Chapter 4
Lucian did not go to the old observatory alone.
He also did not refuse the demand.
Those two decisions saved his life.
The observatory stood on the oldest roof of the palace, a round stone tower no longer used because newer astronomers worked from the western hill beyond the city walls. Its bronze dome had not opened in twenty years. Ivy climbed the outer stairs. Dust filled the star chamber.
Officially, the tower was abandoned.
Cassia no longer believed that word either.
Lucian read the threat twice.
Then handed it to Captain Ren.
“Someone expects me to obey.”
Ren nodded.
“And?”
“I will.”
Aurelia stood.
“No.”
Everyone looked at her.
She stared at Lucian.
“If they can reach Cael, you do not walk into a tower because a dead man carried a note.”
Lucian’s mouth tightened.
“You were prepared to send fifty thousand soldiers into Veyra because Sevrin showed you reports.”
“That is not the same.”
“No?”
Aurelia flinched.
Soren Vale spoke from his chair.
“If I may offer an enemy perspective, Your Majesty?”
Lucian glanced at him.
“You will anyway.”
The Veyran ambassador nodded pleasantly.
“Correct.”
He leaned toward the map.
“The message does not ask you to surrender. It asks you to stop the war.”
Sevrin said, “Which benefits Veyra.”
Soren looked at him.
“Your talent for identifying obvious facts is impressive.”
Sevrin surged to his feet.
Guards moved.
Lucian said, “Sit.”
Sevrin sat.
Soren continued.
“If whoever wrote this wished the emperor dead, they could simply request a meeting and kill him.”
Cassia frowned.
“They threaten Cael to guarantee he comes.”
“Yes.”
“Or to guarantee he comes without guards.”
“Also yes.”
Lucian looked at Cassia.
“What do you think?”
She almost said she was a servant, not a military adviser.
Then remembered Aurelia’s insult.
Nursemaid.
As though caring for the person at the center of every threat made Cassia irrelevant.
“I think whoever wrote it knows the emperor cares more about his son than his safety.”
Lucian nodded.
Aurelia looked away.
Cassia continued.
“And I think they know he will assume bringing guards endangers Cael.”
“So?”
“So give them what they expect to see.”
Ren understood first.
“A lone emperor.”
Cassia nodded.
Lucian almost smiled.
Aurelia stared.
“You are proposing a decoy?”
“I am proposing the emperor enter the observatory visibly alone.”
“And secretly guarded?”
“Yes.”
Soren said, “Simple.”
Cassia looked at him.
“That worries me.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
The plan took one hour.
Ren selected no palace guards.
That was important.
They still did not know whose loyalty had been purchased.
Instead, she chose four members of the palace fire watch—men and women who knew rooftops, ladders, chimneys, and stone access shafts but had no role in ceremonial security.
Cassia remained with Cael in the emperor’s library under lock.
Aurelia was ordered back to her suite.
She refused.
Lucian almost forced her.
Then Cael woke and saw her.
The boy immediately reached for Cassia.
Aurelia went still.
The pain on her face returned.
Cassia hated how much sympathy she felt.
Aurelia had frightened him.
That consequence belonged to her.
But consequences could still hurt.
“I will stay outside the library,” Aurelia said.
Lucian looked at Cassia.
She understood the question.
Did Cassia feel safe?
“Outside,” Cassia agreed.
Aurelia stared at her.
The empress looked offended that permission came from a servant.
Then ashamed she needed it.
Progress, Cassia supposed, often looked ugly.
Shortly before midnight, Lucian crossed the moonlit upper courtyard alone.
Anyone watching from the observatory would see no guards.
Ren and the fire watch moved through maintenance passages below the roof.
Soren remained under guard.
Sevrin remained under guard.
The palace war bells were ordered silent.
No one beyond a handful of people knew the emperor had left the secure wing.
Cassia sat on the floor with Cael.
The boy stacked blocks.
Then knocked them over.
Again.
Again.
Aurelia sat outside the open inner door, beyond the threshold she had been told not to cross.
For twenty minutes nobody spoke.
Then Aurelia said, “He likes you because you never make him do anything.”
Cassia looked up.
“That is not true.”
“He refuses meals with you.”
“And eats later.”
“He cries.”
“And stops.”
“He runs from ceremonies.”
“Because he is two.”
Aurelia’s mouth tightened.
“You make it sound easy.”
“No.”
Cassia put one block on another.
“It is simple. Not easy.”
Aurelia stared.
“What is the difference?”
Cassia looked at Cael.
“He is allowed to be unhappy with me.”
Aurelia went silent.
Cassia continued.
“I do not have to win every interaction.”
The words seemed to offend something deep in the empress.
Then wound it.
“My mother did.”
Cassia looked at her.
Aurelia’s voice softened.
“The queen never allowed us to leave a room angry.”
“You grew up in the southern court.”
“Yes.”
“Did she punish you?”
Aurelia smiled faintly.
“She called it correction.”
Cassia almost laughed from exhaustion.
Every palace invented prettier words for fear.
Aurelia looked at Cael.
“I thought royal children had to learn early.”
“Learn what?”
“That feelings cannot rule them.”
Cassia nodded.
“That is true.”
Aurelia looked surprised.
Cassia continued.
“But you taught him your feelings rule him.”
Aurelia went still.
Anger moved through her.
Then faded.
She looked down.
“Yes.”
It was the second honest thing she had said that night.
Before Cassia could respond, three knocks sounded at the outer door.
Ren’s signal.
Cassia stood.
A fire-watch woman entered.
“Emperor is safe.”
Everyone exhaled.
Aurelia rose.
“What happened?”
The woman looked at Cassia, then the empress, uncertain.
Cassia said, “Tell us.”
The woman nodded.
“There was a man in the observatory.”
“Who?”
“Master Marius.”
Lucian’s old royal astronomer.
Aurelia frowned.
“He is alive?”
Cassia looked at her.
“You thought he was dead?”
“He disappeared after Adrian died.”
The woman continued.
“He says he wrote the message.”
Aurelia stared.
“And threatened Cael?”
“No.”
Cassia felt cold.
“What?”
“The threat about the heir was added after he sent it.”
Everyone went silent.
Someone intercepted the message.
Modified it.
Still allowed it to reach Lucian.
Why?
The fire-watch woman continued.
“Marius says he asked the emperor to come with one trusted person.”
Cassia stared.
“Who?”
The woman looked directly at her.
“You.”
Aurelia’s face changed.
Cassia felt the floor shift.
“Why me?”
“He says Prince Adrian named you.”
Cassia stopped breathing.
“That is impossible.”
She had never met Prince Adrian.
At least not knowingly.
She had been nineteen when he died, working in the lower kitchens.
“What does he mean?”
The woman shook her head.
“Emperor requests you come.”
Cassia looked at Cael.
“No.”
Aurelia stiffened.
Cassia continued.
“I do not leave him.”
The fire-watch woman said, “Captain Ren remains here.”
Cassia shook her head.
“Ren was framed.”
The captain herself appeared behind the woman.
“That is why I am the safest choice.”
Cassia stared.
Ren continued.
“If I wished the prince harm, I have had opportunity for years. If I am being framed, whoever framed me expects everyone to doubt me.”
Aurelia said, “That logic is dangerously convenient.”
Ren looked at her.
“Everything tonight is.”
Cassia almost refused again.
Then Cael reached toward Ren.
“Bird.”
Ren froze.
Cassia did too.
The captain’s ceremonial crest.
Bad red.
Bird man.
Cael touched the plain leather patch on Ren’s current uniform.
“No red.”
Ren’s face softened.
“No red.”
The child nodded as though resolving something.
Cassia looked at Ren.
Maybe not certainty.
Enough.
She left Cael with the captain and two fire-watch guards.
Aurelia remained outside.
Cassia ran.
The observatory smelled of rust and old paper.
Lucian stood beside a round table beneath a ceiling painted with constellations.
Across from him sat a thin old man wrapped in a brown cloak.
Master Marius.
He had a white beard and one clouded eye.
Cassia stopped.
“Why do you know my name?”
Marius looked at her.
Then smiled.
“Your mother had the same eyes.”
Cassia went cold.
“My mother was a laundress.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“She became one.”
Cassia stared.
Lucian looked equally confused.
Marius reached into his cloak.
Ren’s hidden guards tensed.
He removed a folded strip of blue cloth.
Cassia recognized the embroidery.
Her mother’s.
She had sewn the same tiny three-leaf pattern on every handkerchief she owned.
Cassia’s chest tightened.
“Where did you get that?”
“From Adrian.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother gave it to him.”
Cassia almost laughed.
“That makes no sense.”
Marius nodded sadly.
“It will.”
He looked at Lucian.
“Your brother built a peace channel with Veyra because he believed men inside your father’s court were manufacturing border crises.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened.
“Who?”
Marius looked toward the tower door.
“Some are dead.”
“And the living?”
“One sits closer to your throne than Sevrin ever did.”
Cassia felt cold.
“Name.”
Marius looked at her.
“Commander Varro.”
The name landed quietly.
That made it worse.
Varro.
Commander of the palace reserve.
Senior adviser to the war council.
The man who had warned sealing the palace would cause panic.
Cassia remembered his face in the Hall of Ancestors.
Concerned.
Reasonable.
Unremarkable.
Lucian whispered, “Proof.”
Marius smiled.
“Adrian said you would ask that.”
“Good.”
“He left proof.”
“Where?”
“With Cassia’s mother.”
Cassia stared.
“She died seven years ago.”
“I know.”
“She left me nothing.”
Marius looked at the blue cloth.
“Did she leave you a wooden sewing chest?”
Cassia stopped breathing.
Her mother’s chest sat beneath Cassia’s bed in the servants’ wing.
She had kept it because it smelled faintly of lavender.
“Yes.”
“False bottom.”
Cassia’s heart pounded.
She had owned evidence for seven years.
Never known.
“Why my mother?”
Marius looked at her.
“She carried laundry into rooms where ministers forgot servants had ears.”
Cassia stared.
Her mother.
Quiet.
Stooped from work.
Hands always red from lye soap.
A spy?
“No.”
Marius nodded.
“Not a spy.”
He seemed to understand her objection.
“A witness.”
That word fit better.
“She heard Varro and others discuss a border attack planned to look Veyran.”
Lucian’s face hardened.
“When?”
“Years before Adrian died.”
“Why did she not report it?”
“She did.”
Cassia felt sick.
“To whom?”
“Your father.”
Lucian went pale.
Marius continued.
“Your father called her confused.”
Cassia closed her eyes.
Of course.
A laundress accusing commanders.
The oldest problem in every palace.
Truth had rank.
Marius said, “Adrian believed her.”
Cassia whispered, “Why?”
“Because she had taken a paper from a uniform pocket.”
Lucian stared.
“What paper?”
“A payment list.”
“To whom?”
“Border captains.”
Cassia’s heart pounded.
“Where is it?”
“In the sewing chest.”
Marius leaned forward.
“Along with letters Adrian wrote before he died.”
Lucian’s expression changed.
“About Varro?”
“Yes.”
“About peace?”
“Yes.”
“And his death?”
Marius went silent.
The emperor stepped closer.
“Was Adrian murdered?”
Cassia held her breath.
Marius did not give the dramatic answer.
“I do not know.”
Lucian froze.
“But?”
“He believed someone would try.”
“That is not proof.”
“No.”
Lucian looked angry.
Marius continued.
“He died hunting. His horse fell.”
“I know.”
“Three days earlier, he wrote that Varro had learned about the Veyran channel.”
Lucian’s hands curled.
Still circumstantial.
Still enough to reopen memory.
Cassia asked, “Why wait three years?”
Marius looked ashamed.
“Because I was afraid.”
No noble justification.
No elaborate mission.
Fear.
“I hid.”
Cassia stared.
“Until now.”
“Until Davos Marr found me.”
Everyone went still.
“Davos?”
“He had begun suspecting false intelligence.”
Sevrin’s secretary.
Dead beneath the crypt.
Marius nodded.
“He discovered Varro’s network was feeding Sevrin reports designed to push war.”
Lucian’s face tightened.
“Was Sevrin involved?”
“Davos believed he was manipulated.”
Cassia thought of Sevrin’s fear.
Maybe true.
“Why was Davos killed?”
“He stole the crypt map and found the workshop.”
Cassia felt cold.
“So Varro killed him.”
“I do not know who held the blade.”
Marius refused easy certainty.
Cassia trusted him more for it.
Lucian asked, “What was the poison for?”
Marius looked confused.
“What poison?”
The vials.
The blanket.
Marius knew nothing.
That meant the plot had layers he did not understand.
A sound came from below.
Metal.
Then a shout.
Lucian turned.
Ren’s hidden guards moved.
The observatory door slammed shut.
From the stairwell came smoke.
Marius stood.
“They found me.”
Cassia’s heart pounded.
“Who?”
The old man looked toward the sealed door.
“Whoever changed my message.”
Smoke curled under the threshold.
Fire.
Not an assassin.
A trap.
The old wooden observatory staircase burned easily.
Lucian crossed to the window.
Too high.
Cassia looked up at the bronze dome.
“Can it open?”
Marius laughed bitterly.
“Not in twenty years.”
Cassia grabbed the old crank.
Lucian joined her.
Rust resisted.
Below, flames cracked.
Guards hammered at the door.
Cassia pulled until her palms tore.
The crank moved.
One inch.
Then another.
The bronze dome groaned.
Cold night air split the smoke.
Outside, bells began ringing.
Fire bells.
The fire watch had seen.
Lucian looked through the opening.
A rope line rose from the adjacent roof.
Ren’s people.
One by one, they crossed.
Marius last.
As the old man climbed, a section of burning stair collapsed behind him.
Cassia reached.
Caught his wrist.
Lucian grabbed his arm.
Together they pulled him through the dome.
The observatory burned beneath them.
Across the roof, Cassia looked toward the palace courtyards.
Guards ran.
Servants shouted.
Then she saw movement near the servants’ wing.
Three figures.
One carrying a wooden box.
Her wooden box.
Cassia’s sewing chest.
“No!”
She ran.
Lucian shouted behind her.
Cassia crossed the roof walkway, down a maintenance stair, into the east corridor.
By the time she reached her room, the door was broken.
Mattress cut.
Clothes scattered.
The sewing chest gone.
She stood in the destruction.
Too late.
Then she saw something beneath the bed.
A small wooden panel.
The false bottom.
Whoever stole the chest had opened it first.
Cassia picked up the panel.
Empty.
No letters.
No payment list.
Her mother’s evidence gone.
Lucian arrived.
He looked at the room.
“Did they get it?”
“Yes.”
Marius came behind him.
He stared.
Then smiled.
Cassia turned.
“What?”
“Your mother was smarter than all of us.”
He pointed to the panel.
A tiny three-leaf pattern had been carved along one edge.
“Break it.”
Cassia frowned.
“What?”
“The panel.”
She snapped it across her knee.
Inside the wood, wrapped in oilskin, lay a narrow strip of paper.
Not the full evidence.
A note.
Her mother’s handwriting.
Cassia could barely read through tears.
If they found the chest, they found what Adrian wanted them to find.
The real list is where emperors never look.
Lucian frowned.
“Where?”
Cassia stared at the final line.
Then began laughing.
Not because anything was funny.
Because she finally understood her mother.
She folded laundry for the imperial family for twenty-three years.
Where did emperors never look?
At the hands that cleaned after them.
May you like
Cassia whispered:
“The laundry ledger.”
