My command hung in the cold night air, sharp and unyielding.

  The Majordomo of House Ainsworth looked at me with uncertainty. Snowflakes fell silently onto his head, melting into droplets that ran down the deep furrows of his forehead like sweat.

  Hesitantly, he unlatched the heavy door and took a step back. "Please. Enter."

  Our footsteps echoed through the grand, yet somehow profoundly empty manor. Puzzled, my gaze wandered through the hallways and into the rooms we passed. A gaping emptiness prevailed everywhere. It was late, certainly, but not so late that the house should feel dead. Moreover, furniture was missing here and there—pale, bare spots on the walls where paintings once hung, rectangular imprints on the plush rugs where heavy cabinets had stood.

  Had Lady Ainsworth removed them because Lord Shitsworth had chosen them? Or was she simply purging the house entirely? Shaking my head, I forced myself to focus on the stiff back of the man walking in front of me.

  His steps slowed, and finally, we halted before a large set of double doors. Her private salon. Conrad took a deep, steeling breath before slowly pressing down the handles. The doors swung open silently, revealing the room where Lady Ainsworth often retired after sunset.

  It was a smaller, more intimate space, dominated by a roaring fire that cast dancing, primitive shadows against the walls. Aside from the hearth, there were only a few bookshelves, two plush armchairs, and a small side table.

  There she sat. The mistress of the house—Marchioness Genevieve Ainsworth.

  The formal rigidity of the day had fallen away from her. She sat deep in one of the armchairs, a book resting on her lap, wearing a long, flowing dressing gown of heavy, midnight-blue velvet that shimmered like deep water in the firelight.

  Conrad cleared his throat softly to announce us. Lady Ainsworth, who had been staring lost in thought into the crackling fire, looked over at us wearily. She blinked tiredly at Conrad, but when her gaze landed on me, she looked surprised—perhaps even startled.

  However, she regained her composure with practiced ease.

  "Thank you, Conrad. Could you please bring us some tea?" she asked, her voice tired but kind.

  Conrad hesitated for a fraction of a second, shooting me a suspicious glance, but he bowed deeply. "At once, My Lady."

  With a soft click of his heels, he turned and left us alone.

  Now I stood somewhat awkwardly in the doorframe. The atmosphere in the room was… complicated. Given our history, this meeting—especially at this hour—was certainly not easy for either party. Thank the gods she seemed better equipped to handle the social nuances than I was.

  "Grim, it is good to see you. Please, sit with me," she said, making an inviting gesture toward the empty armchair beside her.

  I nodded my thanks and slowly crossed the room. The crackling fire greeted me with a wall of heat, and I immediately realized I would start sweating in seconds. Without ceremony, I took off my jacket, folded it neatly on my lap, and sank into the soft armchair.

  "Thank you for receiving me at such a late hour," I said politely.

  I was rewarded with a small, genuine smile. "The pleasure is mine. You are lucky; in a few days, you would not have found me here."

  She explained this while her gaze wandered back into the flames. Not here?

  "Is that why furniture is missing?" I asked.

  She looked at me now with a furrowed brow. "You noticed that?" she asked, surprised. "But yes, you are right. This is not the ancestral seat of House Ainsworth, as you might have guessed. And after Victor's death, I am moving back to my family. Even though it involves a great deal of work, I am glad for it. So many bad memories cling to these walls…" she explained with an exhausted shake of her head.

  Oh, yes… she had a point there. Even though I couldn’t imagine Lord Shitsworth treating her much like his servants, he was certainly never an easy or pleasant companion. At the thought, I saw him again before my inner eye. Theo. His sad, dead eyes. Who knew if he was the only victim of the Baron's cruelty?

  "What… brings you here at this late hour? And where is Pip? I would certainly have been happy to see her again," Lady Ainsworth inquired with a curious smile.

  Her question pulled me out of my dark concentration and, much worse, dragged me back to the hard ground of reality. I felt the immense burden I usually suppressed so skillfully come crashing down on me.

  Exhausted, I let myself fall back into the armchair, staring up at the luxuriously decorated ceiling. A deep sigh escaped my throat, and my fingers cramped around the armrest.

  "Pip… is the reason for my visit," I said through gritted teeth.

  I couldn't look at Lady Ainsworth, and honestly, I didn't want to. But when she didn't answer, the silence stretched, urging me to continue.

  "I honestly don't know where to start…" I began, my voice rough. "After we arrived at the orphanage, everything was fine. But very soon, one of the adults had it in for me. Before she could harm me or Pip, I started working for the Appraiser in the Southgate District. Pip apparently found it all too boring and went off on her own while I worked. She didn't come home for weeks, and only by chance did I find her again…"

  I paused to collect my thoughts. Recapitulating the last few months like this was exhausting and painful. But it was necessary.

  "I found her… 'dead'… in the slums," I choked out. "And… I-I lost control so completely that I nearly destroyed the entire district. Fortunately, Lord Rockford intervened and it turned out Pip wasn't dead, but trapped in a state between life and death. It's called an Aetherial Lock. And it can only be treated with the help of an almost legendary plant called the Phoenix Ember Root."

  I let the name hang in the air for a few seconds. Still, no answer came from Lady Ainsworth. Slowly, I lowered my gaze from the ceiling to look at her.

  Her forehead was lined with deep furrows, and her eyes reflected… worry? Shit. I couldn't bear that look right now, so I averted my eyes again. But Lady Ainsworth's voice inevitably drew my attention back.

  "Grim… I-I honestly don't know what to say to that." Her hands played nervously with the fabric of her robe as she looked thoughtfully into the fire.

  "I know how this must look to you," I said, my voice firming up. "But that's not it. I am here, regardless of everything that has happened, not to beg. But to negotiate…"

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  She looked at me with a bewildered expression, her mouth slightly open. "I… don't quite understand?"

  I took a deep breath. I had played through this conversation in my head a thousand times, yet it was still so difficult. I summoned all my courage.

  "I must save Pip. Whatever the cost. And that brings me to you. We have identified the potential cure. After centuries, it likely goes by the name 'Volcanic Mandrake,' and it comes from a land far away," I explained slowly.

  Lady Ainsworth listened with a furrowed brow.

  "However, this plant is valuable. Unbelievably so. And that brings me to you. You are my last hope to save Pip…"

  I let the last words hang in the air and stood up. I placed my jacket on the armchair and looked at Lady Ainsworth intently. Carefully, I took a few steps and stopped in front of her chair. My body sank down onto one knee, my hand finding its place over my heart.

  "Marchioness Genevieve Ainsworth. I, Grim, hereby offer my services as an Adept for the Grand Tournament. I promise to win this tournament in your name and to teach the Adepts of the other houses to fear the name Ainsworth. In return… I want you to procure the Volcanic Mandrake for me. As a loan, if need be. I will pay for it, however I can. But I need this damn root… I need Pip…" I ground out through clenched teeth.

  I felt so disgusting. So weak. So hopeless. If she said no, my chances of saving Pip dropped to zero. Tense, I waited for an answer.

  But it didn't come. What did you expect, you stupid bastard? I scolded myself.

  Disappointed, I looked up, readying myself for the rejection. For the mocking laughter. For the humiliation of having thought too highly of myself.

  But a heavy sigh betrayed the opposite.

  "Through Victor's demise, I have contributed an exceedingly generous sum to the treasury of House Ainsworth," she said, her voice tight. "You may not be aware, but by fleeing, you ruined a business deal that was vital to Victor, whereupon he ran straight into his own death in his blind impotence. So, without you, I would not be free of him, and that is worth a great deal to me. But there is a small problem…" she said, gritting her teeth.

  With a raised eyebrow, I waited for her to continue. She breathed in deeply and cleared her throat quietly.

  "Have you never wondered why we—or rather, Victor—were providing the Adept for the tournament, even though he is not the head of House Ainsworth?" she asked intently.

  Hm. Now that she mentioned it… I wasn't familiar with the customs of the high nobility, but since Lord Shitsworth had only married into the family, it was indeed unusual. I shook my head, and she nodded in understanding.

  "Before you, Victor had already hired a promising young girl from a fallen noble house as an Adept. He managed to convince my father to let her compete for House Ainsworth instead of my nephew. Her training went well, but she became a victim of Victor's outbursts and fled the city," she explained, her gaze lingering in the fire.

  But where is the catch?

  Nervously, I wiped my sweaty hands on my trousers. I took a deep breath before asking, "Where is the catch?"

  Lady Ainsworth leaned back in the armchair and exhaled heavily. "My father."

  The Patriarch of House Ainsworth?

  "I don't quite understand," I admitted quietly.

  "My father only respected Victor's wish in order to use his considerable network of connections," Lady Ainsworth explained. "However, my beloved husband concealed the fact that his Adept had fled the country, which is why he urgently needed a replacement. You. And now that Victor is dead and my father has his money, he certainly sees no reason to deprive his own grandson of his place in the tournament a second time…" she said soberly, holding her chin thoughtfully.

  That actually made things unnecessarily complicated. So it wasn't her decision who competed for House Ainsworth, but her father's. Surely one could persuade him with a large amount of money to let me compete, but I didn't have any, and I needed it myself. What could I offer him? I had nothing but myself.

  Hm. Maybe that was exactly the point.

  "What if I defeat your nephew in a duel and thus show that I am the better choice? Would that perhaps change the Patriarch's mind?" I asked cautiously.

  Lady Ainsworth nodded understandingly but thoughtfully. "No. That is not enough. If you fight against my nephew, it must resemble an execution. You must tear him apart. You must win by such a massive margin that my father thinks he has absolutely no choice but to let you compete for House Ainsworth. But the question is… can you do that? My nephew, Tristan, is a talented mage and has been trained by Corbin for many years," she explained, looking at me almost disdainfully. "You have been able to wield magic for what—a little more than half a year? What do you have to oppose him wi—"

  The heavy double doors swung open in perfect, well-oiled silence, interrupting her.

  Conrad entered the room, holding a small wooden tray with two cups and a steaming pot. A sweet scent wafted towards me as he crossed the room with practiced routine and placed the tray on the small side table.

  "Thank you, Conrad," Lady Ainsworth thanked him with a weak smile.

  After a short bow, he disappeared just as quickly and silently as he had come. Lady Ainsworth gestured with her hand for me to sit down again.

  With a weak sigh, I lowered myself into the cozy armchair and stared into the blazing fireplace. The crackling of the fire and the gentle clinking of porcelain filled the room.

  "Would you like some tea?" Lady Ainsworth asked.

  I just shook my head slightly. I didn't feel like tea, and honestly, I didn't feel like this conversation anymore either.

  Minutes passed in which no one spoke. Finally, Lady Ainsworth broke the silence with a light sigh.

  "I want you to know that I owe you something. Not just for what Victor did to you, but also for freeing me from him. But the reality is that while I certainly possess extensive financial means, they are by no means enough to buy a legendary ingredient…" she explained slowly. She took a short sip of her tea and continued. "The treasury of House Ainsworth manages all financial transactions above a certain amount. So that no one can bring the family to financial ruin through a foolish decision. And that leads us back to my father, the Patriarch of House Ainsworth. He, and he alone, can decide whether the search for the plant you need is funded or not. And now I ask you again. What do you have to oppose my nephew?"

  Thoughtfully, I nodded at her words. Her standpoint was not illogical; House Ainsworth would certainly train its Adepts well. Corbin had taught me well, and I had made good progress in a few weeks. But her nephew had years of a head start and Corbin as a teacher to boot. On paper, my chances were bad.

  But I knew one thing for certain…

  Just as Lady Ainsworth was lowering her tea from her lips, I asked her, "You wanted to know what I have to oppose your nephew?"

  She frowned, pausing with the cup halfway to the table, astonished by the shift in my tone.

  I didn't wait for permission. I took a deep breath and raised my right hand. I didn't just call upon the mana; I seized it, letting it pool in my palm, heavy and dense. Slowly, deliberately, I closed my fingers into a fist.

  The air in the room instantly changed. It grew thick, oppressive, pressing against the eardrums like the drop before a thunderstorm.

  Lady Ainsworth stared down into her tea, watching the dark liquid ripple violently. Her eyes snapped up to me, wide with sudden realization, as the cup began to rattle against the saucer.

  But that was just a whisper. I needed a scream.

  I opened the floodgates, pouring a torrent of compressed mana into the gravity field.

  The manor groaned. Deep within the walls, stone ground against stone. The heavy crystal chandelier swung wildly overhead, chiming a frantic warning. Books tumbled from the shelves, hitting the floor with dull, heavy thuds. The windows rattled in their frames as if a hurricane were trying to batter its way in. Every inch of the room trembled under the weight of my will.

  Lady Ainsworth gripped the armrests of her chair, her face draining of color as her world shook.

  I held the chaos for a heartbeat longer, then slowly opened my hand. The pressure vanished instantly. The trembling ceased.

  "Lady Ainsworth," I said, my voice steady and cold in the sudden silence. "I have everything to gain and nothing to lose. But I cannot—I will not—let anyone stand in the way of saving my cat. Therefore, I will overcome all odds."

  I spoke with absolute, terrifying certainty.

  She stared at me, her chest heaving, looking at me as if I had just summoned a dragon into her private salon.

  Then, she collapsed back into her armchair, and a bell-like, ringing laughter burst from her throat.

  Before I could even process her reaction, the double doors burst open, slamming against the walls with a violence that made the frames rattle.

  Conrad rushed in, his usual stoic mask shattered. He looked bewildered, beads of sweat tracking through the deep furrows of his forehead as he dabbed frantically at them with a handkerchief.

  "M-My Lady! Is everything alright? The walls... the entire manor shook!"

  "Conrad!"

  Her laughter died instantly, replaced by a cold, terrifying clarity. She sat up straight, the heavy velvet of her robe rustling like armor. Her eyes burned with a terrifying new purpose.

  "Send a message to House Ainsworth immediately. Tell them I invoke my right as a daughter of the blood. I demand an audience with the Patriarch."

  There was an almost fanatical gleam in her gaze, a raw hunger for power and vengeance that should have intimidated me.

  But instead, a slow smile crept onto my lips.

  This was it. The chance I had been working towards for months—day and night.