The rain had not stopped by morning. It fell against the windows of the manor's lower quarter, threading down the glass. Inside, the manor stood too still, its silence no longer born of luxury, but of fear.
Elsie sat before her dressing mirror, wrapped in a robe the color of roses. The faint perfume of lavender candles filled the room, but it only made the air heavier. Her auburn hair hung loose, still damp from her bath, and though she had scrubbed her skin raw, she could not wash away the faint red line along her throat.
Her reflection stared back, the same face, but changed. Somewhere beyond the city roofs, beyond the wet stone and smoke, was the man who had left that mark.
Even thinking about him felt dangerous, like handling a blade still warm from the forge.
She had replayed the encounter countless times, his grip, the measured calm in his voice, the way he read her like an open ledger. No bluster, no arrogance. Just control.He wasn't one of the Margrave's men. That much she was sure of.And that, perhaps, made him her only chance.
The door opened quietly behind her.
"Elsie?"
Her mother stepped inside. Lady Maren carried herself with the kind of grace that lingered after the fortune was gone, a posture learned, not purchased. Her dark gown was elegant but frayed, the lace cuffs mended too many times to be discreet.
"I was told you returned after midnight," Maren said softly, closing the door. "And drenched. Were you out in that storm?"
Elsie didn't turn. "I needed air."
"You'll catch your death," her mother said, moving closer. "Though perhaps that would be a mercy compared to what's coming."
Elsie looked up at her reflection, meeting her mother's eyes in the mirror. "They came again?"
Maren nodded, her lips pressed thin. "The Margrave's men. To confirm the tallies for the Tribute."
Elsie turned then, the word cutting through her. "Already?"
"They said the Margrave wishes this year's offering to be beyond reproach," her mother said bitterly. "Three days from now, the Orders will convene — the Sandak, the Forge, and the Veil. The city will burn its lamps and polish its armor, pretending it is a privilege to bleed for them."
Elsie's stomach tightened. "They still demand people?"
Her mother's gaze went distant. "They always have. Red Odai for all three, coin and bodies for the Sandak's legions, and those the Veil calls 'vessels', chosen from our own houses. The Margrave's kin are not exempt. This year, they say the quotas are doubled."
The silence that followed was thick enough to drown in.
Elsie whispered, "And if we can't meet our share?"
Maren looked at her, truly looked, and for a moment the mask of nobility cracked. "Then we will be the share."
Elsie's breath caught.
Her mother sank into the chair beside the window, the gray light softening her features but not her despair. "We've sold everything that could be spared, land, jewelry, horses, and staff. Still not enough. When the Tribute comes, they will look to the lesser houses first. We are small, El. We have been in decline ever since your father died, and the other houses want to take advantage of this to take our fields or absorb us."
Elsie crossed the room, anger blooming beneath her fear. "Then we won't let them. There must be a way."
"Do not speak like your father," Maren snapped, the words sudden, sharp. "He spoke of defiance, too, until they dealt with him. You know how they view any opposition."
The memory struck like a blow. Elsie looked away. The image of her father's hollowed form still haunted her sleep.
She steadied herself. "Then maybe we find someone who can do what we can't."
Maren frowned. "Someone?"
Elsie hesitated, then turned back, voice lowering. "I think I've found a man we can rely on."
Maren's disbelief was immediate. "A man? Elsie, this is no time for—"
"I mean it," she said quickly. "He's not one of the Margrave's servants or the family's dogs. He's... different. I saw him move, saw him think. He's dangerous, but not cruel. He could help us."
"Help us how? By getting you killed? Does he even know what he would be getting himself into?"
"I just haven't been able to convince him yet," Elsie said.
Maren's face hardened. "You've spoken to him?"
Elsie nodded faintly. "Last night."
Her mother's gaze fell to the faint cut on her daughter's throat, and her composure shattered. "Saints preserve us," she breathed, reaching forward. "He did that to you?"
"It was a misunderstanding," Elsie said quickly. "He thought I meant to harm him."
"Perhaps you should have," Maren muttered. "You've no idea who this man is, and yet you'd place our lives in his hands, El?"
Elsie held her ground. "Because we have no options left, Mother and I would rather not sit back and watch us crumble."
For a moment, only the rain answered. Then Maren rose, her voice low and shaking. "I know you are only trying your best to remedy the situation, but if you give yourself to danger...I don't know what I would do if anything were to happen to you. You are the only one I have left. We have a few days left to find a way."
Her voice broke. "Before we become part of the tally."
She turned away, one hand pressed to her mouth, shoulders trembling.
Elsie stood rigid, her own fear caged behind determination.
When her mother finally left the room, Elsie crossed to the window again. The rain had softened to a mist, and the city beyond the glass shimmered, rooftops, smoke, the glint of the Reaper's Hall in the distance.
She pressed her palm to the cold glass, watching her reflection blur.
Three days. One man. One chance.
Her eyes dropped to the faint red mark at her throat.
It had been a warning. Or perhaps… an invitation.
Either way, she would not waste it.