"The iron in that key is keyed to a ward I’ve placed on the estate. If you try to leave the mountain before the first ton of silver is pulled from the deep shaft, the key will grow red-hot in your pocket. It will burn through your fine silk and your skin until you return to your post."
Vellam looks horrified. I am essentially giving him a heart attack of productivity. I am forcing a man who has lived on the labor of others to become the very thing he exploited.
"But here is the 'better person' part, Vellam," I say, my smile softening just enough to be terrifying. "If you manage to treat those miners with dignity, if you use your 'refined' eye to actually improve their safety and double their wages, the iron will stop burning. The vitality in the vial will begin to feel like genuine health rather than a frantic curse. You might even find that the people of Padma don't hiss when you walk by."
I glance at Rho, who is happily licking sugar off her thumb.
"You have a chance to be a man Eamon wouldn't be ashamed to call a distant cousin. Or, you can spend the rest of your life as a very energetic, very burnt prisoner of your own greed."
I pick up my wine glass and offer a mock toast.
"To your new career, Overseer. I suggest you pack warm. It’s very cold in the dark."
Vellam looks at the key, then at me. He realizes I haven't just taken his money. I've taken his laziness. I’ve turned his life into a frantic, high-energy treadmill of penance.
He takes the box and bows so low his forehead nearly hits the table. "Thank you... Highness."
"Don't thank me yet," I whisper as he scurries away. "You haven't smelled the damp yet."
Kenric watches him go, then turns to me, a smirk playing on his lips. "Overseer of Silver Peak? That's a long way from the palace salons."
"He needed a hobby, Kenric," I say, leaning my head on his shoulder. "And those mines have been lonely. Besides, if he actually fixes them, the girls' dowries just doubled in value. I am, if nothing else, a very efficient princess."
The heat in the solar is a physical wall. Oskar is slumped in his high-backed oak chair, his face an alarming shade of beet-red as the Sun-Catcher glass magnifies the afternoon light. He looks like he’s trying to melt into the upholstery.
"You slapped him, Víl?," Oskar wheezes, mopping a river of sweat from his neck. "You hit Earl Vellam with a stack of banknotes in front of the entire table. The Duke of Vupis is already writing a play about it."
"Vellam was suffering from a delusion of adequacy," I say, standing perfectly still in the center of the room. I don’t sweat; I’m Fey, and I’ve tuned my internal temperature to treat this 'Eternal Summer' like a brisk spring morning. "I merely provided the documentation to cure him."
"And now you want to leave?" Oskar gestures vaguely at the window, where my name is etched forty-eight times into his view of the city. "You want to go to the mud-pits of Silver Peak? I need you here. The Dukes are restless. Vupis is whispering that my treasury is as thin as the palace walls."
I lean forward, placing my hands on his desk. "The walls are thin, Oskar. In fact, the western curtain wall is somewhat damaged. It looks... impoverished. Not the image a 'King of Silver' should project."
Oskar flinches. His vanity is his softest underbelly. "Stone is expensive. The Masons' Guild wants their gold upfront."
"The Fey Bank is prepared to offer you a small, low-interest loan," I say, sliding a new parchment across the desk. "Specifically for cosmetic repairs to the palace exterior. We’ll have the masons out there by Monday. We can even add some decorative crenellations. It will look like you’ve found a new vein of gold in the basement."
Oskar’s eyes light up. A loan he can use to make himself look rich is better than wine to him. "And the catch?"
"The catch is the Royal Seal on this travel mandate. Kenric and I are leaving for Silver Peak today. I need to oversee the 'cleansing' of the deep shafts. If the silver flows, you can pay back the loan in six months and keep the change. If I stay here, the ghosts keep the silver, and your palace continues to crumble while the Dukes laugh."
Oskar looks at the crack in the wall, then at the promise of a loan that makes him look powerful. He grabs his quill and signs the mandate with a frantic flourish, slamming the Royal Seal into the wax.
"Go," he grunts, waving the parchment at me. "Take your husband and go play in the dirt. Just make sure the masons start on the West Gate first. Webbe enters through that gate."
"They'll be there by noon," I promise, snatching the paper.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
I exit the solar, the heat vanishing as the heavy doors click shut. Kenric is waiting in the hall, his hand resting on the pomade of his sword, his jaw set in a hard, protective line.
"Is it done?" he asks, his voice a low growl. "If he so much as looked at you wrong…"
"He was too busy looking at a loan for his crumbling walls, Kenric," I say, handing him the signed mandate. "He’s staying here to watch the paint dry. We’re going to the mountains."
"He thinks he’s getting a prettier palace. We’re getting a fortress for the nieces and a place to put the snake." I give Kenric a sharp, predatory smile. "Ready to go hunting?"
Kenric’s expression softens into a dark, satisfied grin. "Always."
The air at the mouth of Silver Peak is thin and tastes of old, stagnant earth. The villagers in the valley below keep their windows shuttered, whispering about the 'Scratchers' that took the miners five decades ago.
I stand at the rusted iron grate of the deep shaft, Kenric at my back. I am not wearing silk today. I am in my armor, my hair braided tight with silver wire, and Lantecari is sheathed on my back. "Stay here," I tell Kenric. "If the seals break, I don't want you in the crossfire."
"Víl?," Kenric says, his hand on my shoulder. "If it's too much..."
"It’s never too much, Kenric. It’s just work."
I slip through the grate and drop into the dark. I don't need a torch. I let my eyes shift, the world turning into a map of heat and vibration. The tunnels are narrow, choked with dust, but as I descend into the deep shaft, the stone changes. It’s slick with a substance that smells like rancid honey and old bones.
Night-Walkers. Small ones. Scavengers from the fringes of the Fey Wild Lands that slipped through a crack in the world when the silver was first tapped.
I reach the bottom chamber, a vast cavern where the silver veins glow like frozen lightning in the walls. In the center of the room, huddling in the shadows, are a dozen spindly, grey-skinned creatures with eyes like milky pearls and fingers long enough to wrap around a human skull twice.
They hiss, a sound like dry leaves skittering on a grave.
I don't draw my blade. Instead, I let my presence expand. I let the Killing Wind howl through the tunnel, the force of it cracking the shale. I speak in the Old Tongue, the one that tastes like death, magic, and blood.
"I am Kili Uin of Hloir? Aralli?. I am the Fire that burns the border. Bow, or become the ash beneath my feet."
The Night-Walkers shriek, pressing themselves against the cold silver. Their leader, a creature with a jagged crown of bone, crawls forward. “Princess... the silver is ours. We have fed on the warmth of the deep for fifty winters.”
“The silver is for my pack,” I say, stepping into the center of the cavern. “But I am not here to slaughter you. I am here to offer a bargain.”
I pull the iron key, the one I 'liberated' from Vellam earlier, from my belt pouch.
“A man is coming. A snake in a lace collar. He will be the Overseer here. He is soft, he is greedy, and he thinks the world owes him comfort.”
The leader tilts its head, its needle-teeth clicking. “And we? What is our part?”
“You will be his shadow,” I say. “You will stay in the deep shafts. You will not touch the miners. If a single drop of honest blood is spilled, I will come back and burn this mountain to a cinder. But the Overseer? He is yours to... entertain. When he is alone in his 'kennel' at night, you will remind him of the dark. You will whisper his sins back to him. And if he tries to leave before the silver is won, you may treat him as a plaything.”
The creatures let out a chittering laugh that echoes like a thousand breaking bones. “A snake to peel... a man to haunt. We accept, Princess.” The crowned one takes the key, sniffing it. It is passed around among the Night Walkers who chitter greedily at whatever it is in Vellam that they smell.
I nod, satisfied. I spend the next hour weaving a ward around the silver veins, a filter of sorts, that allows the humans to mine safely while keeping the Night-Walkers bound to the deeper, darker pockets where Vellam will be forced to spend his nights.
When I climb back out of the shaft, I am covered in grey dust and the faint scent of ozone. Kenric is waiting, his sword drawn, his face tight with worry.
"It's done," I say, wiping a smudge of ichor from my cheek. "The tunnels are clear for the workers."
"And the creatures?" Kenric asks, looking at the dark hole.
"They've agreed to a new management style," I say, taking his arm and walking toward the carriage where Vellam is waiting, trembling in his finery. "I think the Earl is going to find his new 'kennel' very... stimulating. He wanted to give the girls to the dogs. I’ve given him to the things that hunt the dogs."
I look at Vellam as we pass. He looks at me, and for a second, I let him see the reflection of the creatures in my eyes.
"The room is ready, Overseer," I whisper. "Don't keep your new roommates waiting."
I press the key into his hand and smile.
The carriage is packed, the horses are restless, and the mountain air is beginning to bite through even my enchanted silks. Kenric is checking the harness of the lead mare, his movements steady and practical. He looks like an Earl, yes, but he also looks like a man who knows how to work.
Vellam, on the other hand, looks like a man who is vibrating out of his own skin. The Second-Wind candy is doing its job; he hasn't stopped twitching since I handed him the iron key. He’s sweating despite the frost, his eyes darting toward the dark mouth of the mine as if expecting a hand to reach out and pull him in.
I am adjusting my gloves when I see it. Vellam sidles up to Kenric, his movements jerky and frantic. He’s trying to be discreet, but to my ears, his frantic heartbeat sounds like a drum in a cathedral.
"Kenric," Vellam hisses. His voice is a thin, desperate reed. "Lord Finstaad. A moment."
Kenric doesn't look up from the harness. "We are leaving, Vellam. If you have concerns about the winter stores, talk to the Head Miner."
"No, no," Vellam says, stepping closer. He reaches into the inner lining of his coat, the one piece of finery I haven't stripped from him yet, and pulls out a small, velvet pouch. It doesn't clink like gold. It’s silent. Gems. "This is for you. Personally. A gesture of... familial solidarity."
I lean against the carriage door, crossing my arms. I don't interfere. I want to see this.
"Solidarity?" Kenric finally looks at him, his brow furrowed.
"Take them," Vellam whispers, his eyes wide and bloodshot. "The rubies. They’re worth enough to buy a villa on the coast of Codegor. You could have a terrace overlooking the sea, Kenric. Sunlight every day. No more grey dust. Just... tell her the mine is unstable. Tell her the 'Overseer' is needed back in Dobile to manage the logistics. She listens to you. You’re her husband. Surely you can't want to leave a peer of the realm in this... this hole."
Today's notes brought to you by the infamous Fey bard, Ashenleaf Brightnote, Chronicler of Courtly Catastrophes.
WELL. Chapter 144 was a banquet of schadenfreude, served hot, cold, and with a side of “oh no, Vellam.”
Let us appreciate the highlights:
He wanted to sneer at orphans and nibble canapés in salons.
Instead, he got:
- An iron key that doubles as a disciplinary device
- A forced career in manual labor management
- A lifetime gym membership he can’t quit (and by “gym” I mean “haunted mine”)
Truly, a promotion worthy of a man who tried to bully a child.
Our girl walked into a cavern full of bone?crowned crypt gremlins and said:
“Hi, I’d like to negotiate a long?term enrichment program featuring psychological warfare and light haunting.”
And they AGREED.
Meanwhile, imagine Oskar here.
He would:
- Scream
- Offer them a title he doesn’t actually control
- Fall over
- Call it a diplomatic victory
- Still insist he deserves a statue
Bless him.
From a distance.
Watching Oskar wilt under the Sun?Catcher like a sad, overdressed tomato was genuinely delightful. His contribution this chapter was:
- Complaining
- Sweating
- Signing whatever paperwork made his palace look richer
- Not dying of heatstroke (shockingly)
Honestly, the most relatable thing about him is how fast he signed that loan the moment “decorative crenellations” were mentioned.
Meanwhile, Kenric continues to operate on “competency” settings that Oskar cannot even conceptualize. Kenric looks at a mine and thinks:
“How do I protect my people?”
Oskar looks at a mine and thinks:
“Can I monetize this without touching dirt?”
Bless his desperate little heart.
He tried to hand Kenric gems.
Kenric, being Kenric, said “no.”
Our Fey Princess, being our Fey Princess, watched it happen like a cat observing a mouse try to negotiate rent.
Vellam really tried the “We’re family???” angle.
Sir.
You are family the way mold is family to bread.
Vellam:
“I don’t want to go to the haunted mine.”
The Fey Princess:
“Good news — you are going to the haunted mine.”
Night?Walkers:
“We will haunt him respectfully.”
Kenric:
“Excellent.”
Perfection. A family bonding moment.
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