Three quick raps.
The elk sat up abruptly, ears perked.
Reid turned his head slowly.
Maurice stood up, pale again, his fingers trembling as they adjusted the hem of his tunic. The knock sounded again—three deliberate raps, cold and heavy like nails on a coffin lid.
"That's the city guard's knock," he whispered, barely above a breath.
Reid cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders like he was about to stretch before a brawl. "Well," he muttered, "guess we'll see how much gold a noble's tantrum is worth."
The elk on his shoulder gave a dark, guttural chitter, its ears slicking back against its skull.
Maurice held up a hand, gesturing for them to stay hidden in the back chamber. "Let me handle this," he said, voice tight with worry. "Don't give them reason to act… now."
He stepped out, pulling the curtain shut behind him. The muffled sound of a door opening followed. Low voices. The bark of authority. Then silence.
When he returned, his face was grey and gaunt. His eyes had aged ten years in ten minutes.
"They've left," he said, voice hollow. "They came with a court summons."
Tarron stood up abruptly. "A summons?! For what? They were the one who thrashed me, for no reason."
His uncle swallowed hard. "You've been formally accused of evil sorcery by the Lord himself. The hearing is on the third day from today."
Tarron's mouth opened and shut, stunned into silence.
Reid leaned against the wall, arms crossed, face unreadable.
"It's a death sentence," Maurice said after a pause. "They don't need evidence. Not when it comes from a Ravios. They'll call it public safety, say you endangered noble blood. They won't even let you speak. The court's already decided."
He sank into a wooden chair, looking like a broken man who'd seen one too many hammer blows fall. "We don't have the coin to buy justice. Nor the rank to make our voices matter. Even if we hire someone to speak on your behalf… they'll laugh it out of the hall."
Tarron clenched his fists, breathing heavily.
That's when Reid spoke, "And me? What did he say about me?"
Tarron's troubles wouldn't matter for long. If that noble had breathed even a word about him, there wouldn't be a tomorrow to worry about. Reid didn't believe in warnings. He answered a whisper with steel—and a slap with a sword.
Maurice blinked at him. "Nothing. The summons mentions nothing about you. But—"
He hesitated.
"But the guards said… the noble doesn't want to see you anywhere near the court. Or his house, for that matter."
Reid's mouth curled into a slow, crooked grin. "He's scared. Good. Means he learned something."
The elk, still on his shoulder, thumped its tail once in approval.
Reid pushed off the wall. "Fifty gold," he said bluntly.
"What?" Maurice asked, startled.
"Fifty. That's what it'll take to find out what really happened. Who or what made your noble or his daughter scream like a child, and why he decided to blame your nephew for it." Reid's voice was flat, confident. "Give me that, and I'll bring you something better than legal hope."
Reid hadn't thought through his idea but letting the first man to accompany him, die like that? It didn't settle well with him. He had received the coins to escort him safely and Reid had his own doubts that whatever followed them through their journey had also been responsible for what went down at the Noble's house. He had to figure out whether the thing was after Tarron or him.
Maurice rubbed his forehead. "You don't understand how Aldor works. The courts here… they aren't oiled by reason. They're bolted in gold and blood. Even if you do find something, even if Ravios himself is hiding a ghost in his bed—none of that will matter if you can't present it with enough gold to buy the judge's ears."
"I'm not buying ears," Reid said coolly. "I'm buying time. And a trail."
"You talk like this is a story. You joke like it's all pretend."
Reid's voice dropped low.
"The whole kingdom's playing pretend," he said. "Calling corruption justice, fearing nobility like they are some God, and wealth is the ultimate truth. They're laughing at people's lives while grinding them under boot. I don't mind jokes. I just don't like them played on me."
The silence stretched.
Maurice looked between Reid and the boy, helplessness sinking into his shoulders like weights. But Tarron stepped forward, voice firm.
"Give him the coins, Uncle. Fifty gold. If anyone can fix this, it's him."
His uncle stared at him, lips pursed. Then sighed. "You'll get us all hanged…"
"Oh, you jest!" Reid added with a full blown grin as he turned toward the door.
He stepped out, beneath the open sky. The only thing left untouched by this decadent society.
Midnight in Aldor was not a silent affair.
Though most of the city slept, the streets still hummed with the soft glow of enchanted lanterns, and the distant clang of late-night workers echoed faintly. But Reid was no longer in the streets. He stood in a narrow alley, boots planted firm against cobblestone, and eyes trained on the rooftop above.
The elk on his shoulder twitched, sniffing at the air.
Where?
It asked, not with words, but a pressure in his thoughts. Curious.
Reid rolled his neck and exhaled. "To make gold," he muttered. "Five hundred before dawn."
The elk blinked, unimpressed.
"I'm tired of tripping over all these bloody class lines," he added, stepping onto a broken barrel and launching himself up to grip the edge of the roof. "If this city wants to make it that obvious where the wealth is—well. Who am I to ignore directions?"