The manor's vastness made finding the wine cellar feel like chasing a ghost. Lysandra moved ahead, her every step deliberate and silent, while Alaric followed closely, his senses sharp. The corridors seemed to narrow as they descended further, the air growing cooler and tinged with the faint scent of damp stone and aged wine.
"Any idea where this cellar is supposed to be?" Alaric whispered, his voice barely audible in the stillness.
"Servants use a secondary stairwell to access storage areas," Lysandra replied without turning. "If the cellar is where I think it is, it'll be below the east wing." She paused at an intersection, her sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit halls. "Follow me."
Alaric couldn't help but admire the way she moved—fluid, efficient, always in control. But there was no time for distractions. They needed to uncover the purpose of this meeting before Halvard realized they were onto him.
After several minutes of careful navigation, they reached a narrow door tucked behind a larger pantry area. Lysandra crouched, studying the floor near the doorframe. The faint trail of scuff marks and a faint hint of fresh wax on the hinges confirmed her suspicions.
"This is it," she murmured. "Someone's been through here recently."
Alaric drew closer, his gaze scanning the area. "Do you think it's guarded?"
"If it's important enough to meet here, then yes," she replied, pulling a thin blade from her belt. "But they won't expect us to come in quietly."
She pressed her ear against the door, listening for movement. Faint voices carried through, too muffled to make out distinct words, but there was no mistaking the low hum of conversation. She glanced back at Alaric, her expression serious. "There are at least three people inside."
Alaric frowned. "If they're armed, we can't just barge in."
"I'm not suggesting we do," she said, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. "There's always another way."
She gestured to a small ventilation shaft just above the door, barely wide enough for someone her size. "That'll get me inside unnoticed."
"And me?" Alaric asked, his brow arching.
"You're going to stay here and act as backup," she replied, already climbing onto a nearby shelf to reach the vent. "If something goes wrong, you'll be my way out."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. "Be careful, Lysandra."
She flashed him a quick grin before disappearing into the shaft.
The shaft was cramped and smelled faintly of mildew, but Lysandra moved with practiced ease, her movements soundless. She reached the end of the passage and peered through the grate into the cellar below.
The room was dimly lit by lanterns hanging from stone walls. Four men stood around a wooden table laden with documents and an open map. Lord Halvard was unmistakable among them, his silver-streaked hair and commanding presence dominating the space. His voice was calm but laced with authority.
"…ensure the shipments are ready before the next phase," Halvard said, pointing to a location on the map. "The Master won't tolerate delays."
One of the men, a stocky figure with a scar running down his cheek, nodded. "And the men? Are they prepared for the crossing?"
Halvard's expression darkened. "They'll do as they're ordered. They know the consequences of failure."
Lysandra's pulse quickened as she strained to catch every word. This was the confirmation they needed—Halvard was directly aiding the necromancer. The references to "the Master" and the coordination of men and supplies left no room for plausible deniability.
As the men continued discussing logistics, Lysandra's sharp eyes landed on a partially rolled-up letter sealed with black wax. Her breath caught when she saw the imprint on the wax—a crest she knew all too well. It wasn't the necromancer's mark.
It was the royal crest of Eldren.
Her stomach clenched, and for a moment, her carefully constructed composure wavered. The coiled serpent intertwined with a laurel crown was unmistakable. It was the mark of her father's house.
She swallowed hard, her mind racing. Why was the crest of Eldren here, in a meeting connected to Lord Halvard and the necromancer's forces? Was the crown involved? Or was it a rogue faction ?
Lysandra forced herself to focus. The answers didn't matter right now—the letter did. Whatever it contained could provide the proof she and Alaric needed to expose Halvard, and possibly even reveal the deeper threads of this conspiracy.
Halvard's voice drew her attention back to the men at the table. He leaned over the map, jabbing a finger at a marked location.
"The supplies will move through this point at first light," he said firmly. "The Master's timeline is non-negotiable. If Eldren delays, they'll answer for it."
Lysandra's chest tightened, but she held her position. Halvard's words confirmed it: Eldren's involvement wasn't incidental. Someone from the royal family—or someone acting with their authority—was aiding the necromancer.
Her fingers twitched toward the hilt of her dagger. No. Not yet. She couldn't risk acting rashly. Instead, she focused on memorizing the map and every word exchanged.
When the men finally began to disperse, she waited until the room was empty before slipping down from the vent. Her boots touched the ground silently, and she moved quickly to the table. The documents were still spread out, but her attention went straight to the letter bearing the crest.
She grabbed it, tucking it into her satchel alongside the other papers, and darted back into the shadows.
When Lysandra returned to the meeting point, Alaric was pacing, his expression tight. His relief was palpable when he saw her emerge from the darkness.
"What did you find?" he asked, his voice hushed but urgent.
She pulled the letter from her satchel and handed it to him. "This. Sealed with the crest of Eldren."
Alaric's brow furrowed as he turned the letter over, his eyes narrowing at the familiar mark. "The royal crest," he muttered. "Why would Eldren's crown be involved in this?"
"I don't know," Lysandra admitted, her voice harder than she intended. "But Halvard mentioned Eldren specifically. He's coordinating with someone from there—or worse, the royal family itself."
Alaric's gaze snapped to hers. "Do you think it's your—?"
"Don't," she interrupted sharply, cutting him off. "We don't know anything yet. All we have are questions, and we need answers before we make accusations."
His jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Agreed. We need to decode this letter and see if it leads us to whoever's behind this."
"And we need to act fast," Lysandra added. "Halvard mentioned moving supplies at first light. If we can intercept that shipment, we might uncover the full extent of his network."
"Then we move now," Alaric said, his voice steely. "If Eldren is involved... It's a political threat."
Lysandra nodded, her hand brushing against the dagger at her side. The crest burned in her mind, a reminder of a past she had tried to leave behind. But now, it seemed, her past was catching up to her in the worst possible way.