Late 285 AC
The Twins were less a castle and more a warehouse for human resentment. Rykker learned quickly that while Lord Walder was the shouting face of the House, the true machinery of the family often turned on quieter gears.
It was late autumn when Rykker found the discrepancy in the armory manifests. He sat on a crate of rivets, breath misting in the cold air of the stone storeroom. According to the ledger, twenty suits of ringmail and five castle-forged longswords had been "damaged beyond repair" during training exercises in the last three moons.
Rykker knew the training yard. He knew the blunted steel they used. You didn't accidentally destroy five longswords. Someone was selling Frey steel to hedge knights or merchants on the Kingsroad.
The signature signing off on the damage belonged to Ryger Rivers, another bastard, but a man grown and favored by the violent militant faction of the family. If Rykker went to Lord Walder, Ryger would deny it, and Rykker would likely suffer a "hunting accident" within the week.
He needed a shield.
He found Lothar Frey in the steward's solar. Lothar was known as "Lame Lothar" due to his twisted leg, but Rykker knew from his future memories that this man was the architect of the Red Wedding. Lothar was the smartest man in the Twins—articulate, polite, and utterly devoid of empathy.
Rykker knocked and entered. Lothar was reviewing scrollwork, a cup of mulled wine steaming beside him. He looked up, his eyes dark and intelligent.
"The counting boy," Lothar said, his voice smooth like oiled leather. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Has my father run out of ink?"
"I found a profit leak," Rykker said, stepping into the room but keeping a respectful distance. He placed the armory ledger on the desk. "Someone is selling House steel. Twenty suits of mail. Five swords."
Lothar didn't look at the book. He looked at Rykker. "And you brought this to me, rather than my father. Why?"
"Because if I take it to Lord Walder, he screams. If he screams, the thief knows I told him. And the thief is Ryger Rivers, who has friends with heavy hands," Rykker explained calmly. "I figured you would prefer to handle the asset recovery quietly. It keeps the gold in the family, and it gives you leverage over Ryger."
Lothar's expression didn't change, but the air in the room shifted. He reached out and pulled the ledger closer. "Leverage is a useful thing, Rykker. More useful than gold, often."
"I don't want the credit," Rykker added. "I just want to do my job without being thrown off the battlements."
Lothar chuckled softly. It was a warm sound, which made it all the more unsettling. "You have a survival instinct. That is rare here. Most of our kin are too stupid to realize they are in danger until the knife is already in their belly."
Lothar opened a drawer and pulled out a fresh quill. "Leave the ledger. I will speak to Ryger. He will be… encouraged to reimburse the treasury."
"And the swords?"
"Written off," Lothar said, dismissing him with a wave. "But Rykker? Come back tomorrow. I have letters that need drafting. My brothers write like peasants. I could use a hand that doesn't tremble."
Rykker bowed. He had walked into the spider's web willingly, but at least now, the spider saw him as a fly worth keeping alive.