“Bankrupt?” Marival’s voice was dry against the velvet-lined walls. She turned on Balthos, whose smirk cut across his sharp features. “What nonsense are you speaking?” “Nonsense?” Balthos chuckled, a low, grating sound. “My dear, Jaro Dorza’s ventures are collapsing faster than a poorly sculpted sugar bridge. The ‘scandalous playboy’ act is just a convenient distraction. He’s trying to land this maritime deal to salvage what’s left, and you are simply the pretty prop in his final charade. Without that deal, he’s finished. And so, I’d wager, is your brother’s apprenticeship.” He let the words hang in the air, a venomous promise, before turning and striding from the coatroom, leaving Marival alone with the chilling echo of his pronouncement. Her mind reeled. Jaro, bankrupt? The suave, careless heir who seemed to float through life on a cloud of inherited wealth? It didn’t fit. And yet, the sudden urgency of the engagement, the way he’d framed it as a ‘cold business transaction’... A knot of dread tightened in her stomach. Had she been so blinded by Teo’s future that she’d walked headfirst into a con? Marival found Jaro amidst a cluster of merchants, his easy laughter ringing out, a glass of something sparkling in his hand. He looked entirely unbothered, utterly magnificent in his tailored jacket. He caught her eye, his smile softening, and beckoned her over. The sight only fueled her confusion and a rising, bitter anger. She needed answers, and she needed them now. “We need to leave,” she murmured, sidling up to him. Her voice was taut, betraying nothing to the gossiping onlookers. “Now.” Jaro’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes, when they met hers, held a flicker of surprise, quickly masked. “Already tired of the revelry, sweetheart? The night is young.” He slung an arm casually around her waist, drawing her closer, a possessive gesture for the benefit of the crowd. His touch, instead of calming her, ignited a cold fury. “Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me,” she hissed, her lips barely moving. “Lord Balthos just gave me an education on your finances. We need to talk.” Jaro’s eyes sharpened, the easy humor draining from them, replaced by a glint of something cold and calculating. “Ah. So he’s begun whispering poison, has he? Very well.” He gave a charming nod to the surrounding merchants. “My fiancée is feeling unwell. The excitement, you understand. We shall take our leave.” He guided her through the dispersing gala attendees, his hand firm on her back, his pace quickening until they were outside, the crisp night air a welcome balm after the stuffy hall. A waiting self-rowing gondola, sleek and obsidian-dark, bobbed gently beside the Guildhall’s private dock. Its luminescent runes glowed faintly beneath the surface of the turquoise canal water. They stepped in, the cushioned seats swallowing them. The gondola’s magical rudder hummed to life, and it glided away from the dock, a silent phantom on the water. The Guildhall’s imposing silhouette shrank behind them as they ventured into the labyrinthine canals of Oribel, moon-kissed and quiet. The ornate bridges arched overhead, their glowing lamps casting rippling reflections. Marival turned to Jaro, her shoulders rigid. “Is it true?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the gentle lapping of the water. “Are you bankrupt? Is this whole engagement a desperate attempt to stay afloat?” Jaro leaned back, watching her. The moonlight cast sharp shadows on his face, making him look less like the carefree playboy and more like a predator. “Balthos has always had a flair for dramatics,” he said, his voice deceptively calm. “He exaggerates.” “Exaggerate what, Jaro? That your family’s fortune is ‘tied up in failing ventures’?” She threw his rival’s words back at him. “That I’m your ‘final shield’?” He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “My family’s holdings are indeed… complicated. The deal with the Sunken Isles Consortium is critical. Balthos wants to seize the maritime routes for himself, which would cripple half the artisan district. Including your workshop, Marival. He thinks if he can prove our engagement is a sham, the consortium will pull out.” “But you said it was a cold business transaction!” “And it is.” His gaze was unwavering. “For you, it is. Funds for Teo’s apprenticeship, a roof over your head, protection for your craft. For me…” He trailed off, his eyes scanning the canal ahead. “For me, it’s about keeping my head above water, yes. But it’s also about more than just my ledger. Balthos’s monopoly would crush Oribel. It would crush people like you.” A harsh shudder rocked the boat. Marival gasped, thrown forward. The magical rudder, usually a steady, humming presence, sputtered, its glowing runes flickering wildly before dying out completely. The gondola began to drift, spinning slowly in the canal’s current. “What was that?” Marival clutched the padded seat, her knuckles whitening on the damp trim. Jaro was already on his feet, peering over the side. “Sabotage,” he bit out, his voice grim. “The rudder’s magic has been severed.” He looked up, his eyes narrowing. Two figures, cloaked and dark, darted from beneath a low-slung bridge a hundred paces back, melting into the shadows of a narrow alleyway. “Balthos,” Marival whispered. “He sent his thugs.” The current picked up, dragging them steadily toward a series of merchant-locks up ahead. These were massive, churning hydraulic gates designed for cargo ships, their teeth-like gears waiting to grind anything caught within them. The skiff accelerated its drift. “Hold on!” Jaro’s command was sharp, his usual nonchalance entirely gone. He braced himself, scanning the approaching danger. The gurgling roar of the locks grew louder, a hungry sound. Marival saw the first lock gate loom, its massive metal plates slick with algae, a maw opening to swallow them whole. Panic clawed at her throat. “Jaro!” He lunged, catching her by the shoulder and hauling her against his chest. The vessel slammed into the rough, barnacled stone of the canal wall with a sickening crunch. Splinters of wood exploded inwards, shards of broken glass from the lamp above showering down. Jaro twisted, covering Marival’s head with his arm, shielding her face. She felt a searing pain against her forearm, a sharp, tearing sensation, but it wasn’t hers. It was Jaro’s arm, taking the brunt of a jagged piece of debris. He didn't flinch, didn’t cry out, his body a solid, protective barrier against the chaos. The battered hull was now being sucked towards the churning maw of the locks. With a powerful shove, Jaro propelled them both out of the sinking vessel and onto a narrow, slimy ledge bordering the canal. He scrambled up, hauling Marival after him, away from the deadly undertow, until they tumbled onto the cobblestones of a dark alleyway, gasping for breath. Marival pushed herself up, her knees scraped, her silk gown torn. Her eyes went immediately to Jaro. He was pale, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. Blood welled from a deep, ugly gash on his forearm, staining his expensive sleeve crimson. He stared at it, a quiet shock in his eyes, before meeting her gaze. His lips were pressed into a thin line, but he gave a shaky smile. “Your hands,” he rasped, his voice raw. “Are they alright? Your artisan hands?” Marival stared at him, unable to speak. He had willingly, deliberately, put his arm in harm’s way, risking disfigurement, to protect *her* hands. The casual playboy, the potential swindler, had just saved her life without a moment’s hesitation. The blurring lines Balthos had tried to solidify now fractured completely. The fear for Teo, the anger at Jaro, all faded, replaced by a terrifying, dizzying sensation she couldn’t name. He knelt before her, his gaze intense, stripping away every shred of his practiced indifference. “Balthos can take my fortune, Marival. He can take my family name and grind it into dust. But if he touched a hair on your head, if he even scratched one of your delicate fingers… then none of it would matter. None of it.” His uninjured hand rose, cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin. His eyes, usually so guarded, were open, vulnerable, reflecting a raw, searing emotion that stole her breath. He leaned in, closer, his gaze dropping to her lips in a silent question. His breath brushed over her mouth, warm and steady, and Marival leaned in too, the dark alley fading around them. The silence hung heavy between their parted lips. “Marival! Jaro!” The spell shattered. A frantic, high-pitched voice tore through the air. Teo. Marival jerked back, her eyes snapping open, her cheeks flaming. Jaro froze, his hand dropping from her face, his expression instantly shuttered, though a tremor still ran through him. Around the corner, a small, familiar figure sprinted into view, his copper hair disheveled, his stare wild with alarm. It was Teo, clutching a battered satchel against his chest. “Teo! What is it? What happened?” Marival cried, rushing towards him. Her brother skidded to a halt, panting, his face streaked with grime. “Marival! It’s the workshop! Lord Balthos… he just froze the lease! He’s saying we have three days to vacate!”

Sabotage in the Turquoise Canals