An Unfortunate Accident
The first attempt was not called an assassination.
Not by Cassovar.
Not by Velisse.
Not even by Emmeran Vos.
They called it an opportunity.
A failure of maintenance.
An unfortunate weakness in old stone.
Something no one could reasonably foresee.
That language made it easier.
The balcony overlooked the western court of the palace.
It was narrow, old, and rarely used except during formal addresses to the city.
The masonry beneath it had been repaired twice in the previous decade.
A third inspection had recently been ordered.
It was there, in the gap between inspection and repair, that the idea took shape.
No one proposed killing the Supreme Ruler outright.
Pel Sarin had stopped attending their meetings. Sarethe had withdrawn almost entirely. Cassovar had begun limiting what was said even among people he trusted.
But Emmeran Vos had connections among contractors.
One contractor employed a mason.
The mason had debts.
The debts could disappear.
The mason did not need to know why.
He only needed to leave one support untouched.
Velisse read the estimate twice.
“How certain?”
Emmeran shrugged.
“Certain enough.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is an old balcony.”
“I know what it is.”
Cassovar stood by the window with his back to them.
Odran was pacing again.
“He is scheduled to speak there?”
“In nine days,” Emmeran said.
“For how long?”
“Twenty minutes.”
Odran stopped.
“That is enough.”
Velisse looked toward him.
“You sound very comfortable with this.”
“I am comfortable with ending a problem.”
Cassovar turned.
“No.”
Odran frowned.
“No what?”
“You are not comfortable. You are excited.”
Odran’s face changed.
“That is not fair.”
“It is exactly fair.”
Cassovar looked toward Emmeran.
“If this happens, it happens once.”
Emmeran nodded.
“No improvisation. No second attempt. No loose ends.”
Velisse stared at Cassovar.
“You have already decided.”
He looked at her.
“No.”
“You are giving instructions.”
“I am limiting damage.”
“That is deciding.”
Cassovar’s jaw tightened.
For a moment, he looked older.
“We have spent a year trying everything else.”
Velisse said nothing.
He continued.
“If the balcony collapses, there is no knife. No poison. No assassin to capture.”
Odran sat down.
“What if he survives?”
No one answered immediately.
Emmeran finally said, “Then it was an accident.”
Balif knew nothing about the balcony.
What he knew was that the Gilded campaign had changed.
That worried him more.
For weeks, the newspapers had become quieter.
Some of the loudest merchant associations had stopped publishing statements.
Several known Gilded organizers had suddenly lost interest in public rallies.
Odran Pell still gave speeches, but even those had become less frequent.
The pressure had not disappeared.
It had become less visible.
Balif did not like that.
He raised the matter one evening while the Supreme Ruler was reviewing reports from the southern provinces.
“They’ve gone quiet.”
The ruler continued reading.
“Who?”
Balif stared at him.
The ruler looked up.
“Merent?”
“The Coven. At least the part of it that has been shouting at you for the last year.”
“That seems like good news.”
“It might be.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I am not.”
The ruler returned to the report.
“Why?”
Balif took a moment.
“I don’t know.”
The ruler waited.
Balif frowned.
“That is not going to be a satisfying answer.”
“It rarely is.”
Balif walked over to the window.
“They were spending money every week. Pamphlets. Speeches. Delays. Then suddenly half of it stops.”
“Maybe they realized it wasn’t working.”
“I hope so.”
The Supreme Ruler looked at him.
Balif continued.
“I just don’t think Cassovar Merent loses interest because something fails.”
“No.”
“That is all.”
“That is not all.”
Balif looked back.
The ruler set down the report.
“Say what you mean.”
Balif hesitated.
“I think they may have changed methods.”
“Based on what?”
“Nothing solid.”
“Then we watch.”
Balif nodded.
The ruler picked up the report again.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“You are speaking from the western balcony next week.”
The ruler looked at him.
Balif shrugged.
“It has nothing to do with this. I just dislike that balcony.”
“Why?”
“It shakes.”
“It does not shake.”
“It does.”
“You are afraid of heights.”
“I am afraid of falling.”
“There is a difference?”
“A significant one.”
The ruler looked back at the report.
Balif left muttering something about architects.
The morning of the address was clear.
The western court filled before noon.
Merchants came.
Guild representatives came.
Workers came.
Some still carried signs against the ruler.
Others carried banners in support of him.
The speech itself was meant to announce a new agreement on inter-guild transport routes, one of the projects that had survived the Gilded obstruction.
The Supreme Ruler arrived with a small group of officials.
Balif was among them.
He looked at the balcony.
Then at the stone beneath it.
Then back at the balcony.
One of the guards noticed.
“What?”
Balif pointed.
“Has that always been there?”
The guard followed his finger.
A thin crack ran along the underside of the outer support.
The guard shrugged.
“It is old stone.”
Balif stepped closer.
He pressed one hand against the column.
Dust fell.
His expression changed.
“Get him off.”
The guard frowned.
“What?”
“Get him off the balcony.”
The Supreme Ruler had already stepped forward.
The crowd below began to cheer and jeer in equal measure.
Balif moved toward him.
“Your Grace.”
The ruler glanced back.
“We need to go.”
“Why?”
“Now.”
Something in Balif’s face made him stop.
A low sound came from beneath the stone.
Not loud.
A grinding noise.
One of the guards heard it too.
Then the outer edge of the balcony dropped.
There was no dramatic pause.
No time to think.
The guards seized the Supreme Ruler and pulled him backward.
Stone broke loose beneath his feet.
A section of railing tore away and fell into the courtyard below.
People screamed.
The entire front half of the balcony collapsed.
Dust filled the air.
The Supreme Ruler hit the floor hard enough to lose his breath.
Balif landed beside him.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then the ruler coughed.
Balif looked at him.
“You still think it doesn’t shake?”
The Supreme Ruler stared at him.
Balif closed his eyes.
“Sorry.”
The court below was chaos.
Three people were injured by falling stone.
One guard suffered a broken arm.
The Supreme Ruler escaped with bruising along his shoulder and ribs.
Within an hour, the palace announced that structural failure was the likely cause.
Within two hours, Balif had ordered the balcony sealed.
By nightfall, he had found the inspection report.
The support had been marked for repair.
The repair had been signed as completed.
It had not been completed.
Balif read the document three times.
The name at the bottom belonged to a mason named Jorven Kale.
Jorven Kale had disappeared the previous morning.
The Supreme Ruler found Balif in the records room after midnight.
“You should be sleeping.”
Balif did not look up.
“So should you.”
The ruler closed the door behind him.
“What did you find?”
Balif handed him the inspection report.
The Supreme Ruler read it.
“Completed.”
“Yes.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No.”
“Could it be fraud?”
“Yes.”
The ruler looked up.
Balif continued.
“He was paid for work he didn’t do.”
“That happens.”
“Yes.”
“And he is missing.”
“Yes.”
“That also happens.”
Balif looked at him.
“Not usually the day before a balcony collapses under you.”
The ruler set the paper down.
“Do we know he caused it?”
“No.”
“Do we know anyone paid him?”
“Not yet.”
“Then we have nothing.”
Balif looked frustrated.
“We have enough to investigate.”
“Yes.”
The ruler’s voice was firm.
“To investigate.”
Balif nodded.
He understood the distinction.
The ruler picked up the report again.
“Quietly.”
“I know.”
He started toward the door.
Balif spoke.
“Your Grace.”
The ruler stopped.
Balif stared at the papers in front of him.
“I don’t think this was an accident.”
The ruler did not answer immediately.
Neither did he dismiss the idea.
Finally he said, “Find out.”
Then he left.
Jorven Kale was found four days later.
Alive.
Barely.
He had been beaten and left beside a drainage canal outside the city.
When he woke, he remembered very little.
Or claimed to.
Balif interviewed him personally.
The mason’s hands shook badly.
His left eye was swollen shut.
“I did the inspection,” Jorven said.
“Did you repair the support?”
“I was going to.”
“But you signed that you did.”
Jorven looked down.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
No answer.
Balif waited.
Jorven swallowed.
“I needed the payment.”
“So you stole it.”
“Yes.”
Balif stared at him.
“Who paid you?”
“The palace.”
“That is not what I meant.”
Jorven’s breathing changed.
Balif noticed.
“Someone else spoke to you.”
“No.”
“Jorven.”
“No.”
Balif leaned back.
The man was terrified.
That much was obvious.
“Did someone tell you not to repair it?”
Jorven shook his head.
Too quickly.
Balif waited.
Jorven’s eyes filled with tears.
“I don’t know anything.”
Balif’s expression softened.
He did not press immediately.
After a while, he asked, “Who did this to you?”
Jorven looked at the door.
Then back at Balif.
“I don’t know.”
That answer might have been true.
The Gilded Coven had not ordered Jorven beaten.
That became a problem.
Cassovar confronted Emmeran in private.
“Who touched the mason?”
Emmeran frowned.
“No one.”
“He was found half-dead.”
“I heard.”
“You said no loose ends.”
“I said nothing about beating him.”
Cassovar stared at him.
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is not acceptable.”
Emmeran looked irritated.
“Do you think I control everyone in this city?”
“You arranged the contact.”
“I arranged a contact with a contractor. The contractor spoke to someone else.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Cassovar’s face tightened.
For the first time, he seemed to understand what they had created.
They had tried to build distance between themselves and the act.
Now that distance meant they no longer knew who was involved.
Odran entered before either man could say more.
“He lived.”
Cassovar looked at him.
“Yes.”
Odran shook his head.
“I told you we should have used something certain.”
Cassovar crossed the room and struck him.
Not hard enough to knock him down.
Hard enough to silence him.
Odran stared at him.
Cassovar’s breathing was heavy.
“There were people below that balcony.”
“So?”
Cassovar looked at him.
Odran realized what he had said.
Neither man spoke.
Emmeran watched them both.
The second attempt came months later.
No one within the Coven called it a second attempt.
Cassovar had forbidden further action.
That did not mean everyone obeyed him.
Odran Pell had begun meeting with men outside the Assembly.
Younger merchants.
Minor nobles.
People with debts.
People who had lost money in the expansion.
People who thought Cassovar had become afraid.
One of them knew a stablemaster attached to the royal household.
The plan was crude.
A fastening pin would be filed almost through.
The carriage would leave the city.
The pin would snap on rough ground.
The axle would give way.
If the road happened to run along a steep descent, then what followed would be unfortunate.
No one would need to be present.
The stablemaster did not know who the target was.
He was told the carriage belonged to a Gilded debtor whose death would settle a dispute.
He was paid half in advance.
He spent most of it before the work was done.
Two days before the journey, he became frightened.
He tried to undo what he had done.
He could not replace the pin without attracting attention.
So he told his wife.
His wife told her sister.
Her sister told a palace laundress.
The laundress told a guard.
By the next morning, Balif was standing in the royal stables holding the damaged pin in one hand.
The stablemaster was gone.
Balif stared at the carriage.
The captain of the guard stood beside him.
“You think this was deliberate?”
Balif held up the pin.
“What do you think?”
The captain shrugged.
“I think someone filed through it.”
Balif nodded.
“That is where I am too.”
The Supreme Ruler was less patient this time.
“Find him.”
“We are trying.”
“He worked inside my stables.”
“Yes.”
“He sabotaged my carriage.”
“Yes.”
“And no one noticed him leave?”
“No.”
The ruler paced once across the room.
Balif watched.
“He had help.”
“Probably.”
“From the Coven?”
Balif hesitated.
“Maybe.”
The ruler stopped.
“You’ve said maybe for a year.”
“Because I do not have proof.”
“I nearly fell through a balcony.”
“I know.”
“Now someone files through my carriage axle.”
“I know.”
“What would you call that?”
Balif looked at him.
“Two attempts.”
The room went quiet.
That was the first time either of them had said it plainly.
The Supreme Ruler looked away.
Balif continued.
“I don’t know whether they came from the same people.”
“Do you believe they did?”
“Yes.”
“And you still cannot prove it.”
“No.”
The ruler rubbed one hand across his face.
Balif waited.
Eventually the Supreme Ruler said, “Increase the guard.”
Balif nodded.
“Quietly.”
“Yes.”
“And no public accusations.”
“I agree.”
The ruler looked toward him.
“That sounded painful.”
“It was.”
The Supreme Ruler almost smiled.
Then the expression disappeared.
“Find the stablemaster.”
They found him before sunset.
Dead.
He had fallen from a warehouse roof.
At least, that was what the first report said.
Balif read it without speaking.
The captain of the guard stood across from him.
“Witnesses?”
“Two.”
“Did they see him fall?”
“No.”
Balif looked up.
“They heard it.”
“Yes.”
“What was he doing on the roof?”
“We don’t know.”
Balif placed the report down.
The captain waited.
Balif eventually said, “I am getting tired of not knowing.”
The failed attempts produced an unexpected effect.
The Supreme Ruler became more cautious.
Not fearful.
Cautious.
Routes changed.
Food was inspected.
Public appearances became less predictable.
Maintenance crews were screened.
Palace employees were reviewed.
The ruler disliked all of it.
Balif disliked telling him it was necessary.
The guards disliked Balif.
Everyone disliked the new routine.
The Gilded Coven watched from a distance.
For a time, nothing happened.
Cassovar refused to approve anything further.
Velisse supported him.
Sarethe knew only that the ruler had survived two suspicious incidents.
She did not know the Coven had been involved.
Not yet.
Odran grew impatient.
Emmeran became quieter.
That made Cassovar nervous.
The third attempt was the most dangerous because no one planned it properly.
A hunting party was scheduled in the northern foothills.
The Supreme Ruler had hunted there many times.
The route was known.
The terrain was isolated.
Odran heard about it from a cousin attached to the court.
He told three men.
One of those men knew another man who supplied hunting hounds.
No written order was ever given.
No payment was made in advance.
The plan grew through suggestion.
A guide could take the wrong trail.
A patrol could be delayed.
A predator could be driven toward the hunting route.
It was messy.
Too many people knew fragments.
Too many things could go wrong.
Most did.
The Supreme Ruler changed the route that morning because heavy rain had washed out a crossing.
The hunting party never reached the planned location.
The men waiting there waited for six hours.
One panicked.
Another ran.
A third was caught by a local patrol.
He carried a Gilded coin purse.
That was the first real mistake.
Balif questioned him at a military post.
The man’s name was Terik Vann.
He was not a professional killer.
That became obvious immediately.
His hands would not stay still.
He kept asking for water.
Balif gave him some.
“Why were you there?”
“Hunting.”
“With a crossbow and no bolts?”
Terik looked at the table.
Balif waited.
“I lost them.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
Balif sighed.
Terik looked close to tears.
“Who sent you?”
“No one.”
“Who paid you?”
“No one.”
Balif placed the coin purse on the table.
“Where did this come from?”
Terik looked at it.
“I won it.”
“Where?”
“Cards.”
“With whom?”
“I don’t remember.”
Balif stared at him.
Terik swallowed.
Balif sat back.
“I am going to tell you something.”
Terik looked up.
“I believe you are frightened.”
The man said nothing.
“I also believe you are not important.”
Terik’s mouth tightened.
Balif continued.
“That is good for you.”
“Why?”
“Because important people are harder to protect.”
Terik stared at him.
Balif pushed the coin purse closer.
“Tell me who gave you this.”
Terik’s breathing quickened.
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“They’ll kill me.”
Balif said nothing.
Terik looked toward the door.
Then back.
“There was a man.”
“What man?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“What did he look like?”
Terik hesitated.
“Gilded.”
Balif frowned.
“That does not narrow it much.”
“He had one of their rings.”
“What ring?”
“Black stone. Gold edge.”
Balif’s expression changed.
Several minor Gilded houses used that design.
“Anything else?”
Terik nodded.
“He said we weren’t supposed to kill anyone.”
Balif leaned forward.
“What?”
“He said we just had to make sure the ruler went down the west trail.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Terik.”
“I don’t!”
The man was crying now.
Balif waited.
Terik wiped at his face.
“He said other people would do the rest.”
By the time Balif returned to the capital, Terik Vann was dead.
Poison.
Mixed into his evening meal.
The guards responsible for watching him had eaten from the same kitchen.
None became ill.
The poison had been put into his bowl specifically.
Balif read the message twice.
Then he sat alone for a long time.
The Supreme Ruler found him before dawn.
“You heard.”
Balif nodded.
“Was he useful?”
“A little.”
“What did he say?”
Balif told him.
The ruler listened without interrupting.
When Balif finished, he stood at the window.
“A Gilded ring.”
“Yes.”
“Which house?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can we narrow it?”
“Not enough.”
The ruler turned.
“Someone killed him inside a guarded post.”
“Yes.”
“Before he could identify anyone.”
“Yes.”
The Supreme Ruler’s expression hardened.
“That is not coincidence.”
“No.”
For once, Balif did not qualify the answer.
The ruler noticed.
“So now you agree.”
“I agreed before.”
“You kept saying we had no proof.”
“We still don’t have enough.”
The ruler looked angry.
“Then what would satisfy you?”
Balif’s voice remained low.
“Something we can use without starting a guild war on suspicion.”
That stopped him.
The room fell quiet.
Balif continued.
“If you accuse the Coven publicly and you are wrong, you fracture the realm.”
“And if I am right?”
“You may fracture it anyway.”
The Supreme Ruler looked away.
Balif did not enjoy saying it.
Neither of them spoke for a while.
Finally the ruler asked, “What do you suggest?”
Balif looked down at the table.
“More guards.”
“I already have more guards.”
“Different guards.”
“What else?”
“Stop announcing routes.”
“Fine.”
“Screen the kitchens.”
“Already done.”
“Then we keep looking.”
The Supreme Ruler gave him a tired look.
“For what?”
Balif met his eyes.
“The person who is getting impatient.”
He did not have to wait long.
Because Odran Pell was becoming impatient.
The hunting failure had been his doing.
Cassovar discovered that within a week.
The confrontation took place behind locked doors.
Cassovar did not shout.
That frightened Odran more.
“You acted without approval.”
Odran stared at him.
“There was no approval to get.”
“Exactly.”
“We have been sitting for months.”
“Because we agreed to stop.”
“You agreed.”
Cassovar stepped closer.
“Do you understand what you have done?”
“I tried to finish it.”
“You hired idiots.”
“They nearly succeeded.”
“They were caught.”
“One was caught.”
“And now he is dead.”
Odran looked at him.
Cassovar saw it.
“You killed him?”
“No.”
“Did Emmeran?”
“I don’t know.”
Cassovar’s face changed.
Odran shrugged.
“He was going to talk.”
Cassovar stepped back.
“You don’t even know who did it.”
“No.”
“You don’t know who is cleaning up after you.”
Odran frowned.
“Why does that matter?”
Cassovar stared at him.
“Because if we do not know who is doing the work, then we do not know who knows what we are doing.”
Odran finally understood.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Cassovar sat down.
The room seemed smaller.
“This stops.”
Odran shook his head.
“No.”
Cassovar looked up.
“No?”
“We are already in it.”
“That does not mean we continue.”
“It means stopping is more dangerous.”
Cassovar did not answer.
Odran continued.
“If he finds out now, what do you think happens?”
Cassovar looked tired.
Odran leaned forward.
“We don’t get to go back to pamphlets.”
That was the part neither of them wanted to admit.
Elsewhere in the city, Sarethe Vey was beginning to suspect something.
She had heard about the balcony.
Everyone had.
The carriage incident had been quieter, but not quiet enough.
The death of a man in military custody reached her through another channel.
She requested a meeting with Cassovar.
He delayed it twice.
On the third request, she came to his house uninvited.
Cassovar found her waiting in his study.
“You cannot keep doing that.”
“Apparently I can.”
He closed the door.
“What do you want?”
Sarethe looked at him.
“What happened to the ruler’s balcony?”
Cassovar’s expression did not change.
“It collapsed.”
“I know.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because the mason disappeared.”
Cassovar said nothing.
She continued.
“And because someone tampered with a royal carriage two months later.”
His face tightened slightly.
Sarethe saw it.
“What have you done?”
“Nothing.”
“Cassovar.”
“Nothing.”
She stared at him.
He turned away.
“That is not an answer I believe.”
“Then I cannot help you.”
Sarethe remained standing.
“Is Odran involved?”
Cassovar looked back too quickly.
That was enough.
Sarethe’s face changed.
“Oh.”
Cassovar moved toward her.
“Do not.”
“Do not what?”
“Ask questions you do not want answered.”
Sarethe looked almost disgusted.
“I wanted the expansion resumed.”
“I know.”
“I wanted pressure on the throne.”
“I know.”
“I did not agree to this.”
“You don’t know what ‘this’ is.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“But neither do you anymore.”
Cassovar did not answer.
Sarethe left without another word.
That evening, Cassovar stood alone in the Mercantile Assembly chamber.
The ledgers had been removed.
The lamps were nearly out.
He thought about the first meeting after the expansion decree.
Twenty-eight million crowns.
At the time, the number had seemed enormous.
Now it felt almost harmless.
Money could be lost.
Money could be recovered.
This was different.
The Coven had spent months trying to make the Supreme Ruler weaker.
Instead, they had made him more guarded.
More suspicious.
Harder to reach.
And every failed attempt left another person who might talk.
Another payment.
Another favor.
Another body.
Cassovar finally understood the problem.
They had approached assassination the same way they approached commerce.
Layers of intermediaries.
Distributed responsibility.
No single person knowing too much.
It had seemed safe.
Instead, it had created a chain he could no longer see from end to end.
Somewhere in that chain, people were killing witnesses without his permission.
Others were making new attempts without his knowledge.
The conspiracy no longer belonged entirely to the people who had begun it.
And the Supreme Ruler was still alive.
Cassovar stood there for a long time.
Then he sent for Emmeran Vos.
When Emmeran arrived, Cassovar did not invite him to sit.
“We need someone better.”
Emmeran looked at him.
“For what?”
Cassovar was silent.
Emmeran understood.
“The last attempts were mistakes.”
“Yes.”
“And you want another.”
“No.”
Cassovar’s face looked tired.
“I want the next one to be the last.”
Emmeran considered him.
“That will cost more.”
Cassovar almost laughed.
Of course it would.
“How much?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Find out.”
“From whom?”
Cassovar looked toward the dark windows.
They had exhausted bribed workers.
Contractors.
Stable hands.
Amateurs.
People who panicked.
People who talked.
People who died before anyone understood who had silenced them.
He no longer wanted accidents arranged by frightened men.
He wanted professionals.
Emmeran waited.
Cassovar finally said, “Someone who understands how to disappear afterward.”
Emmeran’s expression changed.
There were very few guilds in Ashkar for whom that description meant anything.
Only one for whom it meant everything.
Neither man spoke the name.
They did not need to.
Far beyond the golden halls of the Gilded Coven, there were people who had made careers from entering rooms unseen, wearing faces that were not their own, and leaving behind questions instead of witnesses.
The Shadow Weavers had once helped the Coven move kingdoms.
Now the Coven was preparing to ask them to remove a single man.