Cessalie startled, spinning around so fast her skirt nearly tangled around her ankles. A boy had grabbed her wrist.
Not a small boy. He looked young, maybe twelve or fourteen, but he was already nearly as tall as her. His fingers were long and thin, nails chipped and jagged, with faint, half-healed cuts scattered across the backs of his hands. Dirt was caked under his nails, mud streaked up his forearms, and where he held her wrist, grime smeared onto her skin.
Cessalie froze, her pulse hammering in her chest. Her eyes snapped up to his face.
Even under all that dirt, he looked almost unreal. His skin was pale and light, sharp against the dullness of his clothing. His eyes glowed like molten glass, a startling, almost fiery orange that seemed to pierce right through her. His hair hung in uneven, dirty waves to his jaw, a mix of icy blonde and faded white. His clothes were torn, filthy, barely hanging together, and he had no shoes.
She felt her stomach drop. Her heart beat faster than her thoughts, and for a moment she could barely breathe. She had never seen anyone like him. Nothing in her polished life had prepared her for this. Every instinct screamed that she should pull back, run, or scream, but she was frozen in place, wide-eyed and unsure.
"Davian," she called, her voice sharp, trembling. Her hand flailed until it found his back. "Davian! Look!"
Her wrist shook as she yanked it free, stumbling toward him, wiping at the mud that smeared across her skin. Her voice rose slightly, sharp with panic. "He grabbed me!"
Davian turned at once, his brows knitting together. He held out a handkerchief for her, his gaze locked on the boy.
"Clean your wrist," he said quietly, his voice calm but firm, before taking a careful step toward the boy, assessing him.
Cessalie pressed close behind Davianl, relief washing over her in a rush, though her heart still thumped painfully. Her mind spun, trying to process what she jusr saw.
The boy didn't move or speak. His wide orange eyes were locked entirely on Cessalie, like he hadn't even noticed Davian yet.
"Hey," Davian knelt slightly to the boy's level, voice dipping into calm. "What's your name? Where are your parents?"
The boy said nothing. He wasn't even looking at Davian. His stare stayed glued to Cessalie.
Cessalie backed up half a step, still rubbing her wrist with the cloth, her voice low. "Davian, I don't like this… can we leave? Please?"
Davian straightened, eyes looking at boy from head to toe. He then turned to cessalie. "He's probably hungry. Looks like he's been begging."
Davian pulled a few coins from his coat pocket, handing them to a nearby vendor, ordering a small portion of bread and dried meat. He offered the food to the boy.
The boy didn't even glance at it. Instead, his feet shifted, and he started toward Cessalie again.
"No," Davian stepped in front of her, palm lifting in a clear stop gesture. His voice was stricter now. "Stay back."
The boy paused, barely. But his focus never broke from Cessalie, and his foot shifted forward again.
"Enough," Davian warned, positioning himself fully between them.
Before the situation could spiral further, three men shoved their way through the crowd, panting and red-faced.
"We're sorry, Sir," one of them wheezed, half bald, grabbing the boy roughly by the arm. "He's not supposed to be out here."
Davian's eyes narrowed slightly. "And who exactly is he?"
The man scratched the back of his neck, his grip tightening on the boy. "He works at the bathing house, helps with cleaning. He ran off again today."
Cessalie's mouth parted slightly, her voice cool with disbelief. "He works there? He's a child."
To her, it felt unreal. Like seeing her fourteen-year-old sister scrubbing floors or washing clothes, it just didn't fit.
Davian frowned. "Why isn't he in training? Send him to the palace guard program or the trade apprentices."
The man exchanged a quick, uncomfortable look with his companion. They seemed suspicious with the way they were nervous and heaving. "He's… not right in the head, my lord. He starves himself, runs away and doesn't even speak. We take care of him as best we can."
Davian's expression darkened, lips pressing together.
The boy still hadn't looked away from Cessalie. His face stayed blank, unreadable, except for that strange intensity burning in his eyes.
"Take him back," Davian finally ordered quietly, though his gaze lingered on the boy with something unreadable of his own.
The men nodded quickly, dragging the boy back into the crowd.
Cessalie stayed still, the handkerchief clenched between her fingers, her heart still thrumming uncomfortably against her ribs.
She had no idea why… but that boy's eyes? They were going to haunt her for days.
.
.
.
.
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The tower was quiet except for the faint rustle of wind outside. The temple flag shifted along the breeze, hanging limp as if it had belonged to a defeated country, left to rot. Shadows pooled in the corners of the top floor, making the stacks of books look like dark, silent sentinels. Davian stood near the heavy wooden gate, shoulders relaxed but alert.
Tiberius leaned against the window frame, one hand resting lightly on the sill. His dirty blonde hair fell unevenly to his jaw, catching the last rays of sunlight. His eyes, bright marigold, tracked Davian without blinking. The violet and silver of his robes shimmered faintly in the low light.
"I hear interesting things, Duke Draevin," Tiberius said, tilting his head slightly as if weighing the space between them. His voice was smooth and gentle like a melody. His fingers drummed absentmindedly on the sill. "Rumours about me… about witches and some evidence."
Davian's gaze didn't waver. He flexed his fingers once, then folded them behind his back, careful not to show surprise. "You called me here to repeat rumours?"
Tiberius's lips curved into a faint, controlled smile. He pushed himself upright, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. "No. I called you because I know who started them."
A pause stretched between them. Davian's jaw tightened imperceptibly. He stepped forward a fraction, adjusting his sleeve at the elbow, careful not to show tension. "And you think it's me?"
"I don't think," Tiberius replied, straightening his posture, hands folding over the window ledge. "I know. Or at least… your hand moved the first piece. Timing, sources, the route the whispers took place. It was all too precise for coincidence."
Davian's eyes flicked to the books stacked along the walls, then back. His shoulders shifted, arms folding loosely, jaw clenched. He neither confirmed nor denied, letting silence do the work.
Tiberius pushed off the window frame and closed the distance between them. His robes whispered against the stone floor. Jewels at his collar caught the fading sun, flashing light across the pages of nearby books. "You did it cleanly and quietly. You avoided your officials, worked my side of the board...the merchants, lower priests, even my aides. You made it look like the temple was cornering me."
Davian lifted his chin slightly, fingers brushing a lock of hair back from his forehead. "And yet, you still called me. Why?"
Tiberius tilted his head, scanning Davian from shoulders to eyes. "Because I could expose you. I could end this in an hour. But instead…" He straightened, letting the light fall across his features. "I see opportunity."
Davian's eyes narrowed. "Opportunity for what?"
Tiberius took a slow step back toward the center of the room, robes flowing behind him. "You want the temple to lose control over witches. I want the temple to lose control over me."
Davian's shoulders relaxed in that. It wasn't expected that Tiberius' would want to work against temple too but it was a win-win. For a moment, he let the words sink in, realizing how deeply that nineteen girl's plan had reached, who read books and stared at teacups all day.
"You seeded resentment in the temple," Tiberius continued, pacing lightly. "You made them doubt me. That weakens their grip. I can work with that, but only if we are on the same side."
Davian stepped closer cautiously. "What are you proposing?"
"An understanding." Tiberius' hummed, staring at cracks in his ceiling. "We both want cracks in the temple's walls. You get space for witches. I get freedom from their leash."
"And if I refuse?" Davian's gaze flicked to the doorknob, then back, ready to leave any moment.
Tiberius's lips twitched into a small smile. A breathy laugh escaping his lips. "Then all that planning was wasted. And next time, I won't call you first. I'll call the council."
The tower settled into silence again. Wind shifted, fluttering pages and the flag outside.
Finally, Davian's shoulders eased. He nodded once, adjusting his cuff. "Fine. An understanding."
Tiberius straightened, stepping back a pace. "Good. Keep your sympathies subtle. Let me speak for them. In return… the temple never tightens the noose around your neck."
Davian's lips didn't curl but he nodded, a subtle acknowledgment. "Deal."
"You wanted me involved. Congratulations. But this isn't enough." Tiberius turned slightly toward the window, sunlight brushing one side of his face.
"What do you suggest?" Davian stepped closer, his boots scraping softly against the worn stone.
Tiberius's hand rested on the sill, fingers splayed lightly. "The temple doesn't fall from whispers alone. You want public favour for witches? You need controlled outrage."
Davian's brow arched. "Outrage?"
"A small, contained scandal." Tiberius's shoulder shifted, tilting as he watched the city below. "Enough to stir the people, remind them the temple isn't infallible."
"And you?"
"I'll be the voice of reason. I'll defend the accused. The moderate, not the rebel."
Davian's jaw clenched, eyes flicking to the floor before meeting his again. "So you control the narrative while the scandal spreads?"
Tiberius smirked. "Exactly. The temple can't silence me if I appear just and calm. They must choose. Either attack me and look like tyrants, or tolerate me and lose control."
Davian let a slow breath out, adjusting his sleeve at the wrist. "And the scandal?"
"I assume your… unseen advisor already has one in mind." Tiberius gave a faint knowing dangerous smirk, one shoulder rising lightly.
Davian's lips pressed into a thin line, jaw flexing, thoughts already racing about Cessalie and the plan.
Tiberius's fingers traced the rim of the sill again. "I'll give access to temple records. You'll find weaknesses, fabricate what's necessary but it must look real."
"And the people?"
"I'll handle them." Tiberius stepped aside, letting his robes brush softly against the floor. "But slip up, and I won't protect you."
A quiet stretch of wind moved through the tower, lifting pages of open books in the stacks.
Davian exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Understood." He pivoted, stepping toward the door.
"One more thing." Tiberius's voice stopped him in mid-step.
Davian's shoulders stiffened, hand pausing on the handle.
"If this backfires… I never met you."
Davian gave a faint, cold smile, fingers flexing once. "Likewise."
He turned and walked down the stairs, leaving Tiberius alone in the quiet tower, sun catching the glint of his marigold eyes as he watched him go.