Chapter 32: The Grand Duke Receives a Key (1)

Dinner that evening was peaceful.

I distrusted it immediately because it was suspicious.

There were no sudden letters from the palace placed beside my plate like poisoned garnish.

No noble caller attempted to force their way into the estate under the excuse of delivering greetings.

No cleric appeared at the gate bearing blessings, incense, and concealed curiosity.

No self-proclaimed Konstantin relative had the audacity to exist within my hearing range.

In fact, even Abi behaved. Which was the most alarming part of all.

He sat properly through the first course, asked only three absurd questions about cutlery, and refrained from declaring any dish superior to the concept of civilization.

I watched him from across the table with open suspicion.

He smiled back. And that made it even worse

A smiling Abi was rarely harmless. A quiet Abi was a pending disaster wearing skin. Transcendent beings tend to do that.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" he finally asked.

"Because you have been well-behaved for about twelve minutes or so."

"Is that not what you wanted?"

"It is."

"Then why do you look offended?"

"Because I do not trust unexpected blessings. They usually ask greater things in exchange."

Spiro paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth. "Is Uncle Abi behaving badly when he behaves well?"

"Precisely."

Abi pointed at me with his fork. "Do you see? You’re the one being unreasonable."

"No. This is just derived from the accumulation of bad experiences."

"I have done nothing."

"Yet."

He leaned back, looking wounded in the most theatrical fashion. "Must my innocence be doubted before any crime is committed?"

"Yes."

"How cruel."

"I beg to differ."

Spiro looked between us and very carefully continued eating, though the corners of his mouth kept twitching. The child was learning to hide laughter. That was progress. Court life would chew through anyone whose expressions were too honest.

Then again, I disliked that he needed to learn such things so early.

A contradictory feeling.

I’ve been having so many contradictory feelings lately.

Even my debut crime has been under it.

William stood nearby, overseeing the meal with his usual quiet precision. Bernard had been sent away to continue looking into the slave route connected to Spiro’s arrival, and several discreet orders had already gone out to Sonomi agents stationed in the Capital. By tomorrow morning, I expected to have a better outline of the caravan, the trader, and the northern goods.

Especially the Boleoti crystals.

That part still troubled me.

A caravan with northern treasures, a child hidden inside a barrel among those treasures, and the violent convenience of death in the Lorillis Desert. It was too clean in some areas and too messy in others. A foolish scheme could explain it. But so could desperation.

Or it could also mean that someone is trying to erase a child without leaving a proper trail.

I looked at Spiro.

He was quietly eating roasted vegetables with the solemn concentration of a young scholar translating a forbidden scripture he had no knowledge of. When he noticed my gaze, he straightened.

"Is something wrong, Father?"

"No."

"Did I do something?"

"No."

"Then why are you looking at me?"

"Am I not allowed to look at my son?"

His ears reddened.

Abi made a soft sound. So I kicked him under the table.

He did not flinch, unfortunately. I should have doubled my strength in kicking. A shame.

"I was merely thinking that you need more meat," I said, placing a slice from the serving plate onto Spiro’s dish.

His eyes widened slightly. "This is already enough."

"It doesn’t look like it."

"But Father, I cannot eat too much."

"You are not eating too much. You are eating like a bird with worries about its finances."

Spiro blinked and I also heard Abi laugh under his breath.

"Birds do not have finances," Spiro said after a moment.

"Well, Sonomi birds do."

He looked confused enough that Abi nearly choked on his wine.

Let him be confused by nonsense. That was far better than being troubled by memories he had yet to share.

"Eat," I said.

"Yes, Father."

He obediently ate. A little more color had returned to his cheeks since his arrival. It wasn’t big enough of a change but it was noticeable. His hands no longer trembled when he reached for utensils, and though he still asked permission before touching anything unfamiliar, that habit was slowly diminishing.

The estate was becoming less like a grand cage to him and more like a place where he could breathe.

This was a small progress.

Not that I was being sentimental. But it was simply useful for a child of House Konstantin to recover properly. Sentiment had nothing to do with it.

After dinner, Spiro insisted on showing me the map he had been studying before our meal.

He claimed it was because he wanted to confirm something about trade routes. I suspected he simply wanted more time near me but did not know how to ask for it without disguising the desire as study.

What a clever and pitiful child.

My child now, apparently. Sigh.

We moved to the family sitting room, a smaller chamber on the second floor with warm lamps, heavy curtains, and a table large enough to spread several maps without the worry for lack of space or furniture.

Abi followed, of course. He carried a plate of honeyed pastries with the solemnity of a bear holding a beehive.

"This room is cozy," he declared.

"Do not eat over the map."

"I would never."

"You already dropped crumbs on a treaty copy this afternoon. You’re not credible at the least."

"It was a replica."

"That does not make it acceptable either."

"It tasted dry anyway."

I stared at him.

"The treaty?"

"The pastry."

"Clarify faster next time."

Spiro giggled softly while unfolding the map. It was a simplified one meant for young noble students, with colorful markings for territories, major roads, trade ports, mountain ranges, and border regions.

The Lorillis Desert stretched across the East in muted gold. Boleoti lay in the far North, pale blue and silver, its borders drawn like frost creeping down the continent.

Spiro’s fingers hovered over it for a moment too long.

Of course I noticed.

I noticed everything, even things I wished not to notice. It was one of my many burdens as a tragically competent person.

"Father," Spiro began carefully, "why do most trade routes from the North avoid Sonomi?"

"Because Northerners value their lives."

He blinked. Abi nodded in solemn agreement.

"Understandable."

I pointed toward the marked routes. "The climate alone makes direct travel foolish. Boleoti is covered in perpetual cold. Sonomi is heat, sand, pressure, and beasts that consider unprepared travelers a light snack. Most Northern goods travel through the western ports or Capital intermediaries instead."

"Then if someone from the North goes to Sonomi directly..."

"They are either desperate, reckless, or hiding something."

His face lowered slightly.

I saw another little crack.

I did not push immediately. A good hunter did not stomp toward a skittish creature and demand it walk into his arms. That was for idiots and heroes, two categories that overlapped more often than people admitted.

Instead, I sat beside him and traced a safer route with my finger.

"See here. This is the usual path. Boleoti crystals are transferred westward first, then sold through licensed merchant houses. The route is longer but safer. A direct eastern caravan would draw attention in the wrong circles."

Spiro looked at the map.

"Would people know?"

"Merchants always know when other merchants are behaving strangely. Whether they admit it depends purely on profit."

He absorbed that quietly.

Then asked, "What if someone wanted to send something away without people knowing where it came from?"

My finger stilled for a moment.

Abi’s gaze lifted from his pastry.

The room became very still.

I turned my head toward Spiro slowly. He froze, as if only just realizing that he had asked too much.

"What a curious question," I said.

His fingers clutched the edge of the map. "I... I just wondered."

"Wondering is useful. It’s good for children."

He did not look reassured.

I sighed internally. Pushing would only make him retreat. Letting it go might allow him to return when he’s ready.

Unfortunately for me, patience was becoming an unwelcome recurring lesson in my life these days.

How hateful.

"If someone wanted to send something away quietly," I said, as if we were still discussing a general theory, "they would disguise it as something ordinary. It could be a merchant caravan or a simple shipment of goods. It may even be just a transfer through lesser roads. They would avoid major checkpoints but not so much that it would look suspicious. They would rely on greed, fear, or ignorance to keep people from asking questions."

Spiro listened intently.

"Would that work?" he asked.

"For a while, it would."

"What happens after?"

"After it happens more than enough, someone competent notices."

His eyes rose to mine.

I smiled.

"That is why truly efficient schemes do not merely hide. They control what others think they had found."

Abi whistled softly. "That sounds devious."

"Because it is."

Spiro looked down again, but his shoulders had eased. Whatever he was trying to learn, I had given him enough to chew on without cornering him.

That was fine.

One day, he would tell me what he was hiding.

Or I would find out first and pretend otherwise until he was ready.

Both options were acceptable.

Before the map lesson could continue, a maid knocked and entered with a message tray.

William stepped in behind her, his expression calm in that way that meant the news was not calm at all.

"Your Excellency," he said. "A sealed reply from the palace."

I leaned back, tapping my fingers on the table.

"So soon?"

"Yes."

Abi perked up. "Is it from the puppy?"

"Lord Abinatha," William said with perfect politeness, "the Young Master is present."

Abi looked at Spiro.

Spiro looked back.

"I know Uncle Abi means the Crown Prince," the child said.

William closed his eyes briefly.

Oh my.

I covered my mouth with my hand. Not to laugh. Certainly not.

Abi looked proud. "See? He is pretty smart."

"That is not the lesson I want him to learn," William said.

The old butler’s tone was so dry it could have survived in Lorillis without water.

I accepted the letter before this household devolved further.

The seal was not the Crown Prince’s. Of course, it was not the emperor’s either.

The wax was pale silver, pressed with the empress’s crest.

A serpent in silk had moved.

I broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

The contents were pretty brief and straightforward.

His Excellency Skandar Aleksandr Konstantin, Grand Duke of Sonomi,

Her Majesty Empress Lyrien extends her greetings and expresses appreciation for Your Excellency’s discerning eye during today’s exhibition.

His Highness the Crown Prince has relayed Your Excellency’s interest in the deeper archival holdings. In recognition of House Konstantin’s historical connection to the founding records, Her Majesty grants a restricted viewing of the lower vault tomorrow evening after court hours.

Attendance shall be limited to Her Majesty, His Highness the Crown Prince, the Lord Keeper of the Imperial Archives, Your Excellency, and Lord Abinatha Konstantin.

The palace awaits your honored presence.

By Her Majesty’s hand,

Selene Voss

Imperial Lady-in-Waiting

I smiled as I read it.

"What is it?" Abi asked.

"The empress has graciously invited us to the lower vault."

Abi’s expression brightened. "How generous of her."

"And suspicious," I corrected.

"Still generous."

"Suspicion and generosity are close cousins in politics."

Spiro frowned faintly. "Is it dangerous, Father?"

The question was directed at me, but his eyes had briefly flickered to the silver seal.

He recognized it. A little child recognizing the different royal crests. Hmm.