The fall of House Reid sent a shockwave through the capital's nobility. It was brutal, efficient, and utterly mystifying. One moment, Lord Marcus Reid was a rising star in the city's political firmament; the next, he was a branded traitor, his assets seized, his name whispered only as a cautionary tale.
In the gilded halls of the Imperial Palace, Emperor Adrian Thorne read the final report from his Inquisitors, a slow, predatory smile touching his lips. He was not displeased. Reid had been a useful but ultimately expendable pawn. His fall, and the subsequent absorption of his assets by the Merchants' Guild, was an interesting, unexpected move on the great board. It suggested a new player had entered the game. A player with skill, daring, and a deep understanding of the city's hidden currents.
"Julian Vance," he murmured to himself, tapping a long, elegant finger on the report. He had always known the merchant prince was ambitious, but this was a new level of audacity. To orchestrate the downfall of a noble house so cleanly… he had not done it alone.
The Emperor was a man who detested mysteries, especially in his own court. He decided it was time to put a face to this new, disruptive force.
Two days later, an imperial summons arrived at the Vance Guild headquarters. It was not a warrant or a threat. It was a heavy, cream-colored invitation, sealed with the Emperor's personal crest. It "requested" the presence of Julian Vance at a grand banquet to be held at the palace in three days' time. It was a command wrapped in the silken trappings of courtly etiquette.
Julian brought the invitation to the safe house that evening. Eleanor—now Lia—was in the small, book-lined study, cross-referencing old city ledgers with the information from her own system. She was building a web, a detailed map of the city's corruption, and she was just getting started.
"We have a problem," Julian said, laying the invitation on the table.
Lia picked it up, her new, grey eyes scanning the elegant script. Her expression remained neutral, but a cold knot tightened in her stomach. She knew that seal. She had designed it herself, in another lifetime.
"This is not an invitation," she said, her voice low. "It's a leash. He's pulling on it to see who is on the other end."
"He suspects my involvement in Reid's fall," Julian said. "He wants to see me, to measure me. To see if I am a threat."
"He wants to see who you are working with," Lia corrected him. "He knows you didn't do this alone. An attack this precise required insider knowledge. He will expect you to bring your new, mysterious asset to the banquet."
Julian leaned against the desk, his arms crossed. "Which presents a rather obvious complication. My new asset is a ghost who is supposed to be mourning her own tragic death."
Lia looked down at the invitation, at the proud, arrogant seal of the man who had murdered her. The man who was the final name in her ledger. Fear, a cold and familiar companion, brushed against her heart. But beneath it, a thrill of something else, something dangerous and exhilarating, began to burn.
This was a trap. But it was also an opportunity. An opportunity to get inside the palace walls. To see her enemy face-to-face. To begin her true work.
"Then your ghost will have to learn to haunt a ballroom," she said, a hard, determined light in her eyes. "I'm going with you."
Julian stared at her, a mixture of alarm and admiration on his face. "Lia, that is insane. The entire court will be there. People who knew Eleanor Thorne. If you are recognized…"
"I won't be," she said with a confidence she didn't entirely feel. Her Persona Weaving was good, but it was untested. And the Emperor… the Emperor had a preternatural ability to see through lies.
"Besides," she continued, "it's the one thing he won't expect. He is looking for a spymaster, a disgruntled nobleman, a rival merchant. He is not looking for the wife of the man he just had arrested, attending a party on the arm of the man who profited from his downfall. It is the perfect disguise."
She was right. It was so audacious, so outrageously bold, that it might just work. It was a move worthy of the Shadow Hand.
"What will you be to me?" he asked, his mind already working through the logistics, the necessary preparations.
"I will be your new protégée," she said, a slow, calculating smile touching her lips. "A quiet, unassuming scholar from the provinces with a talent for numbers, whom you have recently taken under your wing. A nobody. The last person anyone would suspect of being a threat."
He looked at her, at the formidable, unbreakable will shining in her grey eyes. "A nobody," he repeated, a hint of dry amusement in his voice. "I think, Lia, that you are the most dangerous person I have ever met."
"Good," she replied, her smile widening. "That's the general idea."