The courtyard smelled faintly of dew and cut grass when Alex stepped out to meet the others. Waiting with them, her poise as sharp as ever, was Lady Marriane Thorne. Alex gestured to her with an easy calm.
"She's an ally," he explained, meeting the curious glances of his friends. "We've worked together before. You can trust her."
Lady Marriane inclined her head politely. "A pleasure. And I must say, I'm impressed you've kept up with Rosetta here—he works people harder than any guildmaster I've ever seen."
The gang chuckled, and the tension eased. Still, Alex knew they couldn't afford to draw attention. He had arranged for a modest carriage, crates of vegetables stacked in the front by the driver's seat. To any passerby, they would appear no more than humble merchants delivering goods.
Inside, space was tight. Riven was the first to tug Alex forward, settling him firmly onto his lap. "No use wasting room," he said smoothly, but the playful gleam in his eyes gave away his true intention.
The wheels clattered over stone as they set off. Riven's arm circled Alex's waist, his other hand intertwining with Alex's fingers. Every so often, his lips ghosted over the back of Alex's neck.
"You're tense," Riven whispered, his breath hot against Alex's skin. "And you know what that does to me, don't you?"
Alex froze, his pulse tripping. The evidence pressed against him beneath fine trousers, impossible to ignore. His face burned, and he cursed the betraying warmth in his chest.
"Do you feel it, Cupcake?" Riven murmured again, lips brushing the curve of Alex's ear, a playful graze of teeth following. "Every time you're this close, I lose myself."
Alex tried not to shudder, but Riven's words melted into his skin, low and velvet-dark. His fingers tightened around Riven's unconsciously. The others were pretending not to watch, but Alex caught Kael's careful gaze flicker, Edrin's smirk, and Saphira's amused sideways glance. Lady Marriane only arched a brow, her smirk cool, knowing, and maddeningly entertained.
By the time the carriage lurched to a halt, Riven looked entirely unbothered, smirking as though nothing had happened. He smoothed his coat, adjusted his gloves, and stepped out, offering Alex his hand like a proper gentleman. Alex followed, cheeks still pink, the echo of Riven's whisper lingering in his ear.
The Grevan estate loomed before them, half-swallowed by ivy and shadow. Once, it had been grand; now it was a relic, its windows like hollow eyes staring out at the world.
An old servant ushered them through with a creak of hinges and the scent of mildew. The drawing room where Lord Grevan waited was dim, lit only by the weak afternoon sun filtered through dusty curtains.
"Guests," the old noble rasped, rising shakily from his chair. His face was lined like cracked parchment, his eyes clouded yet strangely sharp. "You come for tales no one wants told."
They sat, porcelain cups of bitter tea placed in their hands. Silence pressed heavy until Alex leaned forward, steadying his voice.
"My lord… we seek the truth of Veymore."
For a moment, Grevan seemed lost in fog, his gaze wandering the walls. Then, like a lantern sputtering to life, his words sharpened. His voice cracked but carried weight.
"I was a boy… only a boy. But I saw." His fingers trembled against the table. "The Duke… he had a husband. A good man. And an adopted son—bright as flame. They said we betrayed the war effort. Lies. All lies."
His voice broke into a low keen, then steadied again, almost too quickly, as though something unseen held his tongue.
"They practiced alchemy, not war. Always alchemy. But when the Duke was cut down, and the boy—" Grevan's breath hitched. His eyes darted, unfocused, as if seeing something only he could. "The screams. His husband's screams. You've never heard such grief. He was dragged away, but not broken. No, no, no…" His nails scraped the table. "He swore vengeance. He's coming. He's coming."
The firelight flickered though no wind stirred. Shadows seemed to lengthen, curling like fingers at the edge of their vision.
Saphira set her cup down, steady despite the chill running through the room. "And you believe this husband still lives?"
Grevan's laughter was thin, broken. "Lives? He endures. He waits. Death has no claim on grief so deep."
Silence stretched. Even the old house seemed to breathe with them. Alex's hands clenched in his lap, unease and curiosity twisting tight in his chest.
Whatever had happened in Veymore, it was no simple tale of betrayal. And the truth was far darker than any of them had imagined.