CHAPTER 205: FALL OF VALTAIR [2]

The Broken Mast smelled like piss.

Teryn pushed through the door. Let his eyes adjust to the dim interior.

Late afternoon meant the place was half-full, dock workers finishing their shifts, looking to drink away another day of breaking their backs for shit pay.

He moved to the bar. Ordered cheap ale. The keep barely glanced at him. Just slid the mug across and moved on.

Teryn took it. Found a spot near the corner. Not isolated. But positioned where he could hear conversations without obviously listening.

He sat down. Drank. And waited.

"The rates are fucked. Third increase this month—"

"Had to turn away two clients because Harvin’s warehouse is full. Full. Like he’s holding space for someone who—"

Teryn’s ears perked. Kept his expression neutral and filled the information away.

Harvin. Warehouse owner. Holding space. Waiting on a contract.

That’s Lord Alaric’s doing. Has to be.

He took another sip. Let the conversation drift past him.

An hour slipped by. More workers filtered in. More complaints. More opportunities.

Then he heard it.

"Corvin’s operation is bleeding. Lost three contracts last month. Can’t compete with the new terms some traders are offering."

"What new terms?"

"Lower fees. Better routes. Sounds too good to last but merchants are jumping ship anyway."

There it is.

Teryn stood. Casual. Stretched like his back hurt. Moved toward where the conversation was happening.

Two men. Both warehouse laborers by their clothes. Dirt under their nails. Exhaustion in their faces.

He bumped into one. Not hard. Just enough.

"Shit—! Sorry, friend." His hand steadied the man’s drink before it spilled. "Clumsy."

"It’s fine."

"Let me buy you another. Least I can do."

The man blinked. Then shrugged. "Sure."

Teryn signaled the keep. Ordered two more ales.

They came. He paid. Handed one to the man he’d bumped.

"Rough day?" Teryn asked in a friendly tone.

"Aren’t they all?" The man took a long drink. "You work the docks?"

"Shipping coordinator." The lie came smooth. "Freelance though. Looking for new contracts actually. Heard things are... difficult lately."

"That’s one word for it." The man’s companion snorted. "Whole district’s fucked. Rates going up. Warehouses full."

Teryn nodded slowly. "Hurts everyone."

They talked more. Teryn bought another round. Asked careful questions. Nothing direct. Just... curious. Concerned fellow worker trying to understand the landscape.

Names came up. Operations that were struggling. Warehouse owners making bad bets. Merchants who’d abandoned reliable partnerships for promises that fell through.

By the time Teryn left he had a list in his head.

Six warehouse operations actively suffering.

Eight merchants who’d made risky moves based on offers that sounded too good.

Perfect.

He made his way through darkening streets. Back toward the market district.

But he didn’t go to the stall.

Instead, turned down a different alley. Toward the cheaper boarding houses where transient merchants stayed.

Found the one he wanted. Three stories. Paint peeling. But decent enough.

Inside, he asked the keep at the desk, "You got a Merchant Weston staying here?"

The man checked his ledger. "Room twelve. Third floor."

Teryn climbed the stairs. Found the door. Knocked.

Then it opened and a man who looked like to be in his forties came.

"Yeah?" He asked, tone suspicious.

"Weston? Heard you’re looking for warehouse space. Short-term storage."

The suspicion deepened. "Who told you that?"

"Friend at the docks. Said you’ve been asking around."

Weston’s expression shifted. Desperation bleeding through the wariness. "You got space?"

"My consortium does. Just opened a facility in the eastern quarter. Looking to fill it. Well, we have competitive rates."

"How competitive?"

Teryn named a number. Lower than market. Not impossibly low—that would raise flags. But attractive.

Weston’s eyes narrowed. "Why so cheap?"

"It’s a new operation sir. Building reputation. And our month we’re taking losses just to establish relationships." Teryn shrugged. "After that, rates go up. But early partners get locked-in pricing."

Weston chewed his lip. Calculating. "How much space you got?"

"Depends on your needs. What are you storing?"

They talked. Weston outlined his requirements. Teryn took notes. Promised to draw up a contract by tomorrow.

"One thing though—" Weston’s voice carried doubt. "I need to see the facility first."

"Of course." Teryn’s smile came easy. Confident. "Come by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll give you a full tour."

They shook on it.

Teryn left.

Walked three blocks. Found another boarding house.

Repeated the process. Different merchant. Same pitch. Same promises.

By the time full dark had fallen, he’d approached four merchants.

Three had agreed to meet tomorrow.

One had been too suspicious. But that was fine. Three was enough.

Tomorrow, he’d take them to abandoned warehouse space he’d scouted earlier. Empty buildings waiting for demolition or renovation. He’d forge temporary lease documents. Show them "his" facility.

Then will get them to commit. Sign contracts. Pay deposits.

And then disappear.

***********

The lamplight cast warm shadows across the study walls. Selene sat in her chair, book open in her lap. Her green eyes tracked across the page with focused attention.

The room was silent. Just the occasional crackle from the lamp.

Then—

A figure emerged from the corner shadows. They dropped to one knee. Head bowed.

"Report."

Selene’s voice came without looking up from her book.

The figure stood. Reached up. Removed the black mask covering their face.

A woman with sharp features. Auburn hair pulled back tight. Unnatural amber eyes that had seen things most people never would.

She set the mask on the desk.

"My lady. It’s been three days." Her voice carried professional detachment. "Multiple trade routes are collapsing. At first it appeared to be isolated incidents, ghost contracts, fake warehouses, merchants making poor decisions, but then..."

She gave the full report.

"And the pattern is consistent and coordinated to destabilize the Count’s supply network."

Selene’s fingers traced the edge of her book. Still hadn’t looked up.

"And?"

"As you expected..." Sari’s posture straightened slightly. "It was indeed the young master’s doing."

Sigh!

The sound escaped through Selene’s nose. Long. Frustrated.

She closed the book finally. Set it face-down on her lap.

"Urgh. That boy."

Her hand came up. Covered her face. Rubbed at her temples.

"Does he even know what he’s doing? What would happen if he ever got caught?"

Then her hands dropped. Settled in her lap. Her green eyes lifted to meet Sari’s.

"Cover for him. Erase any traces that lead back to him."

Sari shook her head. "There’s no need, my lady. No trails lead to him. The young master made certain of it."

"Then how did you find him?"

"There’s a mark on him." Sari gestured vaguely. "And he made it this way so only I can track him."

Selene leaned back in her chair. The leather creaked softly.

"Still. Help him however you can. Discreetly."

"Understood, my lady."

Sari bowed. Then her form blurred and dissolved into shadow like she’d never been there at all.

Selene sat in the silence. Her fingers drummed once against the chair arm.

That reckless, brilliant, infuriating boy.

Knock! Knock!

The knocking outside interrupted her thoughts.

"My lady?" A servant’s voice came. "A guest has arrived. They’re waiting in the guest chambers. They say it’s urgent."

Selene straightened. Smoothed her dress.

"I’ll be right there."

She stood. Left the book on the desk and moved toward the door with practiced grace.

Several minutes passed.

Then—

Shimmer!

Sari materialized back in the study. Realized immediately what she’d forgotten.

Her mask. Still sitting on the desk where she’d left it.

She moved to retrieve it. Her hand reached out...

Then paused.

The book Selene had been reading lay face-down beside the mask. The one her lady had been absorbed in for the past several days. Constantly. Whenever she had a spare moment.

Curiosity pricked at her.

What could possibly hold Lady Selene’s attention so completely?

Her hand shifted. Lifted the book instead of the mask.

Turned it over to see the cover.

Read the title embossed in gold lettering.

"How to Please Your Husband: A Wife’s Complete Guide"

Sari froze.

Her eyes went wide.

She stared at the title. Read it again. Confirmed she wasn’t misreading.

Her mind stuttered. Tried to process but failed.

"I—"

She set the book down. Quickly. Like it had burned her fingers.

Stepped back.

Coughed.

"I didn’t touch anything. I didn’t read anything. I saw nothing."

She grabbed her mask. And vanished.