“Kazimir Zima?” Pia stammered, the parchment still shaking in her hands. Lev stepped past her, iron spurs clinking against the parquetry. He drew the short blade at his belt half an inch from its sheath. “A sentry spotted him prowling the lower conduits ten minutes ago. Unescorted.” Damir snarled, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light. Black frost crackled along the knuckles of his right hand. “I knew that smooth-tongued viper couldn’t be trusted. This is his doing, all of it.” Stellan adjusted his spectacles, his scholar’s mind already racing. “But the message… ‘He who steals the relic seeks to claim the rightful throne.’ Kazimir is ambitious, yes, but to steal the Sunstone and kidnap Lyrana? It seems… overly elaborate for his usual political maneuvering.” Pia glanced at the small wooden bird clutched in her hand, its carved feathers cool against her palm. A sudden, cold certainty settled in her gut. “He was at the warding stone in the reading rooms. I saw him.” Before anyone could react, a voice, smooth and deceptively calm, drifted from the doorway. “Indeed, you did, Petrina. An astute observation, even then.” Kazimir Zima stood there, framed by the doorway, a faint smile playing on his lips. His silver-embroidered tunic was pristine, his dark hair impeccably styled, as if he hadn’t just been accused of treason. He stepped inside, ignoring the hostile glares. “And for the record, I wasn’t ‘compromising’ anything, Lev. I was attempting to *repair* the damage already done.” Damir lunged, but Lev, quicker, intercepted him, a hand gripping Damir’s arm. “Explain yourself, Zima.” Kazimir raised a placating hand, his smile unwavering. “Patience, protector. I suspected sabotage when the ley lines wavered. I inspected the warding stone in the reading rooms, found the perimeter cracked, and attempted repairs. That’s when Petrina stumbled upon me. I left my signet deliberately, hoping an ally would notice. I needed someone to look, yet dared not tip off the architect.” He paused, letting his words sink in, his gaze sweeping over each of them. “The actual conspirator isn’t a young hothead. It’s an elder respected across our ranks, hollowing our wards from within for a grand sacrifice.” Otylia, who had remained silent until now, crossed her arms. “Speak plainly, Zima. Who are you accusing?” Kazimir dropped his smile. “Elder Miroslav Volkov.” Damir lunged forward, grey sparks snapping across his collarbones. “Liar! The old man raised me after the pyres. He wouldn't—” “He would, and he has,” Kazimir cut in. “He intends to use the Sunstone alongside Lyrana—siphoning her bloodline—to command the Phantoms. Not to banish them, but to wield them against any rival house. He wants absolute dominion over both realms.” An iron screech rattled the window casements. Mortar dusted Pia’s shoulders as the brass sconces flickered to grease-smoke. A harsh broadcast bellowed through the ventilation shafts: *“Perimeter compromised. Cloister seal activated. Non-attuned staff report to cellars immediately. Unauthorized movement will be met with iron.”* Static buzzed through the horn, but the cadence matched the dry baritone that had led morning assembly. The oak door slammed shut with a clang of interlocking iron bars. In the gallery outside, boots pounded tile. Four sentries in black wool uniforms smashed through the side panels, eyes dull as clotted blood, sabers raised in stiff synchronization. “House guard,” Kazimir spat, pulling a slim rapier from his cane. “Mind-bound. The elder severed their wills.” Damir struck the lead soldier with bare, sooty fists, driving him against the bookshelf, though his footing wobbled on the rugs. Lev spun inside the sweep of another blade, his dagger hooking beneath a breastplate. Otylia snapped her fingers, raising an azure barrier that deflected two downward slashes, while Stellan clicked a brass dial, shouting over the din about severed neural conduits. Pia, caught in the sudden maelstrom, instinctively recoiled as a fourth guard, his crimson eyes fixed solely on her, lunged. Kazimir, seeing her isolated, spun, deflecting a blow from another guard and thrusting his rapier at the one targeting Pia. “Get behind me, Petrina!” The air filled with the clang of steel, the crackle of magic, and Damir’s strained grunts. The sealing wards hummed loud enough to rattle Pia's teeth, feeding the wild frost on Damir’s skin. A stray blast of black soot scorched Kazimir’s sleeve. “Mind your back, Zima!” Damir barked, kicking a thrall into the hearth. But another soldier stepped over the ashes, relentless. Amidst the chaos, Pia felt a rough hand grab her arm. Not a guard, but Otylia, her face pale but determined. “Follow me!” Otylia hauled Pia toward an alcove curtained in heavy wool. “The laundry chute drops to the cloisters.” Before they crossed the threshold, an errant blast from Damir’s scuffle blasted the lintel, dropping plaster and timber across the frame. Otylia clawed at the rubble, but the masonry refused to budge. A thrall lunged through the dust toward Pia. She backpedaled, tripped over a fallen fire iron, and smacked her elbows hard onto the floorboards, dropping her carved sparrow. Steel whistled down. Kazimir’s rapier met the blade inches from her brow with an ear-splitting screech. “Stay low!” he snapped, kicking the man’s knee out. A latch clicked under Pia's hip. The parquet dropped out from under her. She plunged down an unlit chute, scraping her knuckles on cold brick before tumbling onto packed gravel. A stone slab ground shut overhead, cutting off the shouts above. Pia coughed on damp cellar air, rubbing a bruised tailbone. A lantern flickered nearby. Elder Miroslav stood beside an iron brazier, clutching a jagged shard of gold crystal. Yellow reflections danced over his sunken cheeks as he tucked his spectacles away. “I couldn’t have done it without you, my dear. The perfect distraction.”

The Traitor's Gambit