The tunnel had belonged to Ivara Palace since its first stone was laid, a hidden artery carved for the darkest of days. If fire consumed the halls, if invaders broke the gates, if calamity drove the royal family to flight—this was their passage. Never had Sina thought she would walk it for such a reason: to return as a Princess, and leave again as an Ignisant.
She descended the spiral stairs with measured steps. The lamp in her hand burned low, the liquid Ignium shimmering with its dim light, giving off a faint metallic scent as it cast shadows across the walls. Her feet knew the curves of the passage by heart. She walked and walked, until the iron door at the end came into sight. Beyond it, the road would take her to the Shadow Compound by noon.
To enter the Shadow Compound as the Princess of Nivara might raise no more than a few brows—though she had never tested it. To step inside as an Ignisant was another matter. Shadow and Ignis had fought side by side often in the war, yet within the capital's walls they kept apart: separate codes, separate grounds, borders never crossed. And Sina had come to cross them.
Each compound kept its own hidden way through, preserved for flight. She knew where it lay. Yet today she chose to test her skill. Midday meant the mess hall would draw them in, and hunger was an enemy even the best-trained Shadow Scout could not quite master. When food called, vigilance thinned—if only by a margin. A margin was all she needed.
In a single breath she slipped over the outer fence, her body folded into the sweep of midday shadow. Patrols passed within the reach of a blade. She pressed herself flat to stone, moving behind them with the hush of breath and step alike. By the time their boots rang down the far corridor, she was already inside, climbing the spiral stair of the Command Tower. At its height, the Marshal's door waited.
The room was empty, as she had expected. He should return soon from his lunch. She took a book from the shelf, lowered herself into the couch in the corner, crossed her legs, and settled to wait.
The wait did not last. The latch stirred without a sound. The door drifted open.
Rosette Liane stepped through.
"My Lady," he said, his voice light and mellow, closing the door as though the air itself might wake.
In three strides he was before her, sinking to one knee, his hand extended. When she placed her hand in his, he lifted it just enough to let his lips graze the back of her knuckles with a reverence fit for porcelain.
He was thirty-four, though the years had touched him gently. His face bore the kind of beauty that seemed designed rather than born—symmetry, grace, lips that curved as if faintly smiling even at rest. His hair was honey-blond, soft, wavy, drawn back neatly from his face. But it was his eyes that defined him—rosy pink, like petals wet with dawn. The mark of the Prime House of Liane, and the reason for his name. Without the deep viridian of his Marshal's uniform, no one would guess the angel-faced man commanded the Shadow Corps.
Sina's expression barely shifted. She had long grown bored of such excessive courtesy of his. "You spotted me again? How?" she asked. He had walked in with no hesitation, no surprise; clearly he had known before his hand touched the latch.
"There is a scent." Rosette lifted his gaze to her, his rose-hued eyes gleaming, his smile as serene as ever. "One that lingers only after you have returned to your chamber. A blend of rose, peony, soft musk, faint vetiver. It follows you, quietly, like a second presence. I know it too well."
"Ah, the scent again," Sina muttered, her brows drew together in thought. "For a moment I thought my skills had dulled that much. Perhaps I should tell Daliya not to drown the room in perfume."
Rosette remained kneeling, her hand still in his. "Perhaps. Yet I must confess—I find the fragrance... pleasing."
"Your tongue's still as sweet as your pink eyes," she said dryly. "Now come, get up."
"If I remain like this," he said lightly, "you needn't look up when we speak."
Sina sighed, drawing her hand back. She remembered the first time they had met, when she was twelve—he had done the same then, and countless times since, even now, despite how much had changed. The same effortless grace, the same polished words, as if he had never once set foot on a battlefield.
"You cling to etiquette as though we're in the palace," she murmured. "This is the base, Rosette."
He inclined his head. "Etiquette, yes—but only when your presence graces my office. It has been too long."
She leaned her head against her palm, her elbow propped on the couch's armrest, her eyes amused as they studied him. "Then tell me—do you know why I'm here?"
Rosette's expression shifted, contemplative. "My Lady seeks me only when she wishes for things to be done without His Majesty's eyes upon them. Given your eagerness to bring our western conflict to an end, and your hand in developing a long-ranged igniser, I dare conclude you believe Dravina will soon be finished. And so you have come to direct me eastward. You would have me lay the groundwork, shift my resources, so that investigation may turn there."
Sina's eyes widened slightly. "You infer all that from your intelligence reports?"
"I would not wish to disappoint you, my Lady," Rosette answered, his faint smile still unbroken.
"Then I trust you to it." Sina inclined her head, pleased with his ready compliance. "My brother will soon order a defensive stance for the west. Keep your men vigilant there, regardless of this little eastern arrangement. I'm confident about Dravina, but there's always a chance things go awry. If they do, I want to know first."
"Of course," Rosette replied, calm and assured. "My Scouts will reach you before anyone else, as always."
"Good. And remember—Vessaint's intelligence web is formidable. Do not let them catch a trace."
"As is ours." His smile curved deeper. "Would that be all of your burdens, my Lady? Or is there another I may carry for you?"
Sina lingered in quiet thought, weighing the propriety of what she considered next. At length she sighed and leaned back against the couch. "There is one more thing."
Rosette caught the sigh. He leaned forward slightly, urging gently. "Please, tell me."
"It isn't urgent..." She folded her arms, gaze shifting aside. "But it's been on my mind. There's someone I need you to look into."
"And who would that be?"
"A man called Soren Bach. Twenty years old. Soldier. Former Archer, now training as Ignisant. Two years in service."
Rosette took the name with no visible reaction, only a subtle nod. The name itself stirred little impression, but it must have passed his eyes once or twice—likely when the Ignis Corps requested a background check on the latest trainee batch. He hadn't handled the work himself, of course; as Marshal, he had only glimpsed the reports and signed the papers.
"And what would you have me learn of this Soren Bach?"
"Whether I can trust him." The words left her lips as if she had only just admitted the thought to herself.
Rosette paused, then said evenly, "It seems this young man has caught my Lady's attention?"
"Not like that." Her shrug was flat, dismissive. "I only met him again yesterday. But I knew him long ago. When I was in Viremont, training under Marshal Denelle, we stayed a while in a small town called Avendria. I was sixteen, he twelve. Just a boy then. He came hunting with me a few times. I didn't even know his last name. None of that matters. What matters is—he knows who I am."
Rosette's smile faltered at once. Viremont—Nivara's northern territory—was where the Princess had spent the first six months of her training, arranged by none other than him, when he was still Commander. When he spoke again, the charm was gone, his tone stripped to steel.
"If you wish it, I can see to this myself. Should Soren Bach prove a danger... he can be made quiet."
Sina noted the shift with satisfaction. At least he understood the weight. Rising slowly from the couch, she answered, "No need to be grim just yet. Learn what you can first—what he's done, where he's been, who he's crossed paths with. Find whatever lies beyond those entrance background checks. I've told you all I know. The rest is yours. Once we have a clearer picture, we'll decide how to act."
Rosette rose to his feet as well as she moved toward the door. "Leaving so soon, my Lady?" His voice was soft behind her.
"You have enough work ahead now," she said over her shoulder, her tone gentler. "I must handle my part too. I'll seek Soren myself—see if he'll stay silent, and learn what he's become."
Rosette only nodded. "Perhaps I should arrange a carriage to the Ignis Compound."
"No need, Rosette." Sina's expression warmed, her eyes softened. "You've already done more for me than I could ask."
He didn't press her. Instead, he stepped to the door and laid a hand on the latch. "Then let me at least clear the hall for you," he offered, his voice mellow, the familiar smile returning.
She allowed it, too tired to refuse. "After you, Marshal Liane," she said playfully, gesturing.
With a final brush of his lips across her knuckles, Rosette slipped soundlessly into the corridor, the hall gradually emptied behind him. The murmur of voices dwindled as he moved down the hall, scattering every idle soul from her path. Only when silence settled again did Sina rise, leave the office, and vanish the way she had come.