The whisper hit Janna like winter sleet. It was Kalina, undeniably. The sheer audacity of the original owner’s consciousness still lingering, still trying to exert control. Janna’s fingers paused, hovering inches from the compartment’s mouth. A surge of defiance, then a more practical thought. What if this was a trap? What if whatever lay within was connected to Kalina’s enemies, or worse, to *her*? She wasn't ready to face Kalina head-on, not yet. Not without more information, more control. “Found something, Baroness?” Feliks’s voice, a soft inquiry, broke the eerie silence. He stood a respectful distance away, a dust rag draped over his arm, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. Janna slowly withdrew her hand. “A… loose panel. Nothing of consequence. Just old wood settling.” She carefully pressed the section back into place. It clicked, vanishing seamlessly into the oak. The secrecy, she realized, was paramount. Even to Feliks, for now. “We’ve spent enough time in this musty room. I believe the Imperial Charity Auction commences in two hours. One must not be tardy to such an esteemed affair, especially when one is sponsoring the centerpiece.” Feliks bowed, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Indeed, Baroness. Your reputation for dramatic entrances precedes you.” An hour later, Janna smoothed the emerald skirts of Kalina’s afternoon gown, the silk weighted with glass beads that hummed softly near the gas lanterns. *** The Grand Rotunda of the Imperial Conservatory hummed with the clatter of porcelain and the murmur of a hundred carefully modulated voices. Sunlight, filtered through the Conservatory’s colossal glass dome, illuminated a breathtaking display of exotic flora, creating a lush backdrop for the gathered elite of Starevo. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and ambition. Janna, resplendent in emerald, moved through the crowd with Kalina’s practiced grace, a predator among lesser creatures. Each nod, each half-smile, each dismissive glance was a finely tuned weapon. Her eyes scanned the room, settling on Irena Rostova. Her stepmother was a study in calculated elegance, dressed in a muted lavender gown, her silver hair coiled into an intricate knot. She stood near the central display, her posture radiating an air of untouchable respectability. Beside her, Zoria, Janna’s stepsister, giggled into a fan, no doubt still smarting from the Krovos Mining Syndicate revelation. Good. The sting was precisely where Janna wanted it. The auctioneer, a portly man named Borislav with a voice like an iron foghorn, mounted the rostrum. “Ladies and gentlemen of the Imperial Court! Welcome to our annual sale benefiting the Royal Orphanage of Port Lysek. Our first lot comes courtesy of Lady Kalina Volkov!” A spotlight, generated by focused aetheric currents, illuminated the central display. It was Janna’s chosen item: the 'Aegis of the Verdant Sky', a marvel of aether-craft. The device, crafted from polished bronzewood and intricate brass, was said to predict optimal atmospheric currents for travel and agriculture with uncanny precision. Its face was a delicate arrangement of spinning azure-glass orbs, meant to pulse with soft, internal light when activated. “This exquisite piece,” Borislav boomed, “is not merely an ornament. It is a functional wonder crafted by the Royal Guild. Observe its internal glow!” He gestured to an apprentice, who stepped forward with a zinc attunement rod and tapped the instrument's brass rim. Nothing happened. The azure-glass orbs remained stubbornly dark. A ripple of confusion went through the crowd. Borislav’s smile stiffened. The apprentice tried again, his knuckles whitening against the rod. The mechanism stayed inert, nothing more than dark glass and unmoving gears. Whispers began to snake through the assembly. “A Volkov item? Of course it’s cursed.” “Perhaps the Baroness neglected to pay the Guild.” Irena Rostova’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Zoria openly stifled a giggle, her eyes, sharp and malicious, meeting Janna’s across the room. Janna felt a flush of heat rise in her neck. Humiliation, sharp and sudden, stung. This was Irena’s handiwork, no doubt. A subtle sabotage, designed to undermine her reputation, to make her look incompetent. The item itself was flawless when Janna inspected it yesterday. Something had been tampered with. She walked forward, her stride deliberate, her expression unreadable. The master of ceremonies wrung his hands. “Lady Volkov, perhaps a momentary…” Janna ignored him, stopping directly before the lifeless device. She didn't touch it. Instead, she turned to face the assembled nobles, her voice cutting through the murmurs, clear and resonant. “Indeed, sir. A momentary… *disappointment*.” Her gaze swept over Irena, lingering for a beat. “It seems this mechanism, for all its lineage, lacks the spark required to illuminate its purpose.” The crowd waited, unsure. Janna’s next words landed like a perfectly aimed stone. “However,” she continued, a faint, dangerous smile touching her lips, “the plight of the orphans of Port Lysek does not dim with a faulty mechanism. Their hunger, their cold, their desperate need for shelter, remain. So, I will not offer this… *dormant* artifact for bidding.” She paused, letting the implication sink in. The auction was about charity, not a broken trinket. “Instead,” Janna declared, raising her voice to ring off the glass rafters, “I will personally pledge ten thousand crowns to the Royal Orphanage of Port Lysek.” Gasps rippled through the gallery. Ten thousand crowns was an astronomical sum, enough to feed an entire ward for a year. Irena’s faint smile vanished, replaced by a mask of rigid shock. “Furthermore,” Janna pressed on, her eyes now openly challenging, “I invite every noble present who truly values the future of Starevo’s less fortunate to *match* my donation. Let this not be an auction for an object, but a demonstration of our collective generosity! Let us see who among Starevo’s elite possesses a heart as vast as the sky itself!” The challenge hung in the air, audacious and inescapable. No one wanted to be seen as less generous than the infamous Baroness Volkov. Heads began to nod, slowly at first, then more vigorously. Duchess Adela Tarnowska, a notorious rival of Irena’s, was the first to call out, “Five thousand crowns!” A ripple of pledges followed, smaller, but adding up. Irena Rostova stood frozen, her face a carefully constructed facade of benevolence, but Janna saw the subtle tremor in her hands. That sum would strain even Irena’s accounts, especially given her recent losses in northern shipping. To not match it would be a public admission of financial weakness, a stain on her meticulously crafted image. To match it would mean a significant, unexpected drain. From across the room, Royal Inquisitor Stanislaw Czaja watched Janna. His usually impassive face held a complex mixture of suspicion and grudging respect. He had seen the sabotage, the moment of Janna’s potential humiliation. He had also witnessed her masterful recovery, her ruthless turning of the tables. The woman was playing a dangerous, calculated game. Janna held her head high, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. The apparatus was dead metal, but she had turned the sabotage into a financial vice on Irena's neck. The first cut. It was a good start. Feliks slipped through the pressed silk of the perimeter crowd, gliding to Janna's side. He clutched a crumpled piece of parchment in his hand. “Baroness! You won’t believe what I found beneath the false bottom of the antique tea caddy in the drawing room! It’s from… one of Madam Rostova’s creditors!” Janna’s triumphant smile widened. This was it. Her next weapon.

The First Cut