Chapter 39 – The Balances of Power
Three weeks after Tywin's supper, the city smelled of heat, ink, and quiet unrest. Gold cloaks moved through the markets like the tide — everywhere and for no reason at all. Someone, somewhere, was always counting coins or corpses.
And I had begun counting both.
By day, I sat beside Baelish in the Treasury Hall, listening to his laughter weave through ledgers and lies. By night, a different ink marked my reports — for Tywin.
Two masters. Two lions. And a single knife poised between them.
The trick was simple: never give either man the full truth. Truth was a coin too pure to spend all at once.
Baelish leaned over a table of figures one afternoon, eyes half-lidded in amusement. "You've been diligent lately, Holt. The Iron Bank might start sending you love letters."
"Numbers don't flirt," I said.
"Only with those who don't understand them," he replied, smiling. "Tell me — why is the Crown's debt to the Faith suddenly lower this month? I didn't authorize a transfer."
"You did," I said, sliding a folded parchment toward him. "Indirectly. The funds from the grain surplus were redirected under the Small Council's relief provision. The Faith received their due; we gained their favor."
Baelish frowned slightly, scanning the seal. Then — laughter. "Seven hells, you hid a loan inside a charity payment. Clever. Dangerous, but clever."
He leaned closer, voice soft. "Don't mistake initiative for safety. When men like Tywin notice initiative, they start to think they own it."
"I'll keep that in mind," I said.
He smiled again, the kind of smile that weighed the value of everything it touched. "Do. Because when lions take an interest, mice go missing."
That evening, I met with one of Tywin's clerks in a cold corridor of the Red Keep. No words — only an exchange of ledgers and silence.
Later, in the privacy of my quarters, I opened Tywin's reply.
Continue as you are. Baelish's methods invite rot. I prefer structure. Secure the Faith's cooperation for future levies. Quietly.
That was all. No thanks. No praise. Just command.
But commands were levers — and levers could move the realm.
By morning, the High Septon's purse strings began to tighten, not from threat, but from gratitude. The Treasury's "unexpected charity" had earned the Crown three favors in return: leniency on temple taxation, silence on a few questionable shipments from the Reach, and a sermon extolling the King's piety.
All arranged with ink, not steel.
When the Queen heard of it, she summoned Baelish for counsel. I was told to attend.
Cersei sat by the window, sunlight glinting off her hair like polished gold. Baelish bowed low. I stood beside him, silent, the dutiful clerk.
"The Faith praises the King's generosity," she said coolly. "And my father says this—" she gestured to the ledgers "—was your doing."
Baelish smiled. "All things done in the King's name belong to His Grace, Your Majesty."
Her eyes flicked toward me. "Then perhaps His Grace should thank his servants."
It wasn't praise. It was recognition — and in King's Landing, that was far more dangerous.
Afterward, Baelish's tone turned colder. "You've grown bold, Holt."
"I follow your example," I said.
"Mm." He adjusted his cloak, watching me with a faint smirk. "Just remember whose shadow you're standing in."
He walked away, leaving the scent of sweet wine behind him.
But shadows shift with the sun — and mine was learning to move.
That night, I added a new entry to the Ledger.
The Faith's purse bends easily when fed righteousness. The Queen watches. Baelish suspects. Tywin approves.
The ink shimmered faintly before sinking into the parchment.
Evaluation: manipulation successful. Influence gain: measurable. Risk escalation: moderate.
I closed the book. Outside, bells rang from the Sept of Baelor, their sound echoing across the sleeping city.
Each toll felt like a measure — of time, of ambition, of how far I'd already fallen into this game.
And for the first time, I realized something that neither Tywin nor Baelish seemed to grasp:
the ledgers no longer recorded the realm.
They recorded me.
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