Chapter 8
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My features collapsed into open revulsion, drawing a shadow across Kyle’s face as well.
He muttered under his breath, sounding utterly downcast.
This batch marked his finest effort all year.
No pressure to swallow it, he added softly.
She caught the sag in his posture then, genuine remorse etching his brow as he extended a hand for the cup.
Carolina questioned silently whether the guild had devised this as some trial.
Perhaps they gauged her tolerance or the depth of her intent through enduring the brew.
Her insights into their ways stemmed from events a full year distant.
Customs might demand such quirks prior to uttering the hidden signal.
If true, failure remained unthinkable.
She blocked his grasp on the vessel.
Everything’s good, she declared.
I’ll handle the rest.
Tugging it firmly her way, she watched delight spark in his eyes.
Lids clamped shut, she tossed back the contents at once.
The flavor assaulted like sludge from a pond or runoff from a grimy rag.
Small mercy lingered in its scant volume, barely two swallows.
Pure grit reshaped her scowl into bland composure.
Incredible, you cleared it entirely.
Kyle beamed at the voided cup, sliding over a wedge of cream-topped pastry by way of reward.
The treat gleamed temptingly at first look.
Carolina pondered if this formed another step in their ritual.
Appearances deceived; it could harbor horrors like rubber or worse.
Yet the prior poison had scorched her palate beyond recovery.
Summoning a warrior’s nerve, she speared the tines into one edge, carving a speck no larger than a legume.
Her frame, still queasy from the drink’s assault, rebelled against anything grander.
A modest test would serve.
Eyes sealed once more, she slipped the fragment past her lips.
No divine rapture bloomed, yet it proved wholly palatable.
Eager to scour away the brew’s ghost, she claimed a far heartier portion next.
Kyle observed her feast with serene pleasure.
Pure bliss, she proclaimed, the comparison to that sludge left mercifully unsaid.
Joy folded his gaze into slits.
Even after the portion vanished, he drifted near without crowding.
The instant felt ripe at last.
Voice hushed to a breath, Carolina recited the covert phrase.
The blue falcon soaring through the skies guided me here.
She clung to the hope of unbroken tradition.
Extra layers absent in later days might have altered the code she recalled.
Kyle held silent for an age.
Glancing his way revealed the prior warmth ebbed from his lips.
So you’re one of those visitors.
Disappointment weighted his words, though the guild defined his core pursuits.
The gloom evaporated swiftly.
Professional steel snapped into place, transforming yielding softness into armored poise.
His grin persisted, yet now it gleamed like forged iron.
What draws you? Acquisition or disposal.
She drew herself tall, a fledgling bird bluffing ferocity before a hunter.
Quite the rare caller, Kyle observed, his mirth edged keen.
Fingers grazed his jaw as his judgment settled decisively.
Describe your goods upfront.
At minimum, he’d entertain her pitch.
Inhaling steadily, she offered the dossier in readiness.
Here’s my offering for sale.
He claimed the sheets, devouring their secrets in one sweep before laying them down.
Duke Camelot’s holdings ledger, plus vassal accounts, fraud notations precise.
Correct, she affirmed.
Near flawless, though formal probes could confirm.
A minimal curl touched his lips.
Accepted as prime intelligence.
Palm settled atop the pile.
Premium payout stays off table.
Fingertip drummed the stack.
The café host vanished, yielding to a trader’s merciless scrutiny.
Value dips when exposure looms inevitable, he pressed coolly.
Urgent sales demand concessions.
She inclined her head readily.
Reasonable stance.
The sovereign’s auditors advance steadily; matching my revelations lies days away at most.
Their skill rivaled hers, bolstered by manpower.
Only foregone certainty of events let her pierce Camelot’s rot ahead.
Plus her personal vetting of the records.
Hours head start in crises equals fortunes.
Her fingers brushed beside his on the pages.
Pass if uninterested.
Full commitment fueled the gambit.
Amusement bent his gaze.
Negotiator’s gift runs strong in you.
Picture a swift incursion before Camelot shreds his trails.
Emboldened, she ventured further, bravado cresting.
Tension locked his frame; spine aligned sharp as he withdrew from her station.
Perhaps elation blinded me, witnessing a patron drain my brew for the debut since launch.
Features eased into feigned chagrin, laughter bubbling loose.
Perplexity gripped her amid the whirl.
What prompted the query, she ventured.
His grin only intensified.
Count Renkels sending you? Few trails fit otherwise, Lady Carolina Diaz.
My identity? More crucially, your angle here.
The shift baffled utterly.
Count Renkels bore no link she grasped.
Confusion mirrored in his brief stare, probing her depths before yielding.
Carolina reeled inwardly from the tangle.
He exhaled softly, chiding gently as one might a wayward youth.
Firing queries back first marks poor manners.
Kindness laced the nudge to respond outright.
His odd aura unraveled her guard.
Enlighten me on the Renkels angle first.
Sincerity pledged her reply.
Theatrical breath escaped him, impossible to miss.
How did you discern our sovereign’s oversight.
Impatience tinged his lecture for the lagging pupil.
Comprehension dawned late.
The signal gives it away entirely.
The blue falcon soaring in the skies.
Regression aside, the clue shone blatant.
That bird defined the Emperor’s banner in his princely era.
Family creed prized health over heraldry drills, sparing her rote noble crests.
Fame cloaked this one universally.
Goddess heirs claimed her mark by blood.
Yet the prior sovereign, uncle to the throne’s heir, barred the princeling that privilege.
Blue hawk served as scornful badge for lesser stock.
Unmarked as side-branch, he’d claimed birthright unchallenged.
Kyle wilted visibly post-expose.
Deduced from emblem alone.
None dare claim that icon amid risks; singularity invites inference.
Caution shaped her words, gesture arcing heavenward.
Laughter erupted from him, unrestrained.
High station beckoned her aim, not the rival now dust after kin’s triumph.
Awkwardness stung as he howled on.
Composure returned slowly, handkerchief dabbing mirth’s remnants.
Your theory solidifies through my slip.
No ire shadowed him.
Fine. State Lady Diaz’s price.
His beam beckoned her bid.
