Chapter 142 (Part 2): Veiled Currents
Farewell of Frost
Joanna's embrace lingered, her voice softer than Lynette had ever heard. "I've a sister, but we share neither blood nor temperament. You… you're the sibling I wish fate had given me."
Before Lynette could respond, the silver-haired mage stepped back, her crimson cloak billowing like a defiant banner. Without ceremony—or care for the gawking dockworkers—she levitated skyward, wind swirling at her fingertips. Gasps erupted as she vanished toward the capital, a streak of silver against the azure.
"By the gods! A mage!"
"Did you see her eyes? Like ice shards!"
Lynette silenced the murmurs with a glare. "Back to work! Or I'll have you scrubbing barnacles till winter!"
Hebron, the leather merchant's shrewd brother, materialized at her side. "Your reputation precedes you, Lady Lynette. Even tempests obey your command." His smile was a blade sheathed in silk.
Portents in the Water
The journey to the capital unfolded in a rickety carriage reeking of salted fish. Hebron gagged discreetly into a handkerchief while Lynette studied the horizon.
At the eastern gate, a serpentine queue of merchants coiled before the tollbooths. Hebron grimaced. "Another tax hike. Soon it'll cost a soul just to breathe in this city."
Lynette's gaze drifted to the canal, where a fleet of merchant ships flew the sigil of House Solomon—a verdant oak branch. Imperial Guards patrolled their decks, their armor glinting ominously.
"Since when do trade convoys warrant royal escorts?" Lynette muttered.
Hebron lowered his voice. "House Solomon's roots dig deep into the throne. Their ships carry more than spices and silk. Best not to ask what."
She noted the sailors' military bearing—too disciplined for mere merchants. A cold certainty settled in her gut: Whatever they're smuggling, it's no Summer Solstice gift.
Reunion in the Shadows
Dusty and saddle-sore, Lynette arrived at the Gandolf estate as twilight painted the spires gold. The guards eyed her travel-worn armor skeptically until Madge, Bennett's perpetually harried steward, scurried forth.
"Lady Lynette! The young master's been pacing like a caged wolf!"
She found Bennett hunched over a worktable littered with wyvern vertebrae and glowing vials. Moonlight caught the jagged lines of his face—sharper now, burdened with secrets.
"Took you long enough," he drawled, though relief softened the edge. "Tell me everything."
Lynette's report flowed crisp as a military briefing: the northern alliance with the Snow Wolves, the smuggled cargo awaiting permits, the looming debt. Bennett's fingers drummed a restless rhythm on the Eclipse Bow propped against his chair.
"Double the payment to Byrnhild," he interrupted. "No—triple it. Loyalty's rarer than dragon scales these days."
As Madge scurried to fetch coin, Lynette hesitated. "There's more. The Solomon fleet…"
Bennett stilled. "Go on."
"Their ships rode too low. Guards too many. And the crew…" She met his gaze. "They moved like soldiers."
A slow, wolfish grin spread across Bennett's face. "How interesting. Seems my dear uncle's allies are feeling ambitious."
Threads Unspooled
Later, alone in his sanctum, Bennett unrolled a map of the empire's trade routes. Red ink circled the Solomon strongholds.
Click.
The Eclipse Bow's central gem flared, projecting a hologram of the capital's underbelly—smuggler coves, guild safehouses, and a pulsating crimson dot over Port Enk.
"Shall I track their cargo?" the bow purred, its voice velvet-wrapped malice. "For a price…"
Bennett traced the phantom lines. "Not yet. Let the spiders weave their web. We'll burn it when they're snug in the center."
Outside, a nightingale's song fractured into silence. Somewhere beyond the manor walls, shadows began to dance.
Chapter 143 (Part 1): Silent Strings and Shadowed Schemes
Veiled Warnings
The afternoon light slanted through the study's leaded windows, casting fractured shadows across Bennett's face as Lynette recounted the mysterious fleet at Port Enk. His fingers traced the rim of a teacup, its surface rippling faintly—the only betrayal of his tension.
"Understood," he said, tone flat as parchment. "Leave the goods in Enk's warehouses until after the Summer Solstice. The capital's streets will run thick with eyes and blades alike."
Lynette hesitated, her instincts honed by years of smuggling whispering of deeper currents. "My lord… do you anticipate trouble during the festivities?"
Bennett's smile was a knife wrapped in silk. "Trouble? The capital breathes trouble. But our role is to watch, not wade." He gestured dismissively. "Keep our pirate friends leashed. And you—return to Enk. The docks need a captain's eye more than I need another shadow here."
As Lynette bowed and retreated, Bennett's mask cracked. The teacup trembled in his hand. Father's ships… armed soldiers masquerading as merchants… His throat tightened. Are you truly so bold, Father? To move against the Crown Prince under Solstice's veil?
The memory of Crown Prince Chen's laughter—warm, unguarded—flared like a wound. Forgive me, Your Highness. Blood binds tighter than friendship.
Echoes of Thunder
Dusk painted the Gandolf manor in hues of blood and ash when the explosion tore through the west wing. Books leapt from shelves, vials of alchemical fire shattering in kaleidoscopic fury. Bennett sprinted downstairs to find Gurgle the rat-mage staggering from a smoke-choked chamber, fur singed and eyes streaming.
"By the Nine Hells!" The rodent wheezed, snatching Bennett's untouched wine goblet. "That thrice-damned bow nearly took my tail!"
Bennett waved away panicking guards with practiced nonchalance. "Merely a magical mishap. Return to your posts." Their retreating footsteps echoed with poorly veiled terror. Let them whisper of my madness. Fear breeds obedience.
Inside the ravaged workshop, the Eclipse Bow lay pristine amidst charcoal and ruin. Moonlight caught its crystalline curves—a serpent frozen mid-strike, twin blade-horns gleaming with cruel promise.
"Observe!" Gurgle's claw tapped the firing groove. A hidden compartment slid open, disgorging a thumb-sized azure crystal. "The fool who wielded this thought it a warrior's toy. Pah!" Spittle flew. "This is a mage's instrument! The grooves here—see these runes? They're not for channeling brute force, but for weaving!"
The rat's voice dropped to a reverent whisper. "Imagine it, boy. Draw the string with spellfire instead of muscle. Loose arrows tipped with lightning, frost, soulrending shadows…"
Bennett's pulse quickened. The bow's surface shimmered under his gaze, runes flickering like starved eyes. A weapon to pierce more than flesh.
Web of Lies
Midnight found Bennett pacing his chambers, the bow's cold weight heavy across his lap. Gurgle's words coiled in his mind: "The original owner? A pawn. This was forged for hands steeped in magic and blood."
Through the window, the capital's spires clawed at a starless sky. Somewhere in those shadows, his father's ships unloaded their deadly cargo. Somewhere, Crown Prince Chen toasted to peace with poison in his cup.
He traced the Eclipse Bow's central gem—a void-black orb that drank the candlelight. "Shall we play?" it seemed to croon. "You've tasted power. Let me show you true hunger."
A knock shattered the silence. Madge's voice quavered through oak. "My lord? A messenger from Port Enk. Lynette says… the Solomon fleet has docked in the capital."
Bennett's fingers clenched around the bow. So it begins.
Chapter 143 (Part 2): The Mage's Bow
A Weapon Defying Tradition
The workshop still reeked of charred wood and ozone as Gurgle clutched the Eclipse Bow, his singed whiskers quivering with fervor. Bennett stared at the weapon, skepticism etched into his features.
"A bow… for mages?" The young lord's voice dripped with incredulity. "Since when do scholars of the arcane abandon staves for arrows? Next you'll claim wizards should wield battleaxes!"
The rat-mage's claws tightened around the crystalline weapon. "Fool! This isn't some tavern minstrel's toy!" His beady eyes glinted as he pried open a hidden compartment beneath the arrow groove. A cracked azure crystal tumbled out, its fractured facets glowing faintly under Gurgle's whispered incantation. "Centuries of dust dulled its truth. But look—see how the runes align?"
Bennett leaned closer. The bow's surface rippled like moonlight on dark water, ancient glyphs surfacing beneath Gurgle's touch.
"No ordinary archer could awaken its hunger," the rodent hissed. "It drinks not from muscle, but from here—" His claw tapped Bennett's temple. "Your ancestors would've slaughtered villages for such power. Count your stars it fell to your hands undetected."
Sundown Revelation
The rooftop offered no shelter from the dying sun's glare. Bennett nocked an imaginary arrow, the bowstring resisting his pull like coiled serpents. Sweat beaded his brow—until the first spark ignited.
Magic roared.
Wind whipped his hair as the weapon came alive, drinking his meager spellcraft like vintage wine. A blade of compressed air materialized in the arrow groove, shrinking until it gleamed like starlight shard. When Bennett loosed the string, time fractured.
The projectile wasn't an arrow, but a comet.
It tore through the crimson sky, trailing embers that outshone the sunset. Distant mountains swallowed its fury, leaving only fading thunderclaps.
Gurgle cackled, claws digging into the roof tiles. "Magnificent! No muscle-bound oaf could've loosed that! This bow—it's a bridge between realms! Imagine legions of mages wielding such arms!"
Bennett's fingers trembled against the cool crystal. "Like… like the lost Arcane Cannons on the city walls."
The rat's grin turned feral. "Precisely! Scale this design, replace wind with wildfire—you'd have siege engines to shatter kingdoms!"
Unseen Consequences
Dawn found Bennett poring over ancient texts, the bow gleaming ominously on his desk. He'd dismissed Madge's report of a "meteor strike" near the capital as coincidence—until the steward's next account chilled his blood.
"The markets swarm with mercenaries disguised as pilgrims," Madge murmured, nervously twisting his stolen-coin purse. "City gates triple-guarded, noble quarters locked down like vaults… even the temples crawl with soldiers."
Bennett traced a map of the capital, ink staining his fingertips. Troop deployments clustered around three zones: the palace, the noble district, and—most tellingly—the docks.
"Father's ships," he whispered. The puzzle snapped into place—cracked crystal and hidden armies, all timed to the Solstice's chaos.
Festival's Edge
On the eve of the Summer Solstice, the capital throbbed like an infected wound. Madge wove through crowds thick enough to suffocate, memorizing every anomaly:
A fishmonger's cart abandoned mid-street, barrels leaking saltwater.
Red-robed "priests" avoiding the sacred quarter.
Rumor of a broken chain in the palace's deepest dungeon.
He nearly missed the crucial detail—until a drunken guardsman slurred to his tavern companions: "Triple pay for night shifts? Damned insult! What fool expects riots during holy rites?"
When Madge delivered his report, Bennett's laughter held no mirth. "Riots? No, my friend. They expect war."
The Eclipse Bow hummed in its corner, its hunger mirroring the city's tension. Somewhere beyond the walls, a fleet's shadow crept closer.