— Caelum POV —
The Valdros library was absurd.
Not in a bad way. Just — absurd. Caelum had grown up reading whatever the academy's public collection had available, which was decent but thin on anything politically useful. The Valdros library had an entire wall of administrative histories and three shelves of provincial taxation records that were, genuinely, the most interesting things he had seen in years.
He was aware this said something about him as a person. He chose not to examine it.
She had given him access on Saturday morning as promised. A footman walked him through the manor's east entrance — servants' door, which he hadn't commented on because he didn't care and it was less conspicuous — and left him in a room the size of his entire dormitory floor with the instruction that Lady Valdros would join him when available.
That was two hours ago.
He had not moved from the political records section.
He had also found something that was making him feel a very specific kind of still.
The third Duke's era records. Exactly what he'd asked for.
He went through them the way he went through everything — methodically, starting from the edges. Land acquisitions. Political appointments. Trade agreements. Normal architecture of a powerful house building itself larger. He almost got bored.
Then he reached year fourteen of the third Duke's tenure and a land agreement with the provincial governor of Helvast.
He read it once. Then again.
Then he put it down, stared at the ceiling for about four seconds, and picked it back up.
A mining operation. Iron and copper, northern mountains. Signed between Valdros and Governor Auren Halst of Helvast. Two witnesses.
The second witness signature was his father's name.
He was still staring at it when the door opened.
"You haven't moved at all," Seraphine said from behind him. She sounded mildly impressed and also slightly suspicious, the way people sound when they're not sure if something is diligence or a problem. "I expected you to at least relocate for the taxation shelf." A pause. She had gotten closer, he could tell. "You look like you've been told bad news but you're still deciding how bad." Another pause. "Are you alright?"
He turned around.
She had come from somewhere less formal — her dress was simpler, hair less arranged than the rooftop meetings. She had a cup of something in her hand. She was looking at him with the focused attention that he was, reluctantly, learning to read as her version of actually caring.
He held up the document.
"Do you know what this is?"
She crossed the room and looked. He watched her eyes move across the page — quick, efficient.
"Mining agreement. Third Duke's—" She stopped. Found the signature. "Oh." A beat. "Is that—"
"My father. Yes."
Silence. The wrong kind — the kind where someone is thinking very fast and hasn't found the right words yet. That was fine. He didn't need words. He needed a minute.
"Caelum—"
"How did he die." Not a question. He knew how. He'd been told how. He was asking something different and they both knew it.
She understood. He could tell from the way she went still.
"Official record says a carriage accident," she said carefully. "The wheel—"
"I know the official record." He set the document down. His voice stayed flat. He needed it flat. "I've read it fourteen times. The wheel mechanism failed on a road my father drove twice a week for six years. Same road. Twice a week. Six years, and then one day the wheel just—" He stopped. Breathed. "What does your house know about Governor Halst."
She pulled out a chair and sat down. Not standing over him, not pacing — just sat down, which meant she was treating this seriously and not as a problem to manage from a height. He appreciated it more than he expected.
"He died three years ago," she said. "Heart failure. Sixty-two. Before that—" She stopped again.
"What."
"He was connected to House Solenne." She said it in the tone of someone delivering news they wish they didn't have. "Aldric's family. His father and Halst had a business arrangement. Had for years."
The room was very quiet for a moment.
Caelum sat down in the chair across from her. Not because he was tired. Because standing felt wrong, like the floor had suddenly developed opinions he hadn't consulted.
"So," he said slowly. "If my father witnessed a document that could be used against Halst — and if Halst had reason to want that witness gone — and if Halst was connected to Solenne—"
"You're speculating," she said, but her voice was careful. Not dismissive. More like she was reminding herself too.
"I'm speculating based on evidence that shouldn't exist if everything was clean." He looked at her steadily. "You knew this was here. You knew what I'd find when you gave me access. First visit."
She didn't look away.
"Yes," she said simply.
"Why."
She looked at her cup for a second. He had noticed she did this — looked at something nearby when she was sorting through what she actually wanted to say versus what was easy to say. Most people talked over that gap. She just sat in it until she had the right thing.
"I needed to see what you'd do," she said. "If you panicked and ran, you weren't ready for any of this. If you picked it up and immediately started plotting revenge, you were dangerous in the wrong direction." She looked up. "But if you sat very still and asked me careful questions—"
"Then I was worth telling the rest."
"Then you were worth telling the rest." A beat. "There is a rest."
He stared at her.
The part of him that had spent four years building a very comfortable wall said: stand up, take the document, figure it out alone. You don't need her rest. You don't need any of this. You were fine.
The other part of him — the part that was unfortunately smarter — noted that he had been trying to figure out his parents' death since he was thirteen and had nothing to show for it, and she had handed him a real thread in one morning.
He hated the smarter part. It was always right and it was always annoying about it.
"Tell me the rest," he said.
— Seraphine POV —
She hadn't planned to tell him everything today.
She had planned: show document, observe reaction, maybe one layer of context if he handled it well. A controlled disclosure. Sensible. Measured. The kind of thing a person with actual self-preservation instincts would do.
Then he had sat across from her with that face — not crying, not angry, just this horrible carefully-maintained flatness that was obviously holding something enormous very tightly — and she had told him everything. All at once. Like a person who had forgotten they were supposed to be careful.
The mining operation. The territorial dispute. House Solenne acquiring those northern territories eight months after the accident. The paper trail her house had been quietly building because it was ammunition for an ally turning inconvenient.
All of it. In one sitting. To someone she had known for eight days.
Absolutely brilliant, Seraphine.
When she finished he was quiet for a moment. Then:
"Your house has this evidence and hasn't used it."
"We were waiting for the right moment."
"Which means Solenne is becoming a threat worth neutralizing now." He looked up. "That's the real reason you needed a strategist. Not general consulting. Specifically for this."
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
"Yes," she said. Because what else was there.
"You could have just said that from the start."
"I didn't know you well enough."
"You still don't know me that well."
"I know you better than I did a week ago," she said, a little sharply. Then, more evenly: "I knew enough to give you the records. That's not nothing."
He looked like he was considering arguing. Decided against it, which she respected.
"I want copies of everything on Halst and Solenne," he said.
"Obviously."
"And I want to be the one who decides when to use it."
Silence.
That was — a significant thing to ask. That was her house's carefully assembled leverage, two years of work, and he was asking to hold the firing decision. She should have said no. She should have explained, nicely, that he was a consultant and she valued his input but the operational decisions remained with—
"That's not a reasonable—" she started.
"You hired me to think," he said. Not rude. Just very, very direct. "If your house moves before the moment is right, Solenne buries the evidence and we lose everything. I have been watching House Solenne since I was fourteen. I know their patterns. I know how Aldric's father operates." He paused. The grey eyes were very level. "Let me do what you hired me for."
She looked at him for a long moment.
She thought: this is a bad idea.
She thought: he's right, though.
She thought: when did I start trusting this person.
"Okay," she said.
He blinked. Just barely.
She noticed and stored it away for personal use.
"Don't look so surprised," she said. "You made a good argument. I agreed with it. That's how it works."
"I wasn't surprised."
"You blinked."
"I always blink. It's a basic—"
"You blinked in surprise. It's fine. It's endearing."
He looked like she had said something personally offensive to him. It was the most expressive she had seen his face get. She found this disproportionately delightful.
She went to the shelf behind him and pulled out a thin folder. She put it on the table between them.
"Start with this. Halst-Solenne correspondence, three years. Some of it's in cipher but it's a basic substitution, you'll have it in—"
"How long did it take you?" he said, looking at the folder.
A pause.
"Forty minutes," she said.
"With help?"
"With help."
He nodded, picked up the folder, opened it. She waited for him to start reading and not notice her leaving. He did start reading. She headed for the door.
She was almost through it when she heard him say, quietly and not looking up from the page:
"Thank you."
She stopped.
He was already absorbed in the cipher. He said it the way people say things they mean but don't want to make a whole thing of — quickly, under the breath, hoping it gets received without requiring a response.
She stood in the doorway for a second longer than she should have.
"Tea's coming," she said, and left.
In the hallway Nessa was there, because Nessa was always there, quiet and attentive as furniture that had developed concern.
"He found the document," Nessa said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"And you told him everything." Also not a question.
Seraphine looked at her.
"You were listening."
"I was nearby." A diplomatic pause. "My lady. The Duke is going to find out the boy's been in the library."
"I know."
"He'll want to know why."
"I know."
"He's not going to like the answer."
"Nessa." Seraphine started walking. "I know. Send the tea."
Nessa peeled off toward the kitchen. Seraphine could feel her maid's worried eyes on the back of her head the entire way.
She sat at her desk and opened her own work and stared at it.
She thought about thank you said to a folder, too quiet to need acknowledging.
She thought about how she had given him the firing decision. Her house's evidence. Two years of work.
She thought about how she hadn't even hesitated.
That was, she decided, something to think about later.
Later was becoming a very crowded place.
* * *
End of Chapter Four