Elara frowned, pressing a hand to her forehead as she tried to make sense of it. The Sons of Lyrel had apparently not become an assassin's guild yet. Before the third book, they were apparently an intelligence network. It did beg the question of why they'd changed from a guild collecting intelligence into assassins. No matter the answer to that, three questions remained: why choose an intelligence guild that, while having a good reputation among their clientele, is too small to be of importance? Why frame that small intelligence guild for attempting to assassinate the Grand Duke's lover? And who would benefit from her death?
Her thoughts spiraled, each question leading to another dead end. Caspian's brother, the king, had enough reason to want her gone, but even he wouldn't be reckless enough to leave a trail like this. Lyanna Orinthal, perhaps? If she had already started scheming against Caspian, removing Elara might be her way of destabilizing him early on. But it seemed too soon for her involvement; the story wasn't supposed to escalate until they reached the capital.
Elara bit her lip. The storyline is changing. She had known it might happen when she chose to interfere, but she hadn't expected it to start this quickly. And now, because of her, Caspian and his knights were being dragged into danger far earlier than they should have been.
"Who wants me dead?" she whispered to herself, voice barely audible over the clatter of the carriage wheels. "And why frame the Sons of Lyrel?"
Outside, she could see Caspian leading the group, speaking with Kyran in low, urgent tones. Both men looked tense, as if they were already planning their next move. Caspian glanced back at the carriage, his eyes locking with hers briefly.
He gave her another nod, a small but reassuring gesture that sent a wave of warmth through her chest. Even after everything, he was concerned about comforting her.
Elara managed a small, shaky smile in return before she let the curtain fall back into place. The road stretched ahead of them, leading towards Brovendor, and whatever comforts—or dangers—waited there.
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By the time they reached Brovendor, the suns had dipped below the horizon, giving way to the first glimmer of stars scattered across the velvet sky. The town greeted them with a lively energy despite the fact the day was gone. It was a far cry from the eerie quiet of the forest road they had just left behind. Lanterns hung from wrought-iron posts, their golden glow casting a warm light on cobblestone streets slick with the faint sheen of recent rain. The light reflected off the puddles, making it look as though the stars themselves had fallen to earth.
The streets were packed with people—merchants closing their stalls for the night, their voices blending into a cacophony of haggling and good-natured banter; children darting between legs, clutching sticky-sweet treats as their mothers called them back. The aroma of fresh-baked bread and spiced meats filled the air, mingling with the more pungent scent of smoke from street vendors roasting chestnuts over open flames.
Music drifted from a nearby tavern, the jaunty notes of a fiddle accompanied by the rhythmic clapping of patrons caught up in song. Laughter spilled out into the street, a hearty, contagious sound that made the town feel like it was embracing them, welcoming them into its fold. A group of performers had gathered in a small square, juggling flaming torches to the delight of a crowd that clapped and cheered with every toss.
Elara watched, entranced, as a couple spun together in a spontaneous dance, their laughter lighting up their faces. Looking at them, it was hard to place that this world was the same world where she'd just been attacked a few hours ago. This was the same world she'd watched a man be gutted and another bite a poison capsule to kill himself.
They made their way to a cozy inn tucked away at the edge of the square. The sign above the door swayed in the breeze, depicting a golden pheasant mid-flight. Inside, the inn was pleasantly warm, a fire crackling in the hearth and the scent of rosemary-infused stew making Elara's stomach rumble in anticipation. The innkeeper, a stout woman with rosy cheeks and a kind smile, greeted them with a smile.
"Visitors from Chirondale," she chirped. "I can tell by your colors. You must be headed to the capital, we had the lord from Reevesdale here just a day ago. Come in, come in. Have a bite to eat while we set up your rooms. And get yourselves warmed up by the hearth, Freitveil's hand is creeping in early this Valtren's Bounty."
They were shown to a table near the fire, and as Elara took her seat, she couldn't help but feel the pulse of Brovendor's heart—a town that thrummed with life, even in the darkest hours of night. Here, it seemed, there was a shared understanding that the best way to keep the darkness at bay was to meet it with laughter, song, and the company of friends.
It was a fleeting, fragile peace, but Elara found herself clinging to it, letting the sounds and smells of Brovendor wrap around her like a comforting blanket. She took her meal with the group, who all seemed less tense now that they were behind thick city walls and inside the warm arms of the inn. The innkeeper served them that rosemary-infused stew with thick pieces of rye bread and Isyndorian wine that didn't stop flowing. This inn's tavern came with entertainment, and when the knights and maids all had their fill of food and were tipsy from the wine, they danced to the fiddle player's tune much like the couple from earlier.
While she watched them, her eyes far away, Caspian tapped her hand to get her attention. When he had it, he gestured over to Kyran with a pointed tilt of his head. He was making his way up the stairs toward the rooms. Caspian stood and offered his hand. When she took it, they were off, following the chancellor.
In the safety of the room she and Caspian would be sharing for the night, Elara felt more comfortable. She felt as if she'd been struggling to appear normal the entire day, but now that she was here, she could let the mask slip a little. The chancellor was by the window, looking out of it as Caspian led Elara to one of the chairs around the fireplace.
"Tell us what you found."
The chancellor reached inside a compartment of his cloak. "It'll be easier to show you," he said, pulling out a piece of paper and holding it out to Caspian.
Caspian unfolded the note, his expression hardening as he read. He handed the note to her without a word.
Elara's breath caught as she scanned the contents. The handwriting was hurried, but clear enough to read:
"The woman must not survive the journey to the capital city. The Sons of Lyrel are to be blamed. Ensure there are no loose ends."
Her pulse quickened. Of course, she knew already that someone was trying to kill her and frame the Sons of Lyrel for it, but it was eerie to read a note handwritten by the person who'd orchestrated everything. Her only question now was why? The Sons of Lyrel were nothing more than a small-time intelligence guild, so there was really no merit in targeting them unless...
"They're trying to discredit them before they gain power," Elara murmured, piecing it together and interrupting whatever Chancellor Kyran and Caspian had been talking about. "Whoever orchestrated this wants the Sons of Lyrel eliminated early, before they can become a threat."
Both men stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, then Chancellor Kyran rubbed at his jaw.
"I take it, Miss. Elara, you're implying this person seeks to use you to take care of the Sons of Lyrel."
She nodded.
His eyebrows came together. "Then my next question would be this, how do they know? You've said the Sons of Lyrel are to become a big deal in three years. Even his Grace doesn't remember them despite his many regressions, so how would this person know that the Sons of Lyrel would grow to be a threat?"
The hair on her arms and neck was standing on end. "There are two possibilities," came her whispered reply through dry lips, "either this person has some kind of grudge against the intelligence group and just decided to use me to piss them off. Or..." She swallowed. "Or someone else knows how the story goes and is looking to wipe both me and the Sons of Lyrel out because we're threats that can't be ignored." She pointed to herself. "If they know the future, I'm a variable that didn't exist before. And the Sons of Lyrel, well, they speak for themselves."
The three of them grew quiet, each drawing their own conclusions. It was Caspian that spoke.
"Do you think it's Lyanna or my brother?"
Elara shrugged. "Anything could be a possibility, but it would be out of character. Lyanna's the type who would meet me first, look me in the eyes, and gauge my intentions."
Caspian hummed his agreement. "My brother, then?"
"The king has been busy with the preparations of Valtren's Bounty Hunt," Kyran responded, shaking his head. "I'm not saying it's impossible for him to do it, but they say he spends his days attending council, preparing for the hunt, doing paperwork, and sleeping these days. It's because of this the ministers are pushing him to share a room with the queen more often. They've been married for five years and have yet to produce an heir."
"We have to consider the possibility that it could be the king and queen, but it could also be a third party. Someone we're not even aware of, moving in the shadows."
Elara leaned back in her chair. If there was a third party, someone outside the plot she knew, it would mean her knowledge of the plot was incomplete, useless even.
"A third party," she muttered. "If it's true that there's someone else here who knows the plot of the novel and they're actively trying to get rid of me because I'm interfering..."
After a beat of silence, Kyran said, "I'll send word to our contacts in the capital and have them start looking into any unusual movements or whispers. Whether it's the king, the queen or a third party involved, they've left some trace. No matter how careful they think they've been."
"Why the capital?" Elara asked.
"The paper the note was written on. Lucerian birchwood, it can only be found in the high-end shops in the capital."
She glanced down at the paper in her hands. It just looked like paper to her, but Kyran could determine the kind of wood used to make it. He really was something else.
"Let's rest for now," Caspian said, taking the note from Elara and tossing it into the fire. "By now, the conspirator must already know we've foiled their plans to harm Elara again and they're likely to keep trying until they succeed. With the large group we've brought with us, we can't afford to protect everyone every time we're attacked." He tapped his hand against his knee as he contemplated. "Kyran."
Kyran stood up straight. "Yes, your Grace."
"Let the knights know that tomorrow, we'll be traveling to Astrielle's temple. Tell them to sleep early, we'll be leaving at dawn."
Kyran bowed low. "Yes, your Grace. Goodnight to you. And you as well, Miss. Elara." And with that he left the room quickly.
"Astrielle is the goddess of space and time, right?" Elara scanned her mind for all she remembered seeing about the goddess on the author's forum. "Why are we going to her temple?"
Caspian considered her question for a moment, then turned to face her. "Do you have time to listen to another story tonight, Elara?"