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Chapter 68 – The Trap Within the Trap
Kairo's boots were silent on the frosted cobblestones as he closed in on the wagon, Elira two steps behind, dagger ready. The night was still except for the hiss of the wind through the gate arch. From the upper battlements, his hidden men waited for a signal that never came—because this time, Kairo wanted Lysander to see who caught him.
The canvas flap rustled. Lysander emerged, calm as ever, carrying nothing in his hands. His expression didn't even flicker at the sight of Kairo's drawn blade.
"I wondered how long you'd wait," Lysander said lightly. "Midnight seems appropriate."
"Step away from the wagon," Kairo ordered, voice low but deadly.
Lysander tilted his head. "And if I don't?"
Elira moved to flank him, cutting off his escape toward the inner yard. "Then you won't leave this gate."
A faint smile curved Lysander's lips. "So this was all for me. A shipment that doesn't exist. A lord willing to stand in the cold with his sword drawn." He met Kairo's gaze directly. "Impressive. But you're assuming I came alone."
The words were still in the air when movement flickered along the wall—two, three, then five figures slipping from the shadows, armed and fast. They weren't Lysander's usual men from the keep. These wore black sashes marked with the wolf‑and‑vine.
"Down!" Kairo barked, and an arrow clanged off the wagon frame where Elira's head had been a heartbeat before. She rolled behind the wheel, loosing her dagger at the nearest attacker. The man crumpled with a muffled cry.
Kairo's sword flashed as another came at him. "So Vale really is in my walls," he snarled, parrying hard and driving the man back.
Lysander didn't join the fight immediately—he stood just outside the fray, watching with infuriating calm. "I told you, Kairo. You're behind. By the time you root us out, we'll already have what we need."
Elira rose from her cover, dagger slick with blood, and charged him. "You're not walking away again!"
Lysander sidestepped with practiced ease, catching her wrist and twisting hard enough to make her gasp. "You're quicker than I thought," he murmured, shoving her back toward the wagon. "But you're playing the wrong game."
Kairo broke free from his opponent, fury flashing in his eyes. "Leave her—"
A horn blast cut through the night, sharp and close. Reinforcements from the battlements poured into the yard, crossbows leveled. The remaining attackers scattered immediately, vanishing into the shadows beyond the gate.
Lysander backed toward the wall, smiling faintly even as torches lit the yard. "Another night, Kairo." Then he tossed something small to the ground—glass shattering in a hiss of bitter smoke—and was gone through a hidden postern door before the guards could close in.
When the air cleared, only the wagon and two dead attackers remained.
Elira wiped blood from her cheek, breathing hard. "He knew it was bait."
Kairo sheathed his sword, his face grim. "No. He wanted us to know he knew. He's daring us to chase him." He glanced at the bodies on the ground, marked with Vale's sigil. "And next time, he won't come with five men. He'll come with fifty."
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The smoke drifted low over the yard as the torches burned brighter, casting wild shadows against the gate arch. Kairo's soldiers swarmed the cobblestones, crossbows aimed at every corner, but Lysander was gone—slipped through the postern door before anyone could cut him off.
Two of the black‑sashed attackers lay dead near the wagon. A third groaned weakly, an arrow lodged in his thigh. The others had vanished into the night, too quick to chase without leaving the keep exposed.
"Take him alive," Kairo ordered sharply. The guards hauled the wounded man upright, binding his wrists. "Search him. Every pocket, every boot seam. If he so much as blinks wrong, kill him."
Elira wiped her dagger on the wagon's cover, her chest heaving. "Lysander's not even pretending anymore. He's showing us what we're up against."
"That's what worries me," Kairo muttered, scanning the walls. "He isn't afraid. That means he's certain of his next move."
They returned to the keep through the east service stair, the prisoner dragged between two soldiers. Kairo led them down into the lower cellars—a maze of stone chambers that served as both storage and holding cells. The man was shoved onto a bench, his face pale but defiant.
"Name," Kairo said, voice clipped.
The man spat at the floor. "Doesn't matter."
Elira stepped forward, dagger still slick, and crouched so her eyes were level with his. "You work for Vale," she said softly. "But you answer to Lysander inside these walls. So you're already caught between two masters. Which one do you think will save you first?"
The man's jaw tightened, but his gaze flickered for just an instant.
Kairo leaned over him, silent and imposing, letting the weight of his presence do the work. "Talk," he said flatly. "Or you'll never leave this room breathing."
The man gave a bitter laugh that turned into a wince of pain. "You think killing me will stop what's coming? He's already moving the next shipment. You'll never find it in time."
Elira exchanged a quick glance with Kairo. "Where?" she demanded.
The man only smiled faintly, blood staining his teeth. "Ask your council friend. He's better at hiding things than I am."
Kairo's patience snapped. He slammed the man against the wall, fury breaking through his usual control. "Where?"
The man only chuckled weakly, even as blood dripped from his lip. "Doesn't matter. By dawn, it'll be gone."
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The man's breathing turned ragged, but his faint, mocking grin didn't fade. Kairo's fingers tightened on his collar, ready to shake the answer out of him, when Elira touched his arm.
"Wait," she murmured. Her eyes never left the prisoner. "He's not afraid of you. Which means he's not expecting to live long enough to face your punishment."
Kairo hesitated, jaw tight. "Then we make him afraid."
He drew his dagger and pressed the flat of the blade to the man's throat—not cutting, just cold enough to make a point. "Last chance," Kairo said, voice like iron. "Where is the shipment?"
The man gave a rasping laugh. "You're too late. He's moving it through your own tunnels. South wing… below the armory. You won't get there before it's gone."
Kairo's eyes narrowed. "Why tell us at all?"
The man's grin turned bitter. "Because it doesn't matter. You think you're hunting him, but he's already—" His words cut off as he jerked violently, body seizing. A thin foam bubbled at his lips.
Elira recoiled. "Poison—"
Kairo lowered him to the bench, but it was too late. The man's chest shuddered once, twice, then went still. His eyes glazed over in seconds.
"Damn it," Kairo hissed, sheathing the dagger. He glanced sharply at his captain. "No food, no drink. He took it before we ever caught him."
Elira wiped her palms on her cloak. "South wing, below the armory. If that's real, Lysander's moving something tonight."
Kairo's gaze was already calculating, cold and quick. "Then we're going there now. Quietly. No council ears, no guards who might be his."
He turned toward the door, but paused just long enough to meet Elira's eyes. "Stay close. If Lysander's baited us twice, the third trap will be worse."
Elira gripped her dagger and followed. "Then let's spring it on our terms."
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