Adelina’s fingers continued their methodical work, separating dried sprigs of Vesperbloom from withered Skymoss, as if the High Magistrate’s decree were a minor inconvenience. “A grand gesture,” she murmured, not looking at Ilmar. “And perfectly timed. The people adore a martyr, especially one who sacrifices for their ‘purification’.” “She’s turning the city against you even faster,” Ilmar said, crumpling the parchment. “This makes you a villain beyond redemption. A selfless saint against a selfish poisoner.” “The narrative was set the moment Kask placed the cuffs on me,” Adelina replied, snapping a brittle stem. “Leida simply ensures the final act is suitably tragic. For her, that is.” “We’re out of time. The execution is tomorrow.” Ilmar paced the small confines of the cell, the stale air thick with the scent of medicinal herbs and salt. “Your notes. The full formula for the cure. Where are they?” Adelina finally lifted her gaze, her eyes, the color of wet slate, meeting his. “With Tõnis. At the underground sanctuary.” Ilmar stopped. “You hid your brother there? The place you funded with the ‘missing’ money?” “It’s the safest place in Revalia for Tide-sick young,” she said, a faint tremor in her voice, quickly suppressed. “Far from the city’s ‘purification’ efforts. The notes are tucked into a concealed slot beneath his cot. He doesn’t know their significance, only that they are ‘Mama’s special drawings’.” “So, the only way to prove your innocence, to save those youths, is to get to Tõnis and retrieve those notes. Tonight.” Ilmar’s mind raced, assessing the near-impossible logistics. “How do we even get out of this place?” He needed an ally, an urgent one. Commander Kask. His own child was succumbing. The thought propelled Ilmar from Adelina’s cell, down the echoing corridors, toward the Commander’s office. Kask sat at his desk, head in his hands, the lamplight glinting off the polished brass of his uniform. The fatigue etched on his face was deeper than before, a raw wound. He looked up, his eyes bloodshot. “Vares. Signed the papers yet?” His voice was hoarse. “No,” Ilmar said, planting himself before the desk. “But I have a way to get you the cure. Tonight. Before tomorrow’s gallows. For your daughter.” Kask straightened, a flicker of raw urgency igniting in his gaze. “What do you want?” “Adelina’s full research notes. They’re secured at the sanctuary with her brother, Tõnis. I need to get there, retrieve them, and return. Unseen. Unnoticed.” Ilmar’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “I need your help. A distraction. A blind spot in the patrol routes. Anything.” The Commander was silent for a long moment, the only sound the distant crash of the surf against the cliffs. He stared at Ilmar, weighing the impossible request against the life of his child. The grim mask he usually wore cracked, revealing fear, naked and potent. “The south gate,” Kask finally rasped, pushing a folded diagram of the facility across the desk. His finger traced a shadowed path. “There’s a cistern access tunnel beneath the old armory. It’s rarely patrolled after the last shift change, especially with the surge alarms still intermittent.” He pointed to a small, unmarked door on the diagram. “It leads out to the cliffs, then a steep path down to the old fishermen’s cove. From there, it’s a direct run to the Silt Quarters.” “And the guards inside?” “I’ll manage them,” Kask said, his voice hard. “There will be a… training exercise. A sudden inspection. It will draw attention away from your egress point for precisely thirty minutes. No more.” He looked at Ilmar, his eyes pleading. “Bring me back that cure, Vares. Please. My girl… she doesn’t have much time.” Ilmar gave a curt nod, the Commander’s frantic bargain settling over his shoulders like damp wool. He gripped the diagram and left, the image of Kask’s haunted eyes burned into his memory. Twenty minutes later, Ilmar and Kask stood in the musty darkness of the armory, the metallic tang of old rust in the air. A low hum vibrated through the stone floor, the sound of the Rookery’s internal machinery. Kask swung open a heavy, grimy grate, revealing a narrow, claustrophobic tunnel. “Through here. The path is rough. Watch your footing.” Ilmar squeezed into the opening, Kask following. They emerged onto a narrow ledge carved into the cliff face, the wind whipping their cloaks. Below, the dark, churning sea swallowed the faint light of the distant city. The path was treacherous, slick with sea spray, but Ilmar moved with a newfound purpose, fueled by the ticking clock and the Commander’s frantic plea. They navigated the winding, shadowed alleyways of the Silt Quarters, the stench of brine and refuse clinging to the damp air. The shelter, Adelina had said, lay beneath the old Spinner’s Guild hall, a derelict building known for its collapsed roof and dangerous foundations. They were nearing the district’s edge, a forgotten corner of Revalia, when a low whistle cut through the night. Ilmar froze, shoving Kask back against the mildewed wall of a fishmonger’s shop. Three figures emerged from the gloom, then five, then a dozen, their polished breastplates glinting under the flickering gas lamps. City Guard. Not a patrol. They were waiting. “Commander Kask,” one of them sneered, his helmet obscuring his features. “And the disgraced psychopomp. A private little excursion, eh?” The guard’s hand went to the hilt of his blade. “Some of us haven’t forgotten whose command Adelina Sarapik is under. And some of us believe she should have met the gallows a week ago.” Kask stepped forward, drawing his own heavy, ceremonial sword, the steel singing softly as it cleared the scabbard. “This is a private matter, guardsmen. Stand down.” The leader laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Private? Breaking out the Corvid Queen’s little pet? I think not. This is an insubordination. We have directives, Commander. Decrees that say Adelina Sarapik’s fate is sealed. And anyone who tries to meddle with it…” He gestured with his chin towards Ilmar. “Is guilty of treason.” Kask glanced at Ilmar, his eyes blazing with a fierce, protective fire. “Vares! Run! Now!” He didn’t wait for a response, lunging forward, his blade a blur, meeting the first guard’s charge with a powerful, echoing clang of steel. He spun, his heavy cloak swirling around him, momentarily obscuring the dozen armed guards from Ilmar’s view. “Go!” he roared, his voice thick with exertion as he parried another blow, the clash of metal deafening in the narrow alley. Ilmar hesitated for only a fraction of a second, the image of Kask, a lone, desperate figure, standing against a wall of steel under the flickering gas lamp, burning into his mind. He turned and sprinted, the sound of clashing blades and shouted commands fading behind him, a knot of terror twisting in his gut. He didn’t know how long Kask could hold them off, but he knew if he failed, everything—Adelina, Tõnis, Kask’s daughter—would be lost. He ran, faster than he thought possible, his feet pounding on the cobblestones, the shadowed alleyways beckoning him deeper into the city’s forgotten heart, toward the secret shelter, and the answers that might save them all. A sharp whistle pierced the night, closer this time, and then another. They were pursuing him.

The Alchemist's Gambit