Bringing Lord Keeper Marcellus into the Elysian Estate required a certain amount of finesse. Not because he resisted, which would have been simpler. A man who struggled openly could be bound, silenced, and placed in a secure room with a guard outside, and no one would need to pretend the situation was anything other than an arrest.

Marcellus, however, walked beside Captain Arthur with his hands folded before him and his posture perfect, looking for all the world like a respected official arriving for afternoon tea. The only unusual thing about him was the six Sonomi knights surrounding him, and the fact that one had been quietly instructed to break his legs if he tried anything clever.

Details.

I watched from the upper landing as they entered the main hall. The servants had already been cleared away, though naturally no one needed telling twice. The Elysian Estate had grown very good at sensing when a situation was about to develop teeth.

Marcellus looked up. Our eyes met, and he bowed. "Your Excellency."

"Lord Keeper."

He smiled faintly. "I hope this doesn’t become a misunderstanding."

I descended the stairs at an unhurried pace. "Do you?"

"Of course."

"That’s unfortunate. I was hoping it would become an explanation."

His smile stayed exactly where it was, and I found myself almost impressed. I’d seen noblemen smile through debt notices, divorce petitions, military defeat, and one particularly unfortunate incident involving a horse, a minister, and an open balcony. Marcellus’s smile outlasted all of them, which meant he had practice.

"How long do you intend to hold me here?" he asked.

I reached the last step. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you answer questions before the people who want you silent become creative."

For the first time, the smile thinned. Barely. But it was there.

Captain Arthur looked openly pleased with himself until I gave him a glance sharp enough to fix his expression on the spot. Good. He was learning restraint, slowly and painfully, but learning.

"Take Lord Keeper Marcellus to the blue sitting room," I said. "Give him tea."

Arthur blinked. "Tea, Your Excellency?"

"Yes. He isn’t a temple rat hiding in a cellar. He’s an imperial official with decades of archived sins. We’ll be civilized about it."

Marcellus’s eyes narrowed slightly at that, and I let myself smile in return. "Don’t mistake that for comfort."

He bowed again, and Arthur led him away.

Abi appeared from the corridor just as they disappeared through the western doors, dressed in a dark blue robe I hadn’t seen before, plain by his standards, meaning it only had silver embroidery along the cuffs instead of looking like an offended constellation. He watched Marcellus leave.

"You’re putting him in the blue sitting room?" he asked.

"Yes."

"The one with the expensive carpets?"

"Yes."

"The carpets you threatened to kill Bernard over when he spilled ink on them?"

"Bernard didn’t spill ink. He allowed a weak-minded clerk to spill ink."

"Ah. Different crime."

"Very."

Abi folded his arms. "You’re being generous."

"I’m being strategic."

"Those words wear the same coat around you rather often."

"I don’t know what that means."

"You do."

I ignored him and kept walking.

The blue sitting room sat at the eastern end of the estate, far from the children’s wing, the guest suites, and the main entertaining rooms, its windows opening onto an inner courtyard rather than the street. The walls had been reinforced during my grandfather’s time, though the decor remained offensively pleasant. Blue carpets, dark wood, a small hearth, bookshelves lined with harmless poetry and several deeply boring economic reports. It was a room built for people who needed to be kept somewhere without giving House Konstantin grounds to be accused of mistreatment.

In other words, perfect.

William waited outside with a tray.

"Tea?" I asked.

"Plain black tea," he said. "No sugar, no herbs, no honey. Her Ladyship’s message arrived shortly after you left the archive."

Ah. The Empress. I accepted the folded note. Her handwriting was precise, though less elegant than my mother’s, each line pressed a little too firmly, as though the pen had been gripped too tightly the whole time she wrote.

Grand Duke Konstantin,

Lord Keeper Marcellus is to remain under your protection until the palace review concludes. He is not to be publicly charged, transferred, or harmed without notification to the Crown. I will come when I have secured the palace. Do not let him speak to anyone outside your household.

Lyrien

I read it twice, then handed it to Abi, who read over my shoulder.

"She has a lot of confidence in you," he said.

"She has a lot of confidence in the people who want him dead."

"Also true."

I took the paper back. She hadn’t asked me to release Marcellus. She hadn’t demanded to speak with him first. She hadn’t sent palace guards to take him into imperial custody. She’d simply warned me not to let him speak to anyone else, which was interesting in ways I intended to think about later.

"She knows he’s in danger," I said.

Abi leaned against the wall. "Or she knows what he might say if someone else reaches him first."

"Both can be true."

"You’re enjoying that answer."

"I’m not."

"You are."

"It’s merely useful when people become more complicated."

"You like complicated things," Abi said, smiling.

"No. I like solving complicated things."

"That sounds suspiciously similar."

"It isn’t."

William cleared his throat. "Your Excellency, Father Caldus has regained consciousness."

Ah. The second guest of the morning.

"How alert?"

"Alert enough to request that he not be placed in the same room as Lord Keeper Marcellus."

Abi’s expression shifted at that.

"Did he say why?" I asked.

"He said only one thing before refusing to speak further." William glanced down at the report in his hand. "He said, ’The Keeper knows what the second hymn requires.’"

The hallway went still.

I took a slow breath. A proper villain lord did not let words like second hymn ruin his morning. He didn’t let the knowledge that children were being moved through chapels and aqueducts sour his tea. He especially didn’t let the phrase settle into thoughts of the Crown Prince, or the blackened record, or the word ascension, or Perrin’s message from the night before. Absolutely not.

"How cooperative," I said.

Abi looked at me. My face stayed perfectly pleasant, naturally.

"Bring Caldus to the eastern interview room," I continued. "Don’t place him with Marcellus."

William inclined his head. "Yet," I added.

His eyes sharpened. "Yes, Your Excellency."

Abi’s smile came slow. "I knew you were going to say that."

"You know nothing."

"Brother, I’ve known you a very short time, but you’re remarkably predictable whenever someone insults your intelligence."

"I’m not predictable."

"You’re bringing two people who fear each other into neighboring rooms and planning to let their panic do the work for you."

"That isn’t predictable. That’s competent."

"Same thing."

I walked off before he could get any more unbearable.

The eastern interview room was far less pleasant than the blue sitting room. One table, four chairs, a window too narrow to fit a human body, and several discreet layers of Sonomi wards hidden inside the stone itself. Caldus sat at the table when I entered, his hands bound in front of him with black aura thread. It wasn’t strictly necessary, considering the guards outside could flatten him into a regrettable shape before he reached the door, but visible restraints served their own purpose. They reminded people exactly where they were.

The priest looked worse than yesterday. His hair had come loose from its tie, dark circles ringed his eyes, and the self-silencing seal had left faint black traces beneath his jaw and around the corners of his mouth. But he was awake. Alert. Afraid.

Good. Fear was unpleasant, but it was honest. It didn’t dress itself in embroidered robes and call child sacrifice an administrative necessity.

I sat across from him. Abi took the chair beside mine and leaned back as if we’d come to watch a play rather than question a priest tied to a ritual network beneath the Capital. Caldus glanced at him once, then looked away, which struck me as sensible.

"Father Caldus," I said.

He swallowed. "Your Excellency."

"You’re looking better."

He stared at me. "I’m not."

"That’s unfortunate. You should have taken better care of yourself."

His mouth twitched, though not with amusement. Despair, more likely.

"Lord Keeper Marcellus is here," I said.

Caldus’s shoulders went rigid.

There. A reaction.

"He isn’t in this room," I continued. "You’re welcome."

His breathing turned uneven. "You brought him here?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I’m tired of asking questions separately."

His eyes closed, and for a moment I thought he might start praying. Instead he whispered, "He won’t speak."

"Neither did you, at first."

"He’s different."

"Everyone thinks that about themselves."

Caldus looked down at the table. "I wasn’t the one who began it."

"Then who did?"

His lips pressed shut, and the black traces beneath his jaw darkened another shade.

Abi leaned forward. "Careful," he said quietly.