Ch#167
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Adi climbed onto the mattress to peer through the window’s iron lattice. The opening sat lower than she had anticipated. Even so, the sturdy metal bars made any thought of a breakout seem impossible. She noticed faint gouges marring the stone surface of the wall. She wondered what tool could have been used to scrape at the masonry.
Perhaps a fork or a spoon? Maybe a dull knife?
A table sat in the room, suggesting meals were served with cutlery. She questioned if the guards would notice a missing utensil, or if prisoners were permitted to keep their own.
Despite the persistent scratching, no real progress had been made; the wall remained solid. The sheer thickness of the stone likely thwarted any amateur tunneling. It was just as probable that the previous occupants had been executed long before they could make a dent. Adi trailed her fingers over the cold rock. From the adjacent cell, a ragged cough echoed, followed by a low, pained moan.
The acoustics here were atrocious. It seemed the Northern Palace hadn’t been designed as a dungeon originally. The masonry of the walls didn’t match the style of the main structure, suggesting a hasty or later conversion where privacy was ignored. The vaulted ceiling acted like a megaphone, carrying every whisper. She realized how dangerous it would be to conspire in such a place.
She wondered if this lack of security was why Pallesa Palace had been cast aside. Then again, abandoning an entire palace just because the jail was poorly soundproofed seemed far too extreme.
After finished her detailed survey of the bleak quarters, Adi pulled out a chair at the small table. The wood felt surprisingly high-quality—polished smooth and treated with oil to prevent any snags. She mused over whether high-born prisoners felt the sting of disgrace in these surroundings, but the thought was fleeting.
She was simply hungry.
Her eyes fixed on the entrance to the cell. She found herself wondering when the next meal would arrive.
*
Bright rays flooded the reception hall, reflecting off the ornate wallpaper until the room glowed. Despite the warmth of the light, the air was thick with a sharp, cutting hostility.
Yuls sat back in his seat, appearing relaxed. Ivan, having entered alongside Spencer, moved toward a decorative sideboard. He poured a measure of spirits into a fine glass and set it on a serving plate.
Yuls invited the other man to sit. He asked if the Count would care for a drink as well.
Spencer declined.
Yuls noted with a dry edge that he wasn’t the type to lace a guest’s drink with toxins.
The Count countered that it was far too early in the day for intoxication.
Yuls chuckled, suggesting that a single serving was hardly enough to make one lose their senses. Ivan moved to his master’s side, and Yuls took the glass. He brought the crystal to his mouth, taking a slow sip. Even as he drank, his eyes remained locked on the Count, never wavering.
When he placed the glass back down, the sunlight caught the rim, sending a spark of light across the room. The amber liquid shimmered within the vessel.
An unsettling quiet took hold. The friction between the Duke and the Count was so palpable that the natural sounds of the world—the breeze and the birds outside—felt like intrusive noise. Finally, Yuls shattered the silence.
He asked if the Count’s presence meant he intended to follow the instructions in the correspondence.
Spencer remained noncommittal. While he did plan to utilize the Duke’s strategy to a degree, he had no intention of being a mere puppet. He was well aware of the Duke’s vulnerabilities and knew exactly what Yuls would sacrifice for the person he held dear.
Yuls inquired if there was a counter-proposal on the table.
The Duke’s terms were unfavorable for the House of Grimaldi, making a negotiation necessary. Spencer felt confident in his position. He remarked that while the Duke’s ideas were interesting, following them to the letter was simply asking too much.
The Count spoke with the calm arrogance of someone who believed he held the winning hand.
Yuls stared back, his expression unreadable, repeating the words back as a question.
The conditions Yuls had set were clear: Adrina’s noble standing had to be fully reinstated. The public needed to know that the knight known as Adrian was actually her, and she had to be exonerated of Luigi’s death. Furthermore, the world had to recognize her betrothal to Julius Woodpecker.
Spencer confirmed the Duke’s assessment.
When Yuls asked which specific point was the issue, Spencer merely smiled. There was a coldness in that expression that reminded Yuls of someone else—a resemblance that made him feel a strange sense of amusement rather than disgust. He let out a quiet, dark laugh.
The Count asked if the details really mattered.
Yuls insisted that they did.
Spencer suggested that the Duke’s primary goal was simply keeping Adrina from a traitor’s execution, which was the only reason they were speaking at all.
Their gazes clashed.
The Count claimed he also wished to save her, but argued there were multiple ways to achieve that end.
Yuls gave a dismissive snort. Sensing the Duke’s scrutiny, Spencer pushed further, suggesting they simply hide her away.
He proposed that the Duke could keep her for himself in secret.
In essence, Spencer wanted to fake her death again and keep her in the shadows. He was clearly worried that restoring her name would expose the Grimaldi family’s own legal failings.
Yuls told the Count he was making a grave mistake.
He explained that his offer to overlook the Count’s crimes was the price for Adrina’s restoration. It wasn’t a favor.
Yuls clarified that he had no intention of making the Count’s sins vanish. That was a problem for the Grimaldis alone.
He stated that the Count would admit to his transgressions, and Yuls would grant him mercy.
Yuls looked the man up and down as if he were looking at a piece of trash. He asked if Spencer truly thought his record would be wiped clean.
A cold smile touched the Duke’s lips, though his eyes remained frozen and predatory.
He reminded Spencer that he was still guilty of high treason for the body-double deception.
The Count had obviously misjudged the nature of their meeting, treating it like a gathering of equals.
Yuls pointed out that even if he killed the Count right then and there, it wouldn’t cost him anything.
He corrected Spencer’s terminology, stating this wasn’t a deal.
It was an order.
Spencer’s face went rigid at the finality of the statement. Yuls picked up his glass again, watching the liquid ripple with a calm hand. His face remained a mask of indifference.
The crushing silence that followed was the sound of the Duke’s triumph.
Spencer eventually spoke, his voice laced with a hidden, jagged rage. He remarked on how deeply the Duke seemed to care for his daughter.
*
The isolation of the cell was stifling. With nothing to occupy her mind, Adi had been resting on the cot before deciding to burn off energy with some basic exercises. Suddenly, the sound of approaching footsteps reached her. They were uneven, a dragging sound that didn’t match the disciplined stride of the palace guards.
She wondered if it was her meal arriving.
She moved toward the door, hopeful, but there was no sound of metal trays or the scent of food. She thought perhaps it was just bread, which wouldn’t smell as strong. But the shuffling footsteps continued past her.
A door nearby groaned open with a sharp, metallic screech. It was the cell right next to hers. Adi immediately pressed herself against the dividing wall, straining to hear.
A voice told someone to stay down.
Even through the stone, the voice was unmistakable. It was Claude Dalkatir.
He addressed the other prisoner as Lev, asking why he had gone after Macauliffe.
Adi realized the person next door was Lev Zid.
She questioned the logic of the jailers. Putting two related prisoners in adjacent cells seemed like a mistake, unless they assumed the two wouldn’t talk or relied entirely on the thickness of the walls.
Claude asked for the truth of what happened that day.
Adi held her breath, desperate for the same answers.
Lev’s voice sounded horribly damaged and dry. He told the Prince that Claude must have known the truth when he sent him there.
Adi was surprised. She hadn’t meant to spare him during their fight, given his momentum, but hearing he was alive sparked a complicated emotion in her.
Lev explained he had gone into the Woodpecker Forest with Macauliffe.
Claude asked if Lev was the one who set the fire.
A raspy, pained laugh came through the wall, followed by a fit of coughing.
Lev managed to choke out that, in his memory, he hadn’t.
He started to describe the forest, but his voice trailed off. Adi leaned in even closer, her ear flat against the cold masonry, trying to catch the silence.
After a long pause, Lev sighed. He claimed he was simply fleeing from Macauliffe Pasalis, who had been trying to murder him.
The Prince spoke a single word of realization.
While Adi couldn’t see his face, she could perfectly imagine the specific, knowing look Claude would be wearing right then.
He said he understood how it had happened.
The conversation ended there. The silence that followed was so heavy it felt like the world had stopped moving.
Claude told Lev to rest. The cell door opened and shut, and the sound of his departure echoed. Then, the footsteps stopped. Adi stared at her own door, certain that Claude was standing just inches away on the other side. She imagined she could feel his presence through the wood. She sat on the edge of her bed, watching the door.
She waited to see if he would enter or leave.
Claude gave an order to move out. He wasn’t alone, yet Adi hadn’t heard the footsteps of anyone else with him.
She wondered who he had brought into the depths of the prison.