The candle on the stained table of the Blind Behemoth burned low, casting long, dancing shadows against the peeling walls.
Lord Blake traced a pale finger across the map spread out between them.
"The Festival of Light follows a strict schedule," Blake explained, his voice devoid of emotion. "At sundown, the lanterns are lit. At the eighth hour, the Queen addresses the people from the Royal Box, here."
He tapped a spot on the map marked with a gold star—the central balcony of the castle, overlooking the main plaza.
"And at the ninth hour," Blake continued, "the Grand Finale begins. The 'Dragon's Breath' fireworks. The sky will be filled with green and gold fire. It will be loud. Deafeningly loud."
Captain Vane leaned forward, his gold teeth glinting in the candlelight. "Loud enough to hide the sound of a cannon volley?"
"Precisely," Blake nodded. "When the first green flare goes up, you fire. Aim for the Outer Walls and the Barracks. Create panic. The City Watch will scatter to help the civilians. Commander Richard will mobilize the Army to the walls."
"And the Giant?" Vane asked, toying with the hilt of his cutlass. "The one they call the Last Guardian? I've heard stories. They say he can cut a ship in half."
"Conrad is a slave to his duty," Blake sneered. "He protects the people. When the city starts burning, he won't stay by the Queen's side. He will leap into the fray to save the commoners. That is his weakness. He cares too much."
Vane chuckled, a low rumble like a subterranean tremor. "Compassion. Disgusting. And while the big dog is busy chasing sticks..."
"The Queen will be alone," Blake finished. "Or as good as alone. A few Royal Guards. Maybe that farmboy she keeps as a pet. Nothing that can stop a General of the 12."
Vane sat back, picturing it. The chaos. The fire. The fear. It was a masterpiece.
"I swoop down," Vane narrated, gesturing with his wine glass. "I land on the balcony. I gut the girl. I smash through the floor to the foundations, grab this 'Shard' of yours, and fly off before the smoke clears."
"Simple," Blake agreed. "Elegant."
"And you?" Vane narrowed his eyes. "Where will you be while I'm doing the heavy lifting?"
"I will be in the secure bunker beneath the West Wing," Blake lied smoothly. "Coordinate the evacuation. Ensuring that when the dust settles, there is someone left to sign the surrender."
Vane studied him for a long moment. The pirate wasn't a genius, but he had the instincts of a wolf. He sensed something slippery about the man in black. But the prize... the Shard... it was too tempting.
"You're a cold bastard, Crow," Vane laughed, draining his glass. "I like you. If you ever get tired of politics, I have a spot on my crew for a Quartermaster. The current one talks too much."
"I will keep that in mind," Blake stood up, smoothing his robes. "Do we have an accord?"
Vane stood as well, towering over the advisor. He held out a hand the size of a ham, covered in calluses and rings.
"The Queen dies at the ninth hour," Vane growled. "And the Shard belongs to me at the tenth."
Blake took the hand. His grip was cold and dry. "Done."
Blake turned and walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the latch.
"One more thing, Captain. Do not underestimate the Guardian. If he catches you... do not play with him. Kill him instantly."
"Don't worry about me," Vane patted the serrated blade at his hip. "I've killed giants. They all fall the same way."
Blake nodded once and slipped out into the night.
As the door clicked shut, Vane turned to the empty room.
"Rask!" he bellowed.
The cyborg Quartermaster materialized from the shadows of the back room, where he had been listening.
"Sir?"
"Prep the Gallows," Vane commanded, his eyes burning with greed. "Load the Incendiary Rounds. And tell the boys to sharpen their blades. We're going hunting."
"And the Advisor?" Rask asked, his mechanical jaw clicking. "Do we trust him?"
Vane snorted. "Trust him? I wouldn't trust him to hold my coat. Once I have the Shard, Rask... we're going to level this entire city. The Queen, the Advisor, the Guardian... let them all burn. There can be no witnesses when I claim the throne of the skies."
Outside, the air was cool and fresh. Blake walked through the twisting alleyways of the Smuggler's District, stepping over puddles of questionable origin.
He reached the edge of the canal, where a private carriage was waiting for him. The driver, a mute servant loyal only to Blake, opened the door.
Blake climbed in, sinking into the leather seat. As the carriage lurched forward, rattling over the cobblestones, a thin, cruel smile spread across his face.
The fool, Blake thought.
Vane thought he was the player, but he was just another piece on the board.
Blake reached into his pocket and pulled out a second map. This one didn't show the weak points of the castle. It showed the ancient magical ley lines that ran beneath the capital—the defense grid established by the First King of Ozyra.
The "Shard" wasn't just a power source. It was a trigger.
If Vane tried to remove the Shard from the foundations without the Royal Signet Ring—which only the ruler possessed—the ancient defenses would activate. The castle wouldn't just collapse; it would discharge a pulse of raw magical energy strong enough to vaporize anything in the vicinity.
Including a certain pirate captain.
"Kill the Queen for me, Vane," Blake whispered to the rhythm of the carriage wheels. "Remove the Guardian. And then... when you grab your prize... you will solve my last problem for me."
Blake leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
He could already see it. The morning after the Festival. The city in ruins. The Queen dead. The pirate threat neutralized by the castle's ancient magic. And stepping out from the bunker, the grieving but resolute Lord Advisor, ready to take up the crown to guide the survivors into a new era of order.
It was going to be a beautiful night.