I said nothing, because if I’d opened my mouth I might have ruined the moment trying to explain that safety wasn’t a promise made lightly. It was a responsibility, a very expensive one, but one I’d already accepted.

William stepped forward with a tray of tea and small cakes. "Would Young Master Spiro like to remain for breakfast?"

Spiro looked at me again. This child had developed the worrying habit of checking my expression before making decisions. I’d have to correct that eventually. Not now.

"Go with William," I said. "Eat something sweet. Then you may write your note to Mil."

His expression brightened slightly. "Can I tell him Grandmother and Grandfather came?"

"You may tell him whatever you wish, provided you don’t mention captured priests, temple conspiracies, or dangerous bells."

He thought about this. "I will not."

"Good."

He took William’s hand before he seemed to realize he’d done it, and William didn’t react, guiding him toward the breakfast room as if he’d been holding anxious children’s hands his whole life. Perhaps he had.

The moment they disappeared down the corridor, Mother turned to me. "Now. Explain."

There were few words more dangerous in the Yarina Empire.

We moved into the study. Bernard arrived with every relevant report before I’d fully taken my seat, looked startled at the sight of my parents, then bowed so deeply I worried he might remain folded in half.

"Your Graces."

"Bernard," my father greeted warmly. "You look tired."

"I’m fine, sir."

Mother looked at him. "You’re not."

He swallowed. "Noted, Your Grace."

"Sit after this," Father said. "You don’t become more useful by collapsing on a desk."

"Yes, sir." Bernard looked as if he’d just been given permission to breathe.

My parents had that effect on people. How burdensome.

I gave them the shortened version. The House of Gentle Mercy. Mil. The transfer carriage. The Chapel of Saint Orwen. Caldus. The self-silencing seals. Perrin’s testimony. Fate’s records. The old archive. Marcellus. The Empress. The first hymn. The second hymn scheduled for dusk beneath Saint Orison’s. I left out the smaller details, the creature beneath the aqueduct, the pressure around old names, the way certain words felt wrong in my mouth. Those weren’t necessary, and I disliked unnecessary details.

When I finished, the study went quiet. My father stood near the window, one hand resting against the back of a chair, his usual warmth gone still, sharpened rather than vanished. Mother sat across from me with her hands folded on the desk. Abi remained by the bookshelf, and he hadn’t interrupted once, which was how I knew he was taking this seriously.

"Three rescued children," Mother said at last. "Possibly more at Saint Orison’s."

"Yes."

"Your foundation plan?"

"Still private. It won’t be announced until the children are stable and the immediate network is dismantled."

"Good." She looked at Bernard. "Their identities remain sealed?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"No public patron list. No noble donors. No religious affiliation. No announcements using their names."

His pen moved quickly. "Yes, Your Grace."

"And no child is placed under Spiro’s command because they were rescued near him."

I looked at her. "I’d already decided that."

"I know. I’m confirming it."

I leaned back, and she went on. "If they choose to stand with him one day, that will be their choice. Not a debt we impose on them because our household has power."

"Children shouldn’t repay survival," my father said quietly.

The room fell silent again. I looked down at the papers on my desk. For once, I had nothing clever to say.

Abi broke the silence. "Then the foundation isn’t merely cover."

"No," I said.

"It’s cover," Mother replied at the same time.

I looked at her, and she raised a brow. "It can be both. You’re not wrong to use the truth strategically."

I smiled faintly. My mother understood me too well. It was alarming.

"What about the operation?" Father asked.

I pointed to the map Bernard had spread across the desk. "Saint Orison is here. The aqueduct branches beneath the western district. Arthur has sealed the perimeter quietly. We have shadows on the chapel, the warehouse, and the old conservatory."

"And the palace?" Mother asked.

"The Empress has been warned. The Crown Prince isn’t to leave his rooms or respond to any voice calling him."

Her expression hardened slightly. "She knows about the second hymn?"

"She knows enough."

"That isn’t the same as knowing."

"No," I said. "It isn’t."

My father studied the map. "The priest and the Lord Keeper?"

"Still here."

"Separate?"

"For now."

"Don’t let them speak to anyone else."

"I already haven’t."

Mother looked at me. "You plan to go below the chapel."

"Yes."

"You’ll take Arthur."

"Yes."

"Abi."

He inclined his head, and her gaze rested on him. "You’ll keep Skandar alive."

"That was already my plan," Abi said, smiling faintly.

"Good." Her voice stayed calm. "If he attempts something reckless, you may restrain him."

I looked at her. "Mother."

"What?"

"I’m sitting here."

"Yes. That’s why I said it in front of you."

Abi’s expression brightened, and my father’s mouth twitched.

"You’re not taking this operation alone," Father said.

"I wasn’t."

"You were taking Arthur, a handful of knights, and your immortal brother into a chapel built over an old ritual network. That counts as alone."

"It doesn’t."

"It does to me."

I opened my mouth, and Mother cut across me before I could get a word out. "Your father will oversee the outer cordon and the safehouse transfers. I’ll remain here with the children, the prisoners, and the political correspondence."

"You shouldn’t remain here," I said.

"Why?"

"Because Marcellus is here. Caldus is here. The estate may become a target."

"Exactly." She held my eyes. "If someone moves against this house, I would prefer to be present."

There were moments I remembered exactly why my mother had raised me. Not merely taught me etiquette, swordplay, diplomacy, political survival, economic warfare, and the proper way to smile at people one wished to remove from society. Raised me. I’d learned much of what I was by watching her.

How troublesome.

My father tapped one finger against the map. "Saint Orison’s is the distraction. The real objective may be the Crown Prince or the children. We assume both."

"Agreed."

"We move Mil and the other two now," Mother said. "Not farther into the city. Out."

"Out?"

"To the eastern caravan station. A Sonomi trade convoy leaves before noon. They’ll travel under merchant protection, not House Konstantin banners."

Bernard looked up. "The children will be safer in transit?"

"They’ll be safer outside a ritual radius," Father said. "And safer in the hands of people who’ve crossed Lorillis with raiders behind them."

I considered it. The western safehouse was secure, but it was still within the Capital, still within reach of bells, couriers, temple wards, and people who’d already turned children into pieces of an equation once. My decision had been to keep them near, because I could watch them, because I disliked letting them out of sight, because to me safety looked like proximity.

Mother had seen through that immediately. How irritating.

She was right. Of course she was.

"Do it," I said.

Bernard nodded, already reaching for a message seal.

"Quietly," I added. "No obvious Sonomi escort."

"Understood."

"Mil’s note from Spiro goes with him."

Bernard paused, then nodded again. Mother looked at me, and I ignored her expression. That note mattered. It wasn’t evidence, wasn’t strategy, wasn’t logistics. It was a note from one child to another saying there was a garden waiting, and that maps were useful. That was enough.

A knock sounded at the study door, and Arthur entered, his expression harder than before.

"Your Excellency."

"What happened?"

"The bells at Saint Orison began early."

Every person in the room went still.

"Early?" Father asked.

"They were scheduled for the evening blessing," Arthur said. "The first bell rang twenty minutes ago. Our shadows report the chapel doors have been closed. Several covered carts entered through the rear lane."

"How many?"

"Three."

"Children?"

"We cannot confirm."

Mother rose from her chair, and the room changed around her. No dramatic flare of power, no raised voice, no unnecessary display, and yet everyone began moving at once.

"Arthur," she said, "the outer cordon proceeds now. No one enters or leaves Saint Orison’s district without being recorded."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Former Grand Duke," Arthur added, turning to my father, who nodded.

"I’ll take the western routes. If anyone tries to move the children through the aqueduct exits, we stop them before they reach the water."

Arthur bowed. Abi stepped away from the bookshelf. "What do I do?"

Mother looked at him. "You go with Skandar."

His eyes gleamed. "Finally."

"But you listen to him."

"Sometimes," Abi said, smiling.

"Abinatha."

He looked at her, and his smile softened unexpectedly. "Yes, Lady Konstantin."

She nodded once. "Good."

I stood. The map remained open on the table. Saint Orison’s. The aqueduct. The western gate. The safehouse route. The palace. The Crown Prince. The children. Every line led somewhere unpleasant. Every line needed to be cut.

"William," I said.

He appeared at the doorway almost immediately. "Yes, Your Excellency."

"Keep Spiro inside. Explain only what he needs to know. Don’t lie to him, but don’t let him listen for things he shouldn’t hear."

He bowed. "Understood."

"Tell him Mil is leaving for somewhere safer."

"Yes."

"And tell him I will bring the others back."

William looked at me a moment, then bowed lower. "Yes, Your Excellency."

I turned toward the door, and Mother caught my sleeve. I looked at her. Her expression stayed composed, but her hand remained on my arm.

"Return," she said. It wasn’t a request, and it wasn’t a command either. It was something worse. A mother’s expectation.

I smiled. "Of course."

She released me, and Abi followed close behind as Arthur’s knights already moved through the hall, the estate turning back into a machine, every piece pointed toward the same purpose. Behind us, Father began giving orders to the shadows, and Mother moved toward the western corridor where Marcellus and Caldus were held. Neither man would enjoy the next hour.

Good. They’d caused enough inconvenience already.

As I stepped into the courtyard, the distant sound of another bell drifted across the Capital. Clear. Measured. Wrong.

Abi’s expression went still. "That isn’t a chapel bell."

"I know."

"It’s calling."

"Then we answer properly."

He glanced at me. "With what?"

I looked toward the western district, where Saint Orison waited behind its polite doors and painted saints, and let my hand settle over the ring holding Vita’s Tears.

"A correction."

The next bell rang, and this time, the whole city heard it.