’m able? That won’t be for a while. Have Morena go in my place, set up a meeting, make sure it’s safe."
Lord Ravenscroft said.
Adolf’s gaze slid, just briefly, to Morena. She caught the look, the question tucked inside it, and answered with the smallest tilt of her head.
They did not linger much longer. Lord Ravenscroft waved them away with the back of his hand, which would have been rude if it had not been so entirely him. Alina kissed his brow, then followed Morena out into the corridor.
The door clicked shut behind them. The hush of the wing pressed close again.
Alina walked beside her for a stretch without speaking.
"He gave you the keys."
Morena replied plainly.
"It’s said that only the heir of the family is supposed to get the keys."
"That’s just a tale, nothing’s set in stone yet."
"You’ll do well. You deserve it."
Alina stated, her tone stern, even with a hint of defiance, as if daring anyone to disagree.
Morena glanced at her. Saw the pride first, the worry a hair behind, the ache of seeing the steadier thing in her sister and wanting to be it and be held by it both.
Morena said, not phrasing it as a question, but as a fact.
Alina said, as if offended. Then she stopped, caught Morena’s sleeve, and frowned at the bandage beneath.
"You should rest first, you’re still injured from the fight."
"You’re just like him."
"Maybe, but later is when I rest."
That won her a groan and an eye-roll that would have driven tutors to distraction. Alina squeezed her arm once, briefly and hard, and then peeled away down the corridor.
"I’m going to get changed and then check on the armory."
Morena watched her go. When the corner swallowed the red braid, she exhaled and turned toward the stairs that led to her rooms.
The familiarity of her chamber steadied her more than she wanted to admit: the washbasin gleaming in the dim, the curtains drawn half-closed, the small stack of books she’d left in too-neat a line before leaving for Blackbear.
The journal sat in the drawer where she’d locked it, the pendant wrapped and hidden beneath the frost-bowl. All were where she’d left them.
She washed the road from her hands and face, then crossed to the small table and pulled the ledgers toward her. The paper smelled faintly of smoke and tallow.
She opened the first page to the marked section.
"Scan and copy. Flag inconsistencies. Start with patrol rotations and provisioning for the last ten days."
[Acknowledged. Ingesting... Analyzing...]
She read while the silent pulse of its work threaded the back of her thoughts. The numbers were all there, a detailed explanation of every patrol done, their outcome, and exact times.
Headcount on the north wall had dropped by four one night, then three, then two; never replaced the next morning, only later in the week. Grain out to the eastern villages had gone unreceipted in two cases.
Ink changed hands mid-page.
[Signature: Steward’s scribe Ellor. Hand pressure is inconsistent with prior samples. Probability of proxy signing: 63%.]
"Who benefits from this lie?"
[Inference: Elder Council faction seeking leverage via shortfalls and ’evidence’ of mismanagement. Confidence: Moderate.]
"Map whoever’s been rotated off duty to night shifts only. Cross with those who owe the Council coin, favors, or are under their payroll."
A soft rap at the door.
Marta stepped in, apron clean but floured, a bundle of vials in one hand.
"Adolf said you’d want these. For the bite."
Her gaze flicked to Morena’s shoulder, to the dried fleck of blood at the edge of the wrap.
She lifted another small cloth bundle, this one smelling sharply of mint and something colder beneath.
"If trouble needs sleeping."
Morena said, and she meant it. Glancing at the woman, her eyes were clearer than most, hiding no ulterior motive or ill will behind them; it was a rare sight.
"Your father’s sore because he’s stubborn."
Marta said, setting the vials down.
"He’ll be less sore if he sleeps. With you all home he should be able to sleep more easily."
She paused at the threshold, looked back.
Morena almost asked her what she was referring to, but she didn’t need to; she already had an idea. Instead, she nodded once, and Marta vanished down the hall, steps quick and sure.
She turned back to the ledgers. The AI’s thread settled.
[Completed. Five anomalies flagged. Three likely clerical.Two suspicious:
- Arms check signed off without a captain present.
- Night ration shortfall matching ’donations’ requested by visiting cleric.]
She closed the book, having saved all of it in the AI. For a moment, she stood very still, hands on either side of the ledger, feeling the grain of the wood beneath her palms.
’What is the church planning?’
From the rumors she had heard at the gathering, it was clear that the church was up to something; however, she didn’t have enough information to tell what.
Nevertheless, whatever the church was up to would be no good; especially if they were colluding with the council.
Then she lifted her mother’s dagger from the belt and set it beside the keys.
"First I’ll talk to Adolf, then the captain. I should look through the archive as well, it will have more books, maybe I can find something helpful there."
She crossed to the window and pushed the curtain aside two fingers’ width. The courtyard below lay in darkness, lanterns burning like small, stubborn stars. A patrol moved across the far side—only two.
The hunt had been noise and teeth and clean measure. This would be none of those things. This was a different type of game.