was silent enough to carry it.
Orlan turned his head slowly. “Be careful, girl.”
The threat in those three words was naked.
Cassian looked at Elian. “Tell me everything.”
She swallowed. Her eyes moved over the pews, over the nobles who were staring at her mouth, her hair, her borrowed gown, her bruised wrist. For a second Cassian thought shame would silence her.
Then she lifted her chin.
“Lady Mira refused to sign the transfer.”
The queen mother’s eyes sharpened. “What transfer?”
Elian looked toward her and seemed to understand, at once, who in the room might still care about truth. “The Vale shipping rights. The mines. The grain contracts. Her father left them to her until marriage. Duke Orlan could manage them as guardian, but he could not sell them. Not without her signature or a husband’s authority.”
Cassian’s stomach turned.
The marriage was not just about debt.
It was a key.
Orlan’s voice cut in. “She is a servant. She hears doors and invents rooms behind them.”
Elian continued as if he had not spoken. “Lady Mira discovered he had already promised half the northern mines to Lord Bastian in exchange for troops. She said she would tell the prince before the ceremony. That night, they took her from her chamber.”
“Who took her?” Cassian asked.
Elian’s mouth trembled. “Men in gray coats. Vale men. I followed them through the laundry passage to the old east stair. One saw me. I woke in a carriage with my hands tied.”
Orlan stepped forward. “Enough.”
“No,” Cassian said.
Elian’s eyes filled, but her voice grew stronger. “He said if I wore the mask and stood silent through the vows, Lady Mira would live. After the wedding, he would say she was too ill to appear at court and send me away before anyone could ask questions. But when I heard the vows, I knew he would not leave either of us alive.”
The chapel exploded into whispers.
Cassian’s mind worked through the pieces. The covered face. The mismatched ring. The silence. The glove hiding injuries. The note hidden in the mask, placed where only a husband willing to defy Orlan could find it.
He turned to the guards. “Search the east tower.”
Orlan laughed again, louder this time. “Which east tower, Your Highness? My estate has three. The cathedral has one. The old hospice has one. The palace has two if one counts the ruined observatory. Shall we turn the capital upside down because a maid learned to cry on command?”
The uncertainty hit exactly where he aimed it.
The guards hesitated again.
Elian grabbed Cassian’s sleeve.
“Here,” she said.
He looked at her.
“Not the Vale estate. Here. Under the old bell room behind the altar.”
Before Cassian could answer, a sound came from the wall behind the saints.
Three slow knocks.
The entire chapel froze.
Another knock followed.
Then another.
Not from the doors.
From behind the altar.
Elian’s face changed. Terror and hope collided so violently that Cassian saw her almost fall.
“She’s alive,” Elian breathed.
Duke Orlan moved.
He did not move toward Cassian or Elian. He moved toward the archbishop, toward the old iron lever beside the sacristy door that opened the lower passage used by priests during winter floods.
Cassian saw the direction and
