Chapter 4: Echoes of Betrayal

Chapter 4: Echoes of Betrayal

The wind howled around the rusted ironwork of the clock tower, a mournful counterpoint to the groans of the unconscious Syndicate enforcers. Kaelen stood over them, an immovable object of granite and judgment. His golden eyes were fixed on me, and they held the cold weight of centuries.

"I warned you," he rumbled again, the words carrying on the wind.

"And I ignored you. We've established the basics, let's move on to the interesting part," I shot back, pushing myself to my feet. My heart was still doing a frantic tap-dance against my ribs, but the adrenaline was sharpening my nerve. I gestured with my pistol at his imposing form. "This isn't Concordat business, Warden. You're not in uniform, and you didn't announce yourself. You're hunting the same thing I am, just without the paperwork. So, what did Valerius do to get the Concordat to bury his case and the Syndicate to send a welcoming party?"

His jaw, which looked like it could crack diamonds, tightened. "The Concordat is… a complex machine, McPherson. Some components are rusted. They see this as a problem that has conveniently solved itself. They are wrong."

That was as close to a confession of internal corruption as I was ever going to get from a creature as rigid as him. He didn't trust his own people. The realization was as chilling as it was useful.

"So you're the machine's lone repairman," I smirked. "Fine. But my methods get results. I have a lead. These thugs were a response to me asking questions." I scooped up the dead courier's satchel. "And I still need to collect payment for my favor. You can either stand here looking monumental, or you can make yourself useful and watch my back."

For a long moment, he was silent, his glowing eyes weighing me. I could see the conflict in him—the law-bound Warden versus the pragmatist who knew he was onto something big. Order versus Chaos.

"The Alastor Syndicate does not tolerate loose ends," he said finally, a grudging agreement. "For now, our interests align. But do not mistake this for an alliance. You are a reckless element I am forced to contain."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Stony."

He followed me down the tower steps like a looming shadow. At the entrance to the Weeps, he stopped. A Gargoyle Warden strolling into the Crimson Quill would be like dropping a lit match in a fireworks factory.

"I will secure the perimeter," he stated, melting into the shadows of an alleyway. For a being his size, he moved with terrifying silence.

I slipped back into the subterranean market, the scent of sulfur and spiced ink welcoming me like an old, untrustworthy friend. Silas the Stitcher was packing his things away, his movements jerky and panicked. He saw me and his weaselly face went pale.

"You brought a Warden to my doorstep!" he hissed.

"He was already in the neighborhood," I said, dropping the courier's satchel on his table with a heavy thud. "A deal's a deal, Silas. I did your dirty work. Now, who deals in books like the Opus Animarum?"

He snatched the satchel, his eyes darting towards the entrance. "This never happened. You were never here." He scribbled an address on a scrap of parchment and shoved it into my hand. "Seraphina Valois. A sorceress of considerable power and… specific tastes. She lives reclusively. She was Valerius's secret. His obsession. Now, get out."

I glanced at the parchment. An address in the Glass Spire, one of the newer, wealthier districts that tried to pretend the rest of Aethelgard didn't exist. "Was?"

"No one has seen or heard from her since Valerius vanished," Silas whispered, his fear palpable. "It is as if she vanished, too."

I found Kaelen exactly where I’d left him, a statue carved from shadow. I showed him the address. "Seraphina Valois. Sorceress. Valerius's lover. She's our motive."

The Glass Spire was an architectural insult to the gothic grit of Aethelgard. Seraphina's apartment was the penthouse, a sterile expanse of white walls and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the storm-grey city below. Arcane instruments, gleaming constructs of silver and crystal, were arranged with surgical precision. It felt less like a home and more like a laboratory.

A woman with eyes the color of a winter storm and hair like spun silver answered the door. She was wrapped in a silk robe, her face pale and drawn, but the raw power humming beneath her skin was unmistakable. This was Seraphina Valois.

"What do you want?" Her voice was brittle, like a pane of ice about to crack.

"We have questions about Lord Valerius," I said, keeping my tone level.

Her eyes flicked past me to the hulking form of Kaelen, and a flash of pure terror crossed her face before being replaced by a mask of cold fury. "I told the Concordat everything I know, which is nothing. Now leave, before I make you." The air around her began to crackle with ozone.

"I don't think you did," I pressed, stepping into the doorway to prevent her from closing it. "Because your lover didn't just vanish. He shattered. And the shockwave is starting to attract vermin like the Alastor Syndicate."

Her composure fractured. The name hit her like a physical blow. Her eyes darted to a silver locket hanging around her neck, a nervous, reflexive gesture. My gaze locked onto it. An intricate 'V' was engraved on its surface. A gift. An anchor for memory.

"Let me see it," I said, my voice softening slightly. "That locket. If you're telling the truth, if you have nothing to hide, let me see what it knows. I can find the truth."

"You are a psychometric," she whispered, a dawning horror in her eyes. "A carrion-bird, picking through the memories of the dead."

"I find the truth," I repeated, holding her gaze. "Whatever it is."

Kaelen took a half-step forward, his presence an unspoken threat. Seraphina looked from his stony face to mine, trapped. With a trembling hand, she unclasped the locket and held it out, her knuckles white.

I pulled off my glove. The hum of power in the room was immense, a tightly controlled symphony of magical energy. I took the locket. It was cold, unnaturally so. The moment my skin made contact with the silver, the world dissolved.

I was in Valerius's study again, but I wasn't me. I was Seraphina. I could feel her emotions—not the fury of a woman scorned, but the desperate, fluttering panic of a gambler making their final, all-or-nothing bet. Valerius stood opposite me, his face alight with a feverish, greedy excitement. Between us, on a pedestal, lay the Opus Animarum.

"Are you certain this will work, Valerius?" My—her—voice trembled.

"Of course, my love," he'd soothed, though his eyes never left the book. "The entity's power is limitless. Once bound, it will grant us everything. We can cure you. We can live forever."

He was lying. I could feel it through her. He was promising her a cure for some magical malady, but his true desire was raw, untethered power. They began the ritual, their voices weaving a complex, discordant chant. The room grew cold. The violet-black energy, the same soul-devouring force from my first vision, leaked from the book, pooling in the center of the runic circle they had drawn.

But it wasn't forming a cage. It was coiling, gathering, like a predator. I felt Seraphina's terror as she realized it was wrong. The energy wasn't obeying. Valerius, blinded by ambition, pushed more power into the ritual.

The energy exploded.

It didn't lash out. It imploded, creating a vortex of screaming, tearing chaos right where Valerius stood. I saw him unravel, not into blood and bone, but into screaming ribbons of light and memory. He was unmade. Then the vortex snapped towards me—towards Seraphina.

She screamed as the backlash hit her. It was a feeling of profound violation, of a hook of icy energy plunging into her chest and ripping a piece of her essence away. It didn't kill her. It wounded her on a level deeper than flesh. It stole something vital.

I was thrown back, landing hard on the pristine white floor of the penthouse, gasping for air. The migraine was a blinding nova behind my eyes. Kaelen was instantly at my side, his huge hand on my shoulder, steadying me.

Seraphina was weeping, her body wracked with silent sobs.

"You weren't trying to murder him," I rasped, the words feeling like shards of glass in my throat. I looked up at her, my head swimming. "You were his partner. He promised you a cure."

She could only nod, her face buried in her hands.

It was a ritual gone catastrophically wrong. A conspiracy of two. Valerius wasn't the victim he claimed to be, and Seraphina wasn't a killer. She was just the survivor. The other victim.

A chilling thought crystallized in my throbbing brain. The ghost of Lord Valerius had hired me, lying through his spectral teeth about being murdered. He wasn't looking for justice.

I looked from the broken sorceress to the grim-faced Warden. "My client didn't want a killer found," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "So what does his ghost really want?"