Thorne stood in his room, the dim light from the lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The mansion was quiet around him, the kind of quiet that felt heavy with anticipation.
On his bed lay the coat Uncle had given him—a deep blue, almost black, with silver embroidery tracing elegant patterns along the collar and cuffs. He ran his fingers over the fabric, feeling the weight of it, the fine wool lined with a hidden layer of leather. It was more than just a coat; it was armor of a different kind.
As he shrugged it on, the coat settled around his shoulders like a second skin. It was a perfect fit, tailored with an attention to detail that spoke of Uncle’s meticulous nature. He fastened the buttons with steady hands, his movements precise and deliberate. This was more than just dressing for a meeting. It was a ritual, a transformation. The boy he used to be, the one who had scurried through the streets of Alvar like a ghost, begging for scraps, was gone. In his place stood the man Uncle had shaped him into: confident, composed, dangerous.
Thorne glanced at his reflection in the mirror. The man looking back at him was a stranger, and yet intimately familiar. His posture was perfect, his expression calm and composed. He looked every inch the young nobleman, but beneath the polished exterior was the edge of a blade, honed and ready. A shadow of a smile touched his lips as he adjusted his collar.
He reached for his mother’s pendant, the cool metal a reassuring weight in his palm. He slipped it back beneath his clothes, feeling it settle against his heart. It was a small gesture, but one that grounded him.
He took a deep breath and left his room, the door closing softly behind him. The mansion felt different tonight, charged with a kind of restless energy. The usual calm had been replaced by an undercurrent of urgency, a tension that thrummed through the air like a barely audible hum. Thorne moved down the hallway, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. He passed a maid carrying a tray of wine glasses, her hands trembling slightly. She glanced at him, her eyes wide with something close to fear, before looking away quickly.
Ahead, two servants whispered in hushed tones, their voices carrying the barest hint of anxiety. “The Thornfields are here,” one of them said, his tone tight. “I saw their carriage pull up just now.”
“Do you think there’s going to be trouble?” the other asked, her eyes darting nervously around the corridor.
Thorne didn’t pause as he walked past them, but he felt a flicker of satisfaction at their unease. Everyone knew that Uncle didn’t invite guests lightly, especially not those as significant as the Thornfields. They could sense that something was about to change, even if they didn’t know what it was.
He made his way to the grand dining room, pausing just outside the heavy double doors. He took a moment to steady himself, feeling the familiar weight of expectation settle over his shoulders. Then he pushed the doors open and stepped inside.
The room was a study in opulence. A long table stretched down the center, set with the finest silverware and crystal glasses that sparkled under the light of the chandeliers. The rich scent of roasted meat and spiced wine filled the air, a subtle reminder of the feast that was to come. Uncle sat at the head of the table, a goblet in his hand, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he swirled the dark liquid within.
Thorne approached, his steps silent on the polished marble floor. “I am here,” he said, keeping his voice low.
Uncle looked up, his smile widening. “Good. Tonight’s meeting is important, and I want you to be at your best.”
Thorne raised an eyebrow, his expression calm despite the curiosity simmering beneath the surface. Uncle was rarely this forthcoming. “I’m listening.”
Uncle leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. “You’ve come a long way, and it’s time you start taking on more responsibility. The Thornfields are crucial to our plans, and I need you to observe, learn, and, if necessary, act.”
Thorne nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of the command. “What should I look out for?”
“Everything,” Uncle said, his voice soft but firm. “Hadrian is ambitious, but he’s also impulsive. He has a penchant for seeing only what’s in front of him and ignoring the bigger picture. Kellan is… different. He’s not the leader his father is, but he has his own strengths. We need to understand him, too.”
Thorne’s eyes narrowed slightly. It was rare for Uncle to admit uncertainty. The fact that he was doing so now meant that this meeting was even more significant than he had realized.
“I’ll be ready,” Thorne said, his tone steady.
“Good,” Uncle replied, his gaze lingering on Thorne. “You’ve done well so far. Don’t disappoint me tonight.”
Thorne inclined his head, feeling the familiar pressure settle over his shoulders. He moved to the wall, leaning against it with his ankles crossed. He activated his evolved stealth skill, Veil of Light and Shadow, feeling himself blend seamlessly into the background. He watched as Uncle took another sip of his wine, his expression contemplative.
Time passed slowly, the room cloaked in silence. Then, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing louder with each passing second. The dining room doors swung open, and Lord Hadrian Thornfield strode in, his presence filling the room with a suffocating intensity.
He was a large man, broad-shouldered and imposing, with a belly that strained against the buttons of his finely tailored coat. His face was flushed, a permanent hue of red that spoke of too much drink and indulgence. He wore his vices like a badge of honor, the faint scent of expensive cologne barely masking the stale odor of alcohol that clung to him.
Behind him, his son Kellan entered, a stark contrast to his father. Kellan was shorter, his build lean and almost fragile. His skin was pale, his face pockmarked and sallow, making him appear older than his years. There was an awkwardness in the way he carried himself, as if he was always trying to shrink away from attention. But his eyes were sharp, and they flicked around the room with a cautious intelligence that Thorne didn’t miss.
“Varyn,” Lord Hadrian greeted, his voice loud and booming. “You certainly know how to make a man feel welcome.”
Uncle smiled, rising from his seat with the grace of a predator. “Hadrian, Kellan. Welcome to my home. Please, have a seat.”
The Thornfield moved toward the table, neither of them noticing Thorne as they took their places. Thorne observed them carefully, his eyes taking in every detail. Lord Hadrian’s confidence was almost theatrical, a man used to getting what he wanted. But there was something beneath it, a restlessness that suggested he was more fragile than he appeared. Kellan, on the other hand, was quiet, his hands clenched in his lap as he avoided looking directly at his father.
Uncle waited for them to settle before speaking. “Before we begin, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
Thorne pushed away from the wall, allowing himself to become visible. The Thornfield’ reactions were immediate and telling. Lord Hadrian stiffened, his hand twitching toward his side as if expecting an attack. Kellan’s eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly in shock.
“This is my son and heir, Thorne,” Uncle said, his voice brimming with pride. “He will be joining us tonight.”
“Your son?” Lord Hadrian’s voice was incredulous, his gaze shifting between Uncle and Thorne. “I didn’t know you had a son.”
“There are many things you don’t know about me, Hadrian,” Uncle replied smoothly. “But yes, Thorne has been by my side for years, and I’ve chosen him to continue my legacy.”
Thorne inclined his head, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Lord Hadrian, Lord Kellan,” he greeted them, his tone polite yet distant. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Kellan stared at him, his eyes narrowing as if trying to figure out how someone like Thorne could be Uncle’s heir. There was a flicker of something in his gaze—resentment, perhaps, or envy—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
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Lord Hadrian, still reeling from the surprise, finally managed to compose himself. “You certainly know how to keep secrets, Varyn.”
Uncle chuckled. “One of my many talents.”
Thorne remained silent, his gaze drifting between father and son. There was tension there, a subtle but unmistakable current that hinted at a strained relationship. Lord Hadrian was overbearing, his presence suffocating, while Kellan seemed to shrink in his shadow. But there was more to it than that—something deeper that Thorne couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“Now that introductions are out of the way,” Uncle said, his tone shifting to one of business, “shall we begin?”
Thorne watched as the Thornfields nodded, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and wariness. He felt a surge of anticipation. This meeting was a pivotal moment, and he needed to be at his best. He could sense the undercurrents of power and manipulation at play, and he was determined to learn everything he could.
As Uncle began to outline the plans for their alliance, Thorne kept his gaze fixed on the Thornfields, his mind whirring with possibilities. He could see the cracks in their fa?ade, the weaknesses that could be exploited. And he would exploit them, for Uncle’s sake and his own.
The conversation flowed smoothly at first, Uncle laying out the broad strokes of their plans—securing alliances, consolidating resources, and establishing a power base in Alvar. But it wasn’t long before Hadrian’s impatience boiled over.
Lord Hadrian Thornfield shifted uneasily in his seat, the chair creaking under his weight. His fingers drummed against the table, a rhythmic tap that spoke of his growing impatience.
Uncle had just finished outlining the broad strokes of their plans, but Hadrian seemed more interested in the goblet in front of him than in the words being spoken. He reached for the drink, his hand trembling slightly, and downed the wine in a single gulp.
A servant rushed forward to refill it, and Thorne noted how the man’s eyes lingered on the rim of the goblet, as if contemplating whether he should drink directly from the bottle instead.
“Is that all?” Hadrian grumbled, his voice slurring just a touch. “You drag me all the way here, and all you’ve got are vague promises and lofty goals.” He sneered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and leaned back heavily in his chair. “I’ve spent more coin than I care to count, and what do I have to show for it? A few decrepit warehouses and rumors.”
Uncle’s smile remained fixed, but the room seemed to drop a few degrees in temperature. “Patience, Hadrian,” he said softly, his tone almost fatherly. “You have to plant the seeds before you can reap the rewards.”
“Seeds?” Hadrian scoffed, waving his goblet dismissively. “You’ve got me squandering my fortune on meaningless purchases. What am I supposed to do with warehouses, Varyn? You promised me power, not a merchant’s life!”
Thorne watched the exchange silently, his gaze drifting from Hadrian’s flushed, frustrated face to Uncle’s composed demeanor. There was a practiced ease in the way Uncle handled Hadrian, almost like a master puppeteer, gently tugging at the strings of the man’s insecurities and desires.
Uncle leaned forward slightly, setting his goblet down with a deliberate motion. “Hadrian, we’ve discussed this before. Control of the city doesn’t come from brute strength alone. It comes from influence, from resources. You can’t command loyalty with an empty purse.”
Hadrian’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to the side. “Influence, resources,” he muttered, his voice tight. “You sound like a damn scholar. How am I supposed to rally the nobles if all I can offer them is empty promises?”
Uncle’s smile never wavered, but there was a coldness in his eyes that made Thorne’s skin prickle. “You’re not listening, Hadrian. You’re thinking too small. Right now, you need to establish a foundation, build a base of support. That’s why the warehouses are important. Control the flow of goods, and you control the city’s economy. It’s a subtle game, but one we must play.”
Hadrian scowled, reaching for his goblet again, only to find it empty. His frustration boiled over, and he slammed the cup down on the table, making the dishes rattle. “I don’t have time for subtlety, Varyn! I need results!”
The room went silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Thorne felt his pulse quicken, his fingers itching to reach for the dagger concealed at his waist. Uncle’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. He spoke, each word dripping with icy precision. “Do you think this is a game, Hadrian?”
Hadrian blanched, his bluster fading under the weight of Uncle’s words. “I—”
“Do you think I’ve wasted my time and resources on you out of charity?” Uncle continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. “I’ve invested in you because I see potential. But don’t mistake that for weakness. If you fail to deliver, I will not hesitate to cut my losses.” He leaned back, his gaze never leaving Hadrian’s paling face. “I hold the keys to your future, Hadrian. And I could just as easily throw them away. I would hate to see your house vanish, for your noble line to be extinguished...”
Thorne moved then, slow and deliberate, pulling a dagger from his belt and flipping it casually through his fingers. The sound of the blade slicing through the air was the only noise in the room, a soft whisper that seemed to echo in the tense silence. He met Hadrian’s gaze, his eyes cold and unreadable, and smiled—a small, dangerous smile that spoke of violence barely restrained.
Hadrian swallowed hard, his bravado crumbling as he glanced between Uncle and Thorne. “I—I didn’t mean—”
“Good,” Uncle said smoothly, his demeanor shifting back to the affable host in an instant. “Because I would hate to see all our hard work go to waste.”
Kellan, who had been silent throughout the exchange, finally spoke up, his voice soft and measured. “Father, perhaps we should listen to what Master Varyn has to say.”
Hadrian shot his son a dark look but seemed to deflate, slumping back in his chair. He nodded reluctantly, his eyes darting nervously to Thorne’s blade before looking away. “Fine. What do you suggest?”
Uncle’s smile widened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “We need to solidify your position. First, you need to show the people that you care. The next time an aether event occurs, you will send aid—food, supplies, whatever you have available. Win their trust, and you’ll have their support.”
Hadrian looked disgusted, his lips curling in disdain. “You want me to play the role of a benevolent lord? To grovel before commoners?”
“Yes,” Uncle said bluntly. “Because right now, you need them more than they need you. And once they see you as their benefactor, they’ll be less likely to oppose you when the time comes.”
Hadrian grumbled something under his breath but nodded. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Good,” Uncle said, his smile returning. “Next, you need to secure the support of the minor houses. I have a list of potential allies. There are some that could be easily bought with a few coins. They’re not as powerful as the Ravencourts or the Farroways, but their backing will be crucial in the coming months.”
Hadrian’s frustration flared again, his face reddening. “More money, more bribes. You’re bleeding me dry, Varyn.”
Uncle’s expression darkened, the room seeming to grow colder. “It’s an investment, Hadrian. One that will pay off in time. But if you’d rather squander your fortune on drink and whores, by all means—continue as you are.” His voice took on a hard edge, the affability stripped away. “Just remember that your reputation is in my hands. And I have no qualms about destroying it if you become more of a liability than an asset.”
Thorne felt the atmosphere shift, the air thick with unspoken threat. He twirled the dagger one last time before sheathing it, his eyes locked on Hadrian’s. The older man looked away, his hands trembling as he picked up his refilled goblet and took a long drink.
“I’ll do what you ask,” Hadrian muttered, his voice barely audible.
“Excellent,” Uncle said, his tone brightening. “One more thing. You should consider employing some of the locals as your personal guard. Quietly, of course. A show of strength, but one that won’t draw too much attention.”
Hadrian nodded, his expression subdued. “Anything else?”
Uncle leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. “There’s the matter of your son’s marriage.”
Hadrian blinked, clearly taken aback. “What?”
“Kellan is of age, and he needs a suitable match. Emilia Farroway would be perfect. Her family’s wealth and reputation would lend you considerable support.”
Hadrian looked uncomfortable, his eyes flicking to Kellan, who had gone still, his expression carefully blank. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Think about it,” Uncle said smoothly. “Emilia is beautiful, intelligent, and her family is highly respected. Such an alliance would be a significant advantage.”
Kellan’s eyes met Thorne’s for a brief moment, and Thorne saw the discomfort there, the flicker of something that looked like resentment. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the same guarded expression.
Hadrian shifted in his seat, looking torn. “I’ll consider it.”
“Good,” Uncle replied smoothly, his smile widening, a predator’s gleam in his eyes. “You’ve made the right choice, Hadrian.” He leaned back, a picture of confidence and control, and gestured towards Thorne. “And as for Kellan’s social standing, Thorne here will be invaluable. He’s exceptionally skilled in navigating such settings.” There was a note of pride in his voice, one that almost sounded paternal. “He’ll ensure your son is in the best company.”
Thorne glanced at Kellan, his lips curling into a smirk. The young man met his gaze for a heartbeat, his expression inscrutable, a mixture of wariness and curiosity flickering in his eyes. Thorne could see the apprehension beneath the surface, the doubt about his own abilities to match the expectations laid before him.
“I’d be honored to assist,” Thorne said, his tone light but with an edge of challenge as he held Kellan’s gaze. “It’ll be a valuable experience, I’m sure.”
Uncle clapped his hands, and the doors to the dining room swung open, servants filing in with trays of food and pitchers of wine. “But for now, let’s enjoy the evening. I’ve arranged a little entertainment.”
The transition was sudden, almost jarring. The room, which had been filled with tension moments before, was now a scene of indulgence. Servants placed platters of roasted meats, glazed fruits, and delicate pastries on the table, the rich aromas mingling with the scent of wine and perfume. Dancers entered the room, their movements slow and sultry as they swayed to the soft music.
Hadrian’s eyes lit up, his earlier frustration melting away as he reached for a roasted leg of lamb, tearing into it with a kind of ravenous delight. Kellan, meanwhile, remained quiet, his gaze drifting to the dancers with a kind of detached curiosity. Thorne watched them both, his mind whirring with the possibilities.
He leaned back in his chair, his fingers brushing the hilt of his dagger. The meeting had gone better than he had expected, but there was still much to do. The road ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty, but Thorne felt a thrill of anticipation.
Uncle had given him a role to play, and Thorne intended to play it to perfection.
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