High and frigid, the moon silvered House Ravencourt's manor walls like frost. Kaelith peered at the estate below from her chamber window. It felt like standing in a memory—one she had buried beneath fire and betrayal.
She lacked time to grieve. The past could not rescue her.
Knowledge, however, could.
She slid quietly through the servants' passageway, tightening her black cloak. Her destination was not found on any house ledger or map.
Buried under the east wing, the Aviary was a secret room just her late husband had used.
And someone still used it today.
Kaelith walked down the stairs, every stone creak echoing like a phantom breathing. The iron door had not rusted. She pressed it open and was met by the strong fragrance of ink, paper, and feathers.
Evidence—scrolls, coins, stolen signets—rather than birds filled the walls' cages.
And a figure knelt in the middle.
Sharp gray eyes and a rakish grin greeted his upward gaze.
"Still alive, I see," he said. "You always were hard to kill."
Softly, Kaelith exhaled. Hello, Theron.
Three Years Ago...
He was her husband's source. A spy born on the street equally adept in whispering and poisoning. Theron disappeared with half the secrets of the Ravencourt home when Aldric died.
He is here now.
She folded her arms. "Why come back now?"
Theron stood, dusting off his coat. "Because someone's aiming to obliterate all that Ravencourt stood for. And Duchess, because I got your message, black roses in the southern window?
She gave a tiny smile. She had a code from her past life; "You remembered."
"I recall everything," he said, his voice is serious now. "Including the ones who sold you out."
Kaelith's heart froze. "Names."
Theron grabbed a leather satchel and threw a folded parchment on the table. "Some were expected—Viscount Elric, that slithering worm. But others… will sting."
She opened the page.
Her fingertips knotted around one name.
Lady Thalia Ravencourt.
Her cousin. her handmaid, her traitor.
Theron observed, "She told the court where you'd be: your escape route, your final plea."
Kaelith remained silent.
Her chest's icy rage told everything.
Theron commented, watching her, "You're arranging something."
"I'm rebuilding," she answered, "from the ashes up."
He laughed. "Same Kaelith. Still trying for the throne to bleed out."
"No," she responded, her gaze stony, "This time I'm shooting past it."
Theron bowed with great flourish. "Then, Duchess, allow me to be your eyes and ears once more. The city whispers. I will make sure it whispers your name."
Reaching into her cloak, Kaelith gave him one golden pin.
Ravencourt's crest.
She murmured, "I'll burn the kingdom if I have to," but "they will never forget who I am."
Kaelith sensed something stirring in her blood not anxiety, not regret but rather Resolve as she climbed the secret stairway once more.
The court deemed her to be a cracked artifact from a damaged home.
They were not right.
The raven observes.
It remembers, too.