The morning air was damp and cold, carrying the scent of wet stone and distant smoke. Duke Karmis walked without direction, his hands clasped behind his back, his footsteps slow and measured. The capital was waking around him—shopkeepers unshuttering their windows, servants sweeping doorsteps, children running through the alleys with bundles of newspapers under their arms.
He had left the hospital an hour ago, before Sheila had stirred from sleep. She needed her rest. The doctors had said her wounds were healing, but the shadow behind her eyes—the one that appeared whenever she thought of Leximus—had not faded.
She believes he is alive, the Duke thought. She believes he is innocent.
I need to find her proof. One way or another.
The streets grew narrower as he walked, the buildings older, the crowds thinner. He found himself near the grand boulevard, where the scars of the bombing were still visible—cracked cobblestones, scorched walls, boards covering broken windows. The fountain at the center was still dry.
He stopped at the edge of the fountain and looked out at the boulevard.
This is where Corvin saw the fight.
This is where it began.
---
A voice came from behind him.
"Your Grace."
The Duke turned. Corvin stood a few feet away, his battered cap in his hands, his broom leaning against a lamppost. He looked thinner than before, his cheeks more hollow, his eyes more sunken. He had the look of a man who had not slept well in weeks.
"Corvin," the Duke said. "I didn't expect to see you again."
"I've been looking for you." The street sweeper glanced around, checking the shadows, the windows, the passersby. "I've been thinking about what I told you. About the young man. About the fight."
"And?"
Corvin stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"People are talking. On the streets. In the shelters. In the queues for bread." He swallowed. "They're saying he survived."
The Duke felt his heart quicken. "Who is saying this?"
"Everyone. No one." Corvin's hands trembled. "It's just… whispers. But when enough people whisper the same thing, you start to wonder if there's truth in it."
"What exactly are they whispering?"
Corvin took a breath.
"That he walked out of the flames. That he was seen after the bombs, moving through the smoke, heading away from the destruction." He paused. "Some say he was badly hurt. Some say he wasn't hurt at all. Some say he vanished into thin air."
"Vanished?"
"Like a shadow. Like he was never there." Corvin's eyes were wide. "That's what they say, Your Grace. I'm just telling you what I've heard."
The Duke was silent for a long moment.
"Do any of them claim to have seen him themselves?"
Corvin shook his head. "No. It's always a friend of a friend. A cousin of a neighbor. Someone who knew someone who was there." He shrugged. "That's how rumors work. They spread like fire, but you can never find the spark."
---
The Duke walked to the edge of the fountain and sat on the cold stone.
"What else are they saying?" he asked.
Corvin hesitated. Then he sat beside the Duke, keeping a respectful distance.
"They're saying the government knew about the bombs," he said. "That they let them go off on purpose. To give the King an excuse to send in the guards."
"Do you believe that?"
"I don't know what to believe anymore." Corvin's voice was tired. "But I see the guards on every corner. I see the people being arrested for asking questions. I see the fear in their eyes." He looked at the Duke. "Something is wrong, Your Grace. Something is very wrong."
The Duke nodded slowly.
"And what do they say about House Karmis?"
Corvin's face flickered—surprise, perhaps, or discomfort.
"They say you've been helping the people. The rations. The aid. The secret distributions."
"And?"
"And some of them are grateful. They remember your daughter. They remember her kindness." He paused. "But others… others are afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"That you'll come to collect. That the help is just a loan. That someday you'll ask for repayment—and they won't be able to refuse."
The Duke felt something twist in his chest.
"House Karmis does not collect debts from the poor."
"Maybe not. But that's what they say." Corvin stood. "Fear makes people think strange things, Your Grace. You know that better than most."
He picked up his broom and tucked his cap back on his head.
"I've told you what I know. What I've heard. I can't tell you if any of it is true." He looked at the Duke. "Be careful. The people who are spreading these rumors—the ones who want the government to be blamed—they're not just talking. They're organizing. And they don't trust nobles. Any nobles."
He walked away, his footsteps quick and nervous, disappearing into the morning crowd.
---
The Duke sat alone by the fountain, the cold stone pressing through his coat.
Leximus survived. Or he did not.
The government knew. Or it did not.
The people trust House Karmis. Or they do not.
Every answer leads to another question.
He stood and began to walk.
---
He returned to the hospital as the sun was climbing toward its peak.
The corridors were busy now—nurses hurrying between rooms, doctors conferring in low voices, visitors carrying flowers and baskets of fruit. The Duke climbed the stairs to Sheila's room, his steps slow, his thoughts heavy.
Sheila was awake, sitting up in bed, her bandaged arm resting on the blanket. A tray of untouched food sat on the nightstand—soup, bread, a cup of tea gone cold.
She looked up when he entered.
"Grandfather," she said. "You were gone a long time."
"I was walking. Thinking."
"Did you find anything?"
He sat in the chair by the window.
"I found Corvin. The street sweeper. He came to me."
Her eyes widened. "What did he say?"
The Duke told her. About the rumors of survival. About the whispers of government involvement. About the fear that House Karmis would come to collect.
She listened without interrupting, her face pale, her lips pressed together.
"So no one knows," she said when he finished. "No one knows if he's alive. No one knows if he's innocent. It's all just… talk."
"Yes."
"Then what do we do?"
The Duke was silent for a long moment.
"We keep listening. We keep asking. We keep hoping that someone, somewhere, knows something real."
She nodded slowly.
"And the people who don't trust us?"
The Duke looked at her.
"We prove them wrong. We keep helping. We keep giving. We show them that House Karmis is not like the others."
Sheila reached out with her good hand and took his.
"I want to help," she said. "When I'm well. I want to help the people. Like Mother did."
The Duke squeezed her hand.
"You will," he said. "I promise."