Chapter 110
“There has been a sudden shift in the itinerary,” Bert announced.
The morning briefing was the rare occasion when the entire Escort Knight Division assembled. Adi, who had been pulling dawn shifts lately, found the sea of faces somewhat foreign after her recent absence.
“A formal dinner is scheduled for this evening,” Bert continued. “Given the guest list, we require a security detail. While the attendees are bringing their own guards, I want two of our own on the floor.”
Bert consulted his ledger, his expression unreadable behind the notes. He tapped his temple with his pen, seemingly lost in thought. “Does anyone here have a personal history with Pasalis Macauliffe?” he inquired. Silence met the question. “Has anyone even seen the man?”
One knight raised a hand. Bert studied him with a long, silent stare before shaking his head. “Not you. You’re staying back today.”
The knight said nothing.
“Adi,” Bert added, turning to her, “you should sit this one out as well.”
That left only one candidate. Every head turned toward the final knight. It wasn’t a request he could easily decline, and since extra duty earned him future time off, he didn’t mind the assignment. He simply asked for the timeframe and began his preparations.
“From eight to ten-thirty tonight,” Bert replied. “The guests arrive at the estate by seven. Ensure someone is stationed in the drawing room for their arrival.”
*
Pasalis Macauliffe was a Viscount originally from Dunbar who had sought asylum in Dalcatir three years prior. He claimed his defection was the result of a frame-up by the Duchy, though the specifics remained a mystery. The Duchy had suppressed the details, while Macauliffe played the part of the persecuted victim.
Julius Woodpecker knew the man only by sight. Their paths had crossed briefly during Council sessions, but they had never shared a single word. This recent overture—a request for Council backing—was their first actual interaction.
Yuls found the man’s history murky and had no desire to be associated with him. He couldn’t fathom why Claude had welcomed such a figure into Dalcatir or why the throne had sanctioned it. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t care; as long as the Woodpecker interests were secure, the Crown could consort with whoever they pleased.
However, the current political climate suggested that such indifference was no longer a luxury he could afford.
“Is the Viscount here?” Yuls asked.
“Waiting in the drawing room, My Lord,” came the reply.
“And his companions?”
“Barons Peter Chenigudel and Saipedin Bringli, along with Viscount Adam Zauner. Four in total, including Macauliffe.”
“A gathering of the displaced,” Yuls muttered, adjusting his cravat. He had no rapport with the other three. As far as he knew, only Macauliffe had any significant connection to Claude.
Knowing he would need to consult with Claude after the meal—whether through a formal visit or a more discreet entry into the palace—Yuls asked if everything was ready. Dimitri gave a sharp nod, while Billy helped him into his formal jacket.
“Let’s begin,” Yuls said.
As the guests filtered into the drawing room, Adi committed their features to memory. The atmosphere surrounding these visitors was a stark departure from the typical crowds at the Pallesa Palace. Their clothing and their whispers felt different—heavier.
“Do you truly believe the Duke will assist us?” one whispered.
The air was thick with political maneuvering.
“Dalcatir is a foundering vessel,” another murmured. “Unity is our only hope.”
“If the Prince hadn’t met with such misfortune…”
“What is the true reason for the current lockdown?”
“The upper circles are staying silent. No rumors at all.”
Amidst the low chatter, one man remained strikingly quiet. He reclined against the sofa cushions with a detached, almost bored expression, watching his peers like a man observing a play. It was easy to spot the person in control of a room; in this group, he was the undisputed center of gravity, possessing an effortless authority that required no shouting.
Since Bert had removed the guard who recognized Macauliffe, Adi deduced this silent figure must be the man himself.
As she studied him, he shifted his gaze toward her. Their eyes locked.
He had a singular look that defied easy categorization of his heritage. His name suggested a foreign origin, yet his features weren’t entirely distinct from the people of Dalcatir.
Macauliffe gave Adi a long, searching look. A smirk tugged at one side of his mouth, though his eyes remained cold and calculating. He seemed wary of her proximity to their private talk.
“Perhaps we should save the specifics for our meeting with His Excellency,” the man suggested, his voice carrying a pointed edge. “We have an audience, after all.”
He was clearly implying that their secrets weren’t safe in a room full of Woodpecker guards. The other nobles immediately fell silent. Even then, Macauliffe didn’t look away from Adi. He seemed genuinely intrigued.
“I wasn’t aware Dalcatir employed women in its knighthood,” he remarked.
Adi wondered if he meant they were common elsewhere. She knew the Northern Continent had female hunters, but this man didn’t strike her as a Northerner.
She offered no response to his baiting. Macauliffe let out a dry laugh. “A quiet one, I see.”
There was a flicker of annoyance behind his smile. Adi felt the sentiment was mutual; she saw no reason to be cordial to someone who looked down on her.
She maintained a flat, dismissive stare until the nobles, visibly uncomfortable, turned their heads away. The room fell into a heavy silence. They had been talking as if they owned the place, only to suddenly remember that they were under the watchful eyes of the Duke’s household.
The tension was thick until a knock saved them from the awkwardness.
“I apologize for the delay,” Joel said, entering the room. “Please, follow me to the Dining Hall.”
The men stood at once, smoothing their clothes. Adi watched Macauliffe’s back as he walked away.
Joel led them on a winding path through the estate. When a guest questioned the distance, Joel explained that he had chosen a more secluded setting for their privacy. He signaled for them to turn a final corner, the Escort Knight Division trailing the guests. Joel watched them pass with a keen eye.
The Dining Hall was grand enough for a gala, though the table itself was a modest round setting. An orchestra was already providing a soft backdrop of music. The Woodpecker knights took their posts by the windows, while the guests’ personal guards lined the walls.
Dimitri handled the seating. A round table lacked a traditional head, implying a sense of equality, yet one chair was positioned with undeniable prominence. That was clearly where the Duke would sit.
Once the guests were settled, Dimitri bowed and stepped back. A moment later, Julius Woodpecker entered. The room rose as one.
Yuls acknowledged their courtesy with a brief look before glancing at Dimitri. His chair was pulled out, and once he was seated, the others followed suit.
Macauliffe was the first to break the silence. “I believe this marks our first formal introduction, Your Excellency.”
“Viscount,” Yuls replied, his eyes fixed on the man. “I’ve reviewed your proposals. Your insights on the strategic management and stockpiling of rare minerals were impressive. Did you oversee such operations in Dunbar?”
“My experience was actually with jewelry and fine ornaments,” Macauliffe clarified.
“Ornaments…” Yuls repeated.
It was a curious detail. Claude had sponsored Macauliffe’s entry into the country, and Claude’s health had begun its decline shortly thereafter. Now, the mention of “ornaments” added another layer of suspicion.
“Your name doesn’t sound particularly Dunbarite,” Yuls observed. “Are you from the North? Or perhaps further East?”
“My grandfather hailed from Kievina,” Macauliffe explained. “He was commissioned by the Crown to source gems in the South but was waylaid by a shipwreck. Fearing execution for his failure, he sought a new life in the Central Continent. He found a home in Dunbar, and my family stayed there until the recent… unpleasantness forced me to Dalcatir.”
Yuls scanned the other men as Macauliffe spoke. They all seemed to be looking anywhere but at him. He let out a soft, skeptical huff.
“I see. Everyone has a story, it seems.”
He wondered how this band of exiles had found each other and why they were so desperate to leverage foreign connections. It made sense to use what they knew, but the whole arrangement felt tainted.
Dimitri returned, carrying a bottle. Yuls reached for his glass as the liquid—a pale, greenish-white—was poured. Dimitri then moved to Macauliffe’s side.
“This is Montepillar Wine,” Dimitri noted. “It’s rarely exported, so I imagine it’s been some time since you’ve tasted it. Since you are from Dunbar, I thought a vintage from that region would be appropriate.”
Yuls watched Macauliffe closely as the wine was served. The man remarked on how long it had been since he’d had a glass. Yuls’s eyes narrowed slightly. While that specific green-hued wine was a Dunbar specialty, several other regions had begun mimicking the style recently. The flavor and the subtle fennel notes were never quite the same.
The table watched as Macauliffe lifted the glass, catching the scent of the fennel.
“Well,” Yuls said, lifting his own glass, his voice steady. “Shall we enjoy a leisurely dinner, or would you prefer to get straight to the point of your visit?”
