CHAPTER 68: THE SLIP

Urias shifted, ready to speak again, but the sound of a cane striking stone cut him short.

Casalus came into view at the alley mouth, dragging his leg with that same uneven gait. Five men followed behind, faces set, eyes fixed on the two bodies sprawled by the crates.

Lucian’s lips curved faintly. "Ah. Time to leave."

Casalus didn’t laugh. He scanned the alley, then Urias, then Lucian. His voice carried, pitched for ears outside the shadows. "Two of mine on the floor. My books missing coin. And the pair of you standing clean. Looks like my generosity’s been repaid in spit."

Urias’s hand twitched at his sleeve, but he didn’t step back. He knew the rules; Casalus wouldn’t dare break a noble in full view of the street.

Lucian stayed where he was, shoulders loose, eyes fixed on Casalus. He breathed through the ache from earlier blows but kept his face unreadable. He wouldn’t call the pact here. That was for survival, not theatre.

"Spit washes off," Lucian said lightly. "But your boys swing like drunk mules. You ought to find better stock if you care about reputation."

Casalus’s eyes narrowed. His cane pressed down on the stones as if to keep him upright. "You think I’ll let this pass? You think I’ll smile while my name turns cheap?"

Urias cut in, his tone brittle. "You can shout, Casalus, but I’ll walk out of here with my title intact. Touch me, and you’ll be the one begging favors."

Casalus turned his gaze on him. "Your debts make your title thin as paper. Tear the paper, no one reads the name."

Lucian stepped between them, grin sharp. "Now the whole Deluos will hear about Casalus Stonethorn losing control of his own fighters."

One of Casalus’s men shifted forward. Casalus raised a hand, stopping him. His stare locked back on Lucian. "You talk too much for a man who’s already crossed me. I should leave you both in the gutter and let the house decide what you were worth."

Lucian tilted his head. "And risk people thinking Casalus Stonethorn can’t keep order in his own pit? That he lets fighters walk out after tricking him blind? That’ll fetch a fine price in gossip halls."

Urias barked a laugh, cut short by a cough. "He’s got you there. First time I’ve seen Lucian make sense."

Casalus’s jaw tightened. His cane struck stone once, loud in the narrow space. The five men behind him straightened at the sound, waiting.

Lucian’s hands stayed loose. "If you’re going to punish someone, punish the house that took your bets. Me, I fight where you point me. If the odds soured, maybe the dealer was crooked."

Casalus’s voice cut sharp. "Enough. Both of you bleed tonight." He swung his cane in a short arc toward Lucian and Urias. "Break them."

The five men began to move, shoulders squared, eyes locked forward.

Lucian stepped ahead of Urias, a smile that didn’t reached his eyes remained, stance rooted. Arms loose, but the weight in him said ready.

The alley tensed, the charge only a breath away.

The men were about to surge when Quenya whispered in Lucian’s ear. "Now."

From the side door, a figure slipped out. Coat drawn tight, stride certain, face forgettable but presence not. Casalus swung his cane to signal the charge, but the newcomer caught his wrist with one hand.

It wasn’t a blow. It was a grip, calm as a rope tied fast. Casalus froze, his men hesitating.

The man spoke, voice dry. "You should mind the ledgers you gamble with, Casalus. Make more scene, and master will see you barred from Deluos."

Casalus went rigid. "Lord Abnet." The name came out strangled, barely above a whisper.

So this is the man who is following me since I exit from that room.

He knew that face now—the same man who had guided Amadeus’s wheelchair at Deluos, moving with the efficiency of someone used to serving power.

Though Amadeus’s presence overshadowed his, right now the man looked he wasn’t just there to push a wheelchair.

Casalus’s face twitched. He held still under the grip. The man released him without effort, as though nothing had passed. Then he turned to Lucian and flicked a folded slip underhand, landing near his boots.

"My master has already refused you. But I have a proposition of my own. Come in two days if you’re interested in an alternative arrangement."

He didn’t wait for reply. He walked back through the door, vanishing as quickly as he’d come.

Casalus’s cane dropped hard against the cobbles, jaw locked against the anger. He waved his men back. "We’ll settle later. Both of you will wish you drowned in the pit." He turned away, his limp dragging him into the street. His men followed, hauling their wounded.

Urias exhaled, shoulders sinking. "That was close."

Lucian bent to scoop the slip, tucking it inside his coat. "You owe me a drink and a less foolish wager. Keep your head, Urias."

Urias’s lip curled, blood staining his teeth. "You’ll drink it before I pay."

Lucian’s grin tilted. "All the more reason to order the expensive bottle."

Urias let out a breathy laugh that turned into a cough. "If you weren’t so damn smug, I’d call you a friend."

"Smug is what keeps me alive," Lucian said, clapping his shoulder lightly. "Try it sometime."

Urias’s eyes darted back toward the alley mouth, where Casalus had disappeared. His voice dropped. "He won’t let this lie. You know that."

"Of course," Lucian answered. "But fear’s cheaper than coin, and tonight he paid in both."

Urias gave a slow nod, then pushed himself upright, swaying. "I’ll see you when the bruises stop singing."

Lucian walked off, Quenya drifting close, her form faint in the shadow. As they left the alley she whispered, "He watches with his gloves on."

Lucian allowed himself a thin smile. "Then he knows where to touch."

"Lord Amadeus will not reconsider. But I am not my master. If you seek instruction, there are paths he need not know about. The address below. Two days hence. —A.N."

Below the message was an address in the merchant quarter, not Navorian’s estate."

Lucian stared. The slip read like a summons dressed as a wager. Absurd, as if he’d been shoved on stage mid-play and named the lead.

His lips twitched despite himself. Two days. As if I walked into Deluos to be courted by crippled legends. I only meant to steal an instructor, not have one pluck me out like a card from a deck.

He read it again, slower this time, the letters blurring at the edges. The message carried confidence that assumed obedience. That was the part that made it dangerous.

Quenya hovered near the window, arms folded. "That wasn’t Amadeus’s decision. That was his servant’s."

Lucian leaned back in his chair, the slip pressed flat in his palm. "Then we’ll find out how much curiosity costs."

Absurd or not, the letter had changed everything.

The night pressed quiet around them, carrying the faint echo of the pit, the crowd, and the weight of a name he could no longer ignore.