CHAPTER 193: THE MERCHANT SIBLINGS [1]

Alaric stepped out into the hallway.

Going towards the manor entrance.

He rounded the final corner.

Then paused.

"Hmm?"

He saw Elina standing near the entrance.

She was tending to a flower bed that lined the pathway. A watering can in her hands.

She tipped the can. Water cascaded out in a steady stream onto the roses below.

Alaric blinked.

That’s... unexpected.

Elina gardening. Voluntarily. Without being asked.

He raised his hand and waved at her.

"Morning!"

His voice carried across the distance.

Elina’s head turned. Her eyes found him immediately.

For a moment, their gazes locked.

Then she looked away, turned her attention back to the flowers like he hadn’t spoken at all.

The watering continued.

Huh?

Alaric’s hand lowered. He furrowed his brows slightly and walked toward her.

"What are you doing?"

The watering can tipped. More water flowed.

Silence stretched.

One second. Two. Three.

Then—

"None of your business."

The words came flat. Cold.

Not angry. Not heated.

Just... distant.

Like talking to a stranger rather than someone she’d known.

Alaric’s expression shifted. The teasing edge dropped away.

His eyes narrowed slightly. Studying her profile.

"Is something wrong?"

Elina’s grip tightened on the watering can.

She looked at him then.

Sigh!

Her shoulders dropped.

"Just fuck off." She hissed, raising her voice to a higher pitch.

Not screaming. But louder than before. Emphasis on every syllable.

And then she turned away. Set the watering can down with more force than necessary.

And started walking back toward the manor entrance.

Alaric watched her go.

What the hell was that about?

He’d seen Elina angry before. Plenty of times. Usually at him.

But this felt different.

"I’m heading to the market."

He called after her retreating back.

"You want to come along?"

Elina didn’t stop.

"No." Just gave a single word.

Then she disappeared through the doorway. Into the manor’s interior.

Alaric stood there for another moment. Staring at the empty entrance.

Sigh!

His hand came up, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Great. Just what did I do?

He turned.

Doesn’t matter, I’ll deal with this later.

And moved toward where the carriage waited near the gate.

The coachman stood beside it. Already prepared. He bowed slightly as Alaric approached.

"Young master."

"Let’s go to market square."

"Of course, young master."

The coachman opened the carriage door. Held it while Alaric climbed inside.

The interior was familiar. Cushioned seats. Curtained windows.

He settled in. The door closed with a soft click.

A moment later, the coachman climbed up too.

"Hyah!"

The reins snapped.

Clop! Clop! Clop!

And horses started moving forward.

The carriage lurched slightly. Then smoothed into motion.

Alaric leaned back against the seat. Watched the manor grounds pass by through the window.

His fingers drummed against his knee.

The carriage rolled on.

*****************

Inside a room that wasn’t quite shabby but far from comfortable. Paint peeled from the walls in long strips. A single window let in pale light that barely reached the corners.

A boy sat hunched over that desk. He seemed to be around eighteen. His sandy-brown hair fell across his forehead as he worked.

His hand moved with practiced precision. The quill scratched across parchment with careful strokes forming official-looking script. Each letter was perfect. He set the quill down. Reached for a brass seal resting beside a candle stub. The flame had burned low but still held enough heat.

He pressed the seal into a pool of crimson wax at the document’s bottom.

Sizzle!

He held it there for three seconds. Four. Then lifted.

Perfect.

The crest sat embossed in the hardened wax. Identical to the real thing. Indistinguishable unless you knew exactly what to look for.

And most people didn’t.

"They’re ready."

His voice carried satisfaction. Quiet pride in work well done.

He stood. His hands moved carefully folding the documents. Making them small enough to tuck inside his coat.

The papers disappeared into an inner pocket. Secure against his chest.

He crossed the small room. Pushed open the door that led to a narrow passage.

Daylight hit him immediately. Brighter out here. The passage opened onto a small courtyard.

A girl sat there on an overturned crate. Brown hair pulled back in a practical braid. Her face tilted upward toward the sky. Watching clouds drift past in lazy formations.

"Delphine."

She turned at his voice.

"It’s ready. Let’s go."

He pulled the documents out. Held them up briefly so she could see.

Her lips curved. She stood. Brushed dirt from her skirt. Then reached for the papers he offered.

Her fingers were quick. Clever. She examined the seal for just a moment, checking his work with the eye of someone who understood quality forgery.

Then nodded.

Tucked them into her own coat.

"Good work, Teryn."

Her voice carried warmth beneath the businesslike tone.

Teryn’s expression softened slightly. Pride flickered there again.

Delphine moved to the corner where a large canvas bag rested against the wall. She hefted it onto her shoulders with practiced ease.

Whatever was inside clinked softly. Glass maybe. Or metal.

Teryn grabbed a smaller satchel. Slung it across his body.

"Ready?"

"Always."

They moved toward the courtyard’s single exit.

Delphine paused there. Pulled out a key from somewhere in her coat. Locked the wooden door behind them with a solid click.

Then pocketed the key.

They stepped into the street.

Gramwell Town’s market square sprawled before them. Merchants calling out their wares. Customers haggling.

They walked side by side. Shoulders nearly touching. Their pace unhurried. Just two more faces in the crowd.

"So," Delphine said quietly. Her voice barely carried over the street noise. "The magistrate’s assistant?"

Teryn nodded. "Yeah, I saw him yesterday. He have expensive taste in wine and loves to brag about his position."

"Perfect." Her smile widened.

They turned a corner. The market square opened up before them properly now.

Stalls lined every available space. The smell hit immediately, roasted meat, fresh bread, unwashed bodies, horse dung, perfume from the nicer stalls.

And people.

Delphine’s eyes scanned the chaos with practiced efficiency.

Then paused, as she saw a man stood near a wine merchant’s stall. Exactly as Teryn described. Round belly straining against expensive fabric. Rings on multiple fingers catching the light. He held a goblet, tasting something while the merchant watched anxiously.

The magistrate’s assistant. Herald Vorn.

Delphine and Teryn exchanged a glance.

No words needed.

They’d done this enough times that communication happened in looks and tiny gestures.

Delphine adjusted the bag on her shoulders. Teryn straightened his coat.

They moved into the crowd. Separated with Delphine drifting left, Teryn angling right.

Closing in on their target from different directions.