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Chapter 67 – The Weight of Silence
The council chamber was already tense when Kairo and Elira stepped inside. The long table gleamed under lamplight, every seat filled—nobles, commanders, scribes, all waiting to hear what had shaken the keep overnight. Lysander was already there as if he'd been seated for hours, his posture calm, his expression unreadable.
Kairo took his place at the head of the table without a word. Elira stood just behind his shoulder, her presence unacknowledged but impossible to ignore. A scribe unrolled fresh parchment, dipping a quill.
"Report," Kairo ordered.
One of the gate commanders stood. "At dawn, a breach was discovered at the east wing vaults. Evidence of contraband—burned chemicals, smashed vials. Two men injured from the fumes. The suspects have not been apprehended."
Lysander cleared his throat softly, rising with deliberate calm. "If I may add, my lord—while inspecting the vaults yesterday, I noted irregular movement in the lower corridors. Not from soldiers, but from someone… less accustomed to being seen."
His gaze slid toward Elira without openly pointing. "This morning, a witness confirmed it."
Kairo's jaw tightened. "Name the witness."
Lysander held up the sealed parchment he'd shown earlier. "Commander Rhel of the night watch. He observed Lady Elira entering the vaults shortly before the fire began."
A ripple went through the council chamber. Several heads turned.
Elira kept her posture rigid, resisting the urge to speak. Kairo had told her to stay silent unless he signaled—and he hadn't moved yet.
"Are you accusing her," Kairo asked coldly, "of sabotage?"
"Not accusing," Lysander said smoothly. "Reporting. The evidence speaks for itself. A gap in the watch, a fire set to destroy supplies… and someone who has no reason to be there at that hour. Unless, of course, she was following someone."
"Who?" Kairo's voice sharpened.
Lysander spread his hands lightly. "That, I cannot say. But if Lady Elira claims she was pursuing an intruder, then I would ask why she failed to alert you—or any of us—before violence broke out."
The chamber murmured again. One councilor leaned toward another, whispering.
Kairo rose slowly, his chair scraping against the stone. The sound silenced the room. "Enough." His eyes swept the table, cold as tempered steel. "I know who walks my halls at night. I know who serves me faithfully. And I know who hides behind forged witnesses and burned evidence."
Lysander's smile didn't waver, but a flicker of tension passed over his face.
"If you have proof," Kairo said, voice dropping to a razor edge, "present it. If not, sit down."
Lysander met his gaze, unblinking. "The council deserves to know who endangered this keep."
"And they will," Kairo said evenly. "By my investigation—not your word."
The chamber was silent. No one dared speak.
At last, Lysander inclined his head slightly, as though conceding nothing but choosing not to press further. He resumed his seat, the faintest curl of a smile on his lips.
Elira stayed still behind Kairo, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. This wasn't over. Lysander had planted his seed of doubt. And Kairo had just made himself its target.
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The council session adjourned under a cloud. Voices were low and clipped as nobles filed out, whispering behind their hands. No one openly challenged Kairo, but no one spoke in his defense either—not yet.
Elira followed him back to his private study in silence. When the door closed, Kairo drove his fist into the edge of the table hard enough to splinter wood.
"He's tightening the net," Elira said quietly. "That report was ready before dawn. He knew exactly what story to tell."
Kairo didn't look at her right away. He was pacing, sharp and restless, his coat swirling behind him. "Commander Rhel will swear to any name Lysander gives him. I should've removed that man months ago."
Elira stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You can't just accuse Lysander outright. He's too careful—too clean. You'll look like you're protecting me."
"I am protecting you," Kairo said coldly, stopping short. His gaze met hers, intense and unyielding. "But not at the expense of losing this keep. If the council starts believing him, they'll move against both of us."
Elira folded her arms. "So what's the plan? Wait for him to take another shot?"
"No." Kairo turned toward the maps spread across the table, sweeping aside reports until he found one marked with red ink—the vault layouts, the passages they'd chased Lysander through. "We force him to make his next move faster than he wants. If he thinks we're desperate, he'll overreach."
"And how do we make him think that?"
Kairo looked up, his expression sharpening into something dangerous. "We leak false information. Something big enough to tempt him into acting, but controlled enough that we can track it."
Elira arched a brow. "Bait."
"Exactly," Kairo said. "A shipment leaving tonight. Guards on edge. Rumors of me personally escorting it." He glanced at her. "You'll make sure he hears it."
Elira hesitated. "And if he takes the bait?"
"Then we catch him in the open," Kairo said grimly. "And this time, he doesn't walk away."
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Night settled over the keep with a biting wind, the kind that stripped the warmth from torches and sent servants hurrying through the halls. Elira moved among them deliberately, passing quiet words, letting whispers take root in the right ears.
"Lord Kairo's escorting the shipment himself."
"Leaving at midnight."
"Through the east gate—no one's supposed to know."
The rumor spread like fire on dry wood, and Kairo watched it happen from the shadows of his study window. He'd positioned loyal guards at every corner, marking who lingered too long, who left the hall too quickly.
By the time the great bell tolled the tenth hour, the bait was set.
"Lysander will hear it soon," Elira murmured, stepping back into the study. Her hood was still up, cheeks flushed from the cold. "If he hasn't already."
"He has," Kairo said with quiet certainty. He was armed this time, coat belted tight, short sword at his hip. "He's too careful not to have someone listening near the servants' quarters."
A sharp knock at the door interrupted them. One of Kairo's loyal captains slipped inside, bowing low. "My lord. A message from the lower yard. A man was seen slipping toward the east wall—no torch, moving fast."
Elira exchanged a glance with Kairo. "He's taking it."
"Good," Kairo said grimly. "We move now."
The captain handed over a small lantern, its light shielded. "Shall I bring more men?"
Kairo shook his head. "No. Too many and he'll smell the trap. Keep the others at a distance. If things turn, close the gates."
They left through the service stairs, boots soundless against the cold stone. The east gate loomed in the distance, its shadowed arch lit by two lonely torches. Beyond it, the false "shipment" waited—a single covered wagon, deliberately unattended but under watch from the upper battlements.
Elira kept low, her dagger loose in her hand. "You're sure he'll come himself?"
"He won't trust anyone else with this," Kairo said, scanning the dark yard. "If Lysander thinks this wagon carries something worth stealing, he'll want to see it with his own eyes."
As if summoned by the words, a figure detached from the shadows near the wall—moving fast, silent, unmistakably practiced. Lysander.
He crossed to the wagon, glancing over his shoulder once before slipping under the canvas flap.
Kairo nodded once to Elira. "Now."
They moved as one, silent and sure, closing the distance before Lysander even knew they were there.
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