The Sevenfold Crown is not a name that appears in any official Ledger record. It appears, however, in thirty-seven internal communications recovered from a single burned office in the Karthul headquarters, in the testimony of one deceased former senior member, and in a single line of an administrative document from two centuries ago that was filed, apparently by error, in the wrong section and never retrieved.
In each case, the same notation appears beside the name: active.
— Source classified. Access: Auditor level only.
The candle on the table had almost completely melted, yet no one had thought to replace it. What little light remained cast long shadows on the walls, and the half-dark room looked smaller than it was—or perhaps they themselves seemed larger because of the weight of the thoughts and disappointments they were carrying.
Night Forge had not yet become lively at this late afternoon hour, but the sounds drifting up from below could still find space to spread through the room. No one had suggested leaving. No one had suggested staying either. It was as if their bodies had made the decision while their minds were still somewhere beneath the docks, and they had simply found themselves in this room, in these chairs.
The problem was not that they didn’t know what to do. The problem was that they knew exactly what they wanted to do and couldn’t. Vaelra was imprisoned somewhere out there—perhaps in an even darker situation than they imagined. Meanwhile they were here, their hands tied, trying to escape their own thoughts, trying to find some kind of light.
Veylith had barely spoken since they returned. With her elbows on the table and her eyes fixed somewhere beyond the wall, she was turning something over in her mind that she had not shared with anyone. The others had learned not to interrupt that look. It usually meant she was either building a plan or dismantling one. Today it was hard to tell which.
Tivver had rearranged everything on the table twice. Glass, bottle, glass, bottle… He picked up the silver coin and rolled it skillfully between his fingers. “There must be a way,” he said.
It wasn’t the first time.
No one answered.
Ravah sat on one of the beds with her back and head against the wall, her eyes tracing shapes across the ceiling as if she were trying to solve a puzzle hidden there. Darian had pulled a chair beside the window and was staring outside at the sky that was slowly beginning to darken.
Kaelin sat cross-legged on Vaelra’s bed, clutching her pillow in her lap. Her eyes drifted into emptiness as she replayed the morning over and over in her head, wondering what she could have done differently. Each time she found herself returning to the moment she had shouted at Veylith, and guilt washed over her again. But the guilt she felt for Vaelra was heavier still, dragging her deeper into that cycle.
Eventually the small flame of Tivver’s pipe caught her eye and pulled her back. She decided she didn’t want to sit there like that any longer. Getting up from the bed, she began collecting the half-empty beer mugs on the table. As she set them on the tray, the others glanced at her out of the corners of their eyes. Once they understood what she was doing, they quickly returned to their own thoughts.
Carrying the tray, Kaelin left the room. As she descended the stairs, the only thing in her mind was finding a plan. A plan that would get her out of there.
When she finally reached the lowest floor, she went to the bar and placed the tray on the counter. Because she had been lost in her thoughts, it took her a moment to realize she had been standing there without saying anything to the girl behind the bar. When she noticed, she said, “Sorry… I drifted off,” and then politely asked, “Could you refill these?”
The girl behind the bar found her a little strange, but she liked the way she spoke so politely. “The barrel here just ran out. I asked for another from the back, but it’ll take a moment,” the girl said apologetically.
“It’s fine, I’ll wait,” Kaelin replied without even making eye contact, settling down at an empty table in front of the bar.
She'd gotten as far as imagining whether a large enough fire in the right part of the docks might pull the Wardens away from wherever they were holding Vaelra when the word Ledger floated over from the table behind her and stopped every other thought completely.
That was all it took now. One word.
From their voices, it was clear the men were not particularly old. They were trying not to speak too loudly, but the tavern had only just begun to fill and their voices were naturally deep.
“I heard the same thing is being talked about in the other three guilds too,” one of them said, attempting to whisper. “It’s not certain yet, but a storm might break soon.”
“It might be sooner than we think,” the other replied. “The tight inspections across the whole city for the last two days were already suffocating enough. And then this morning the Ledger shutting down the harbor completely… that pushed everyone’s patience to the edge.”
“I heard there’ll be a secret meeting tonight,” the first one said, lowering his voice even further.
Without realizing it, Kaelin had begun leaning back slightly in her chair.
“The blacksmith guild, the carpenters, the brewers, the glassworkers, and some of the tannery masters… people with influence from each are supposedly meeting to plan some kind of action. I overheard our boss talking with Harrik about it.”
“Shit! Really?” The other man reacted, but he was immediately shushed.
“Within a few days the city could erupt.”
“So the Ledger’s going to learn the hard way that you can’t squeeze merchants this tightly in a harbor city.”
“The last time there was a rebellion like this, the king himself had to come from the capital and negotiate personally to calm things down. Do you think that could happen again?”
“I don’t know. But this is one of the kingdom’s biggest trade hubs. If the guilds, merchants, and workshops all unite, things could spiral out of control.”
“Your beers are ready,” the girl at the bar suddenly called out to Kaelin. Not expecting it, Kaelin nearly lost her balance as she leaned too far back, but she caught herself just in time. The two men immediately stopped talking.
Kaelin calmly stood and walked back to the bar. “It shouldn’t be a problem if these stay here for a little while, right?” she asked, gesturing to the tray.
In the meantime she had loosened her hair and undone another button of her shirt, lifting her chest slightly. Without noticing the shy looks from the girl behind the bar, she took three mugs and said, “Could you fill three more for me?”
Then she turned and began walking toward the two men who had been talking. Just before reaching their table, she paused for a brief moment and took a deep breath, as if putting on a mask the same way she had at the Red Lantern. Her face relaxed instantly into a soft smile—artificial, but still charming. Kaelin almost disappeared, replaced by someone else entirely, someone trained to entertain men.
When she reached their table, she placed the beers down. “Good evening, gentlemen.” Holding two of the mugs, she slid them toward them while leaning forward just enough to let them appreciate the view.
“Would you mind if I joined you?” she asked, though she didn’t wait for an answer before sitting down in the empty chair. Slurring her words slightly as if she were already drunk, she continued before they could find their voices. “I really hate drinking alone.”
◈◈◈
The cell was not large enough to pace inside; she had realized that immediately. Five steps one way, four the other, then the wall. She had stopped trying.
The real problem was the shackles. Not their weight—though they were heavy—but what they did. The silent emptiness that now occupied the place where her power should have been created a strange sense of incompleteness within her. Until she lost that ability, she had never realized how much of herself she carried inside it.
It was not a power that served much purpose physically. It could not injure people or reshape things. Yet it gave her a strange confidence, made her feel stronger. Only now did she truly understand that. The performance at the docks would not have been the same without the shadow. It might not even have begun. The thought that something she didn’t fully understand had completed her so thoroughly was frightening, yet the absence of it was worse.
The emptiness inside her made everything around her louder. Water dripping somewhere in the wall. Her own breathing. The distant echo of boots across stone.
Leaning against the wall, she rested her shackled wrists in her lap, exhausted from their weight, and tried to think about what her next move should be. Her arm was still bleeding slowly. Not dangerously yet, but it certainly wasn’t getting better. She had wrapped her fingers around the cut, but there was nothing to press against it, so she had given up. They might bring someone to look at it. But she doubted it. Worrying about it wouldn’t change anything anyway.
Suddenly she thought about the others. The departing boat appeared again in her mind. There was nothing on her face but a tired sense of satisfaction. I hope they managed to escape without being caught, she thought quietly to herself.
But at that moment, the growing sound of footsteps coming down the corridor managed to cut through her thoughts and draw her attention to the door. It wasn’t hard to tell that at least two people were approaching. After the unpleasant scrape of the bolt from the other side of the iron door, it opened with a creak. But the first person who entered was not the one Vaelra had expected. Even with the bandages on his face and arms, the dressed wounds giving him a different outline, Rhoren was not hard to recognize. He must be in pain, Vaelra thought, because he had come in with an expression even angrier than the last time. Leaving the door open behind him, he went to the wall opposite her and leaned his back against it, then simply stared at her.
Then another grating sound from the corridor began echoing through the room. A few seconds later Tarr’en entered, dragging a chair by the backrest without any haste, almost deliberately slowly scraping it along the floor. He pulled it all the way in front of her, let go of it, and sat down. Crossing one leg over the other with calm precision, he fixed his eyes on her, while behind him Rhoren stood there staring at Vaelra as if tormenting her in his mind. For several minutes no one made a sound, as though both sides were weighing one another.
“I suppose you’ve had plenty of rest,” Tarr’en said at last, breaking the silence. In this cold cell without even a bed, he was openly mocking her.
“I was doing fine until you gentlemen interrupted my beauty sleep,” Vaelra replied, hiding all the pain she was in behind an unpleasant smile.
Tarr’en did not answer immediately, because by now he understood that the woman in front of him was not some ordinary criminal. Then, without changing his posture, he went straight to the point. “There is only one reason we put you here instead of hanging you,” he said, leaving the sentence hanging halfway, as though he were about to ask her name. “Miss?…”
Vaelra kept looking at him without changing her expression, offering no answer. After a brief silence, Rhoren cut in. “Vaelra. But we have no surname, no other information.”
“Miss Vaelra,” Tarr’en continued, without taking his eyes off her, “I believe we may be able to come to an agreement.”
“Three Lorin an hour, ten for the whole night—but you’ll need a bath first,” Vaelra replied. The faintest hint of a smile touched Tarr’en’s face and vanished. Watching them, Rhoren thought for a moment that somehow both of them were enjoying this. Tarr’en wouldn’t look people in the face, much less speak to them, yet this woman seemed to have caught his attention in some strange way.
“Some records were stolen from one of our offices the other night—credit records and tax ledgers. But we believe most of the files were taken simply to distract us. The real purpose seems to have been to destroy one specific list, a debt record. And the descriptions of the thieves are rather familiar faces. Perhaps you know them.” Vaelra gave no reply.
“This will cause us significant damage, and the punishment will be weighed accordingly. But I think I can overlook it. A simple exchange would settle everything.”
“I thought the Ledger didn’t make deals with thieves. You know—competition and all that.”
“I can erase these unidentified thieves from the records,” he said. “In return, you know what I want.”
“Close-combat lessons for your men?”
At that, Rhoren lost control of his temper and strode straight toward her, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her head back as he hissed harshly into her ear. “Listen, whore. You killed five of my men today. I hope you don’t make any deal at all, so I can hang you with my own hands.”
“Really? I don’t even remember killing the last two. My hand must have slipped.”
“Captain,” Tarr’en cut in, throwing him a warning look. With a growl, Rhoren shoved her hard and returned to his place by the wall, clenching his fists. He had no interest in the girl, or any of this. He just wanted her hanging as soon as possible.
“The girl,” Tarr’en said, folding his arms while seated on the chair. “Tell me about her.”
“She has very beautiful hair,” Vaelra replied. “An innocent sort of appeal, but I’m sure she’s fiery too. Though I don’t think she’s your type.”
“Where did you find her?”
“She found us, actually. We’re a very popular group.”
Tarr’en looked at her for a moment, then rose from the chair and stepped closer. Reaching out, he pressed his thumb into the wound on her arm and asked again, “Where did you find her?”
Vaelra’s breath escaped in a sharp hiss. “In the tunnels,” she answered, trying to master the pain. “She was running. We were running. It felt natural to keep running together.”
“You expect me to believe that was a coincidence?”
“You can believe whatever you want, darling. It won’t change the truth.”
“Who sent you? Who wanted the girl?” His thumb pressed harder.
Vaelra was clenching herself with all her strength now just to stop herself from groaning. “No one!”
Tarr’en kept pressing a little longer, then let go of her arm and slowly stood upright. “Thity years,” he said, as though speaking to himself. Crossing the small cell in four steps, he went on. “It has been thirty years since the last time anyone came close to this. And now, an untrained, ordinary whore with no understanding of what she carries…” He stopped. “Unless, of course, she knows. Unless this has been planned from the beginning.”
“What do you use to dream, darling? Now might be the perfect time to share.”
“Perhaps she wasn’t the one doing the planning,” he whispered to himself, as if something had just occurred to him. Then he turned back. “The enemies of the Sevenfold Crown have always continued to exist in the dark. Patient. Ancient enemies. Was it them who sent you, Miss Vaelra?”
Vaelra kept her expression fixed. She had never heard that name before, but she had long ago learned never to let it show when she didn’t know something—and sometimes that was nearly as useful as actually knowing. “I think you’re overestimating us,” she said at last. She had given him no confession, no real information, but any suspicion that took root in his mind would be one more reason to keep her alive.
After watching her for a while, Tarr’en said, “Perhaps.” But it was obvious he didn’t believe it.
“She’s not going to tell us anything. We’re wasting time,” Rhoren burst out, shattering the silence. “She should be punished.”
“Not yet,” Tarr’en said, his eyes still locked on Vaelra. “Perhaps by tomorrow she’ll have come to her senses.” Then he got up, picked up the chair, and this time walked out through the door without dragging it. “The Hunter will be here tomorrow evening. I suggest you think carefully about what you have to say before then.”
After glaring at her as though he might kill her on the spot, Rhoren said, “Whether you talk or not, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you don’t miss your appointment with the gallows.”
“What a gentleman.”
At that, Rhoren clenched and unclenched his fist, then finally walked out as well. Immediately after, the door shut with a groan, and darkness took the cell again. Vaelra didn’t move for a while. She listened until the footsteps had faded beyond hearing.
Then she leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes—though there was no real difference between closed and open in here, and exhaustion was a force hard to resist. Her arm was not in good shape. It would still take some time before it became truly serious, but without water and pressure it would get worse more quickly. The thought of water reminded her how thirsty she was. By the time they returned, she would be much thirstier still, and thirst did to the clarity of the mind things pain alone could not. Knowing all of that brought her only more helplessness.
The Hunter. Since they had gone, that word had been circling in her head. She didn’t know what it meant. But Tarr’en had said it in the tone people used when they wanted the person in front of them to be afraid, and she had learned long ago that the things people wanted others to fear were usually the very things they feared themselves.
She opened her eyes. The cell was dark, but a thin line of light still came in beneath the door, enough for her to make out the shape of her hands in her lap. She looked at them for a long time, and as her eyes adjusted to the dark she could see a little more. With her head against the stone, she could feel the faint vibrations and hear a few sounds from outside. Very distant and very faint, yet still enough to hear the heartbeat of life beyond the cell.
And then, at that moment, she realized that a thought she had so far managed to keep away was beginning to rise again. The thought that they had not left her behind, and were somewhere out there making plans to get her out. She had done this so they could escape, and she had no regret for it. She knew they would have done the same. But she also knew very well what she herself would do if she were in their place. Deep down she still wished they had escaped, yet inside this dark room it was hard to hide from her own thoughts. This selfish belief—that they would come for her—was the only light of hope she had, the only warm thing on this cold stone floor.