The transition to the south was jarring. As Elyana and Kyle rode deeper into the valley, the grey and white of the north gave way to an explosion of color. The trees here were ancient oaks and maples, their leaves already turning a deep, rich gold, though it was only early autumn in this latitude.
Oakhaven lived up to its name. It was a city woven into the forest, built of polished timber and warm brick, sprawling along the banks of a slow-moving, green river. It smelled of woodsmoke, spices, and unbridled commerce.
But as they approached the city gates, the illusion of paradise faltered.
A shantytown of tents and lean-tos clustered against the outer walls—refugees from the blighted northern farmlands who had been denied entry. Thin, desperate faces watched them pass.
"Look at the guards," Kyle murmured, keeping his voice low.
The men at the gate weren't wearing the livery of the local lord. They wore sleek, black leather armor with silver trim, their faces obscured by half-helms. They moved with a synchronized, predatory efficiency that spoke of expensive training.
"Mercenaries," Elyana noted. "Private security. The city watch has been replaced."
"Or bought," Kyle corrected.
They paid the entry toll—three times the standard rate—without complaint. Elyana kept her head down, her hood shadowing her face. Her features were known among the northern nobility, but here, she was just another traveler with coin.
Inside, the contrast was sickening. While people starved outside the walls, the streets of Oakhaven bustled with prosperity. Market stalls overflowed with fruits and fabrics. The citizens looked well-fed, though there was a frantic, manic energy to the crowds that set Elyana's teeth on edge.
They stabled their horses at a modest inn called The River's Bend near the docks. The room was small, but it had a lock on the door.
"We need to find this Apothecary," Elyana said, unbuckling her sword belt and hiding it beneath the mattress. She kept a long dagger in her boot. "But we can't ask directly. If this operation is as protected as I think it is, asking the wrong person gets us killed."
"I'll hit the taverns near the merchant district," Kyle said, changing his tunic for a rougher, stained shirt. "I'm looking for work as a caravan guard. Guards talk. They know who pays the best and who moves the strange cargo."
"I'll go to the market," Elyana said. "I'll play the part of a wealthy northerner looking for... relief from the stress of travel."
"Be careful," Kyle said, gripping her shoulder for a brief second. "You're not in the Keep anymore. You don't have a shield wall around you."
"I know," she said, managing a faint smile. "I'm the spy now."
Elyana moved through the upper districts of Oakhaven. Here, the streets were paved with cobblestones, and the houses were mansions with manicured gardens.
She used the merchant's description from the inn: The Blue Label.
She didn't have to ask many questions. She simply listened. She lingered near a stall selling expensive silks and overheard two noblewomen whispering.
"...nerves are simply shattered, darling. I need a visit to The Glass Garden."
"Is Master Vane seeing anyone today? The queue is always so dreadful."
The Glass Garden. Master Vane.
Elyana followed the flow of money. The wealthiest carriages, the most frantic-looking servants—they all seemed to drift toward a specific square near the center of the district.
There it was.
The Glass Garden was not a shop; it was an estate. A beautiful building of white stone and glass, resembling a conservatory. Through the large windows, she could see lush exotic plants and what looked like a pharmacy counter made of polished mahogany.
There were guards at the door—the same black-clad mercenaries from the gate.
Elyana found a bench in a small park across the street and opened a book she had bought, pretending to read. She watched for an hour.
The clientele were exclusively wealthy. They went in looking anxious, pale, or irritable. They came out clutching small, paper-wrapped packages, looking relaxed, even euphoric.
It was a distribution center. And it was operating in plain sight, protected by wealth and addiction.
A carriage pulled up—sleek, black, with no crest on the door. The guards snapped to attention. A man stepped out. He was tall, thin, wearing a long coat of deep crimson velvet. He had a pale, angular face and wire-rimmed spectacles.
He didn't look like a warrior. He looked like a scholar.
A chill went through Elyana. She recognized him, not from person, but from description. This was the aesthetic of the Alchemist. Or perhaps, the Alchemist himself.
She waited for the man to enter, then stood up. She needed to get inside. She needed to know what was in those blue vials and where they were being made.
She smoothed her dress, pinched her cheeks to bring some color to them, and adopted the haughty, impatient expression of a noblewoman kept waiting.
She crossed the street and approached the guards.
"Halt," one of the mercenaries grunted, stepping in her path. "Appointment only."
Elyana drew herself up to her full height, channeling every ounce of Lady Elyana of Blackiron Keep.
"My husband is Lord Blackwood of the High Pass," she lied smoothly, naming a minor house far to the north. "He sent word ahead. I have traveled three weeks to see Master Vane, and my nerves are fraying by the second. If you make me wait, I shall scream, and I possess a very loud scream."
The guard hesitated. He looked her up and down—saw the quality of her boots, the arrogance in her eyes. He wasn't paid to deal with angry noblewomen; he was paid to crush peasant riots.
"Wait here," he grumbled, turning to open the door just a crack.
Elyana held her breath. This was the threshold. Once she stepped inside, she was in the spider's web.
The door opened wider. The smell of lavender and something sharper—chemical and metallic—wafted out.
"Master Vane will see you briefly," the guard said.
Elyana nodded curtly and stepped into The Glass Garden.