CHAPTER 222: FALL OF VALTAIR [18]

Alaric stayed there for a few more minutes, leaning against the workbench. Going over details to Teryn.

"The dock workers at the Broken Mast are the most talkative. Buy them drinks and ask."

Teryn nodded. Already gathering his things. "Got it. What about timing?"

"Evening. When they’re off shift. Loose tongues at that time. But don’t push too hard, just listen."

"Understood."

Alaric turned to Delphine.

She was already taking notes. Her hand moving quickly across parchment.

Teryn finished gathering his supplies. A worn coat that made him look more dockworker than merchant. A pouch of coins for bribes and drinks.

"I’ll be back by nightfall. Earlier if I find something urgent."

"Careful." Alaric’s tone stayed even. "Whoever orchestrated this is smart. They might have people watching for anyone asking questions."

"Don’t worry my lord, I know how to be invisible." Teryn flashed a confident grin. Then he moved to the back door. "See you tonight."

Click!

And he was gone leaving just Alaric and Delphine in the workspace.

Alaric watched for a moment. Then looked down at the documents spread across the workbench.

He read through them methodically. Cross-referencing names. Looking for patterns, he’d missed before.

Then setting the papers aside, he stood up and reached for the hat hanging near the door, settled it on his head. Checked his reflection in a small mirror mounted on the wall.

"I’ll be back tomorrow." His voice pulled Delphine’s attention from her work. "Have everything ready by then."

She looked up. Those purple eyes finding his.

Then she nodded. "Yes, my lord."

Her cheeks flushed slightly.

But she didn’t look away this time. Didn’t stammer.

Alaric moved to the door and stepped into the market noise.

Then he glanced up at the sun, noticing its position in the sky.

"About time." He murmured quietly.

Then moved through the crowd, away from the market district. Toward the main road where carriages waited for hire.

There he found one.

Alaric climbed inside. The interior was worn but clean enough.

The driver climbed up to his seat.

Snap!

The reins cracked and he horses started moving forward.

Clop! Clop! Clop!

They rolled through Gramwell’s streets. The landscape shifted. Town giving way to countryside. Fields, scattered farmhouses.

Alaric watched through the window. Not really seeing. His mind elsewhere.

The journey took about two hours. The road was good, weather clear.

The carriage slowed as Millcrest’s outskirts appeared. They rolled through the gates. Guards barely glanced at them. Just another traveler among many.

The carriage stopped near the town center. The driver called down.

"This work for you?"

"Yes."

Alaric climbed out.

Pulled coins from his pocket, counted out two silver and five copper.

The driver took them and nodded, then clicked his tongue at the horses.

Leaving Alaric standing in Millcrest’s main square. Afternoon sun casting long shadows. People moving about their business.

He adjusted his hat.

Then started walking, after few minutes of walk, he found a tavern and pushed through the entrance.

Creak!

The interior was dim, thick with the smell of ale and old smoke. A handful of men scattered throughout.

His eyes swept the room once and found a man sitting alone at a corner table, positioned with his back to the wall. A half-empty mug sat before him.

Alaric crossed the tavern floor, his boots barely making sound against worn floorboards. He pulled out the chair across from the man and sat without invitation.

The man’s eyes flicked up.

"You did what I asked for?"

The man nodded once.

His hand moved beneath the table and placed a heavy leather pouch in Alaric’s palm.

He took it without looking, slipping it into his coat pocket in one fluid motion.

A serving girl approached them.

"Two ales," Alaric said.

She nodded and teetered off.

They sat in silence, then ales arrived with a dull thunk of mugs on wood. Alaric wrapped his fingers around the handle, brought it to his lips, and drank. The ale was mediocre, bitter, but cold enough.

Across from him, the man did the same.

The tavern noise continued around them.

Alaric drained half his mug, set it down.

The man finished his drink. Set the empty mug aside and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Alaric took another long pull, then drained the rest. Then he leaned back slightly, eyes fixing on the man across from him.

"Do the next part."

The man’s jaw tightened, just for a moment then relaxed and he nodded.

Alaric stood up turned and walked toward the exit.

Afternoon sunlight hit him like a wall. He paused on the threshold, letting his eyes adjust, then stepped fully into the street.

Behind him, the door swung shut.

The man remained at the table, staring at his empty mug.

Alaric moved through Millcrest’s streets and found another carriage waiting near the northern gate. This one was in better condition, polished wood, decent horses, a driver who looked alert rather than half-asleep.

"Riverside," Alaric said, climbing inside.

The driver nodded. "Three silver."

Alaric counted out the coins and settled into the seat as the carriage lurched into motion.

Clop! Clop! Clop! Clop!

The landscape rolled past the window. Fields giving way to clusters of trees. The road followed the river’s distant curve, sunlight glinting off water visible through gaps in the foliage.

The journey was shorter this time. Less than an hour before Riverside’s outskirts appeared.

A scattering of buildings, docks extending into the river like wooden fingers, boats bobbing gently in the current.

The carriage rolled to a stop near a small plaza. Alaric stepped out, paid the driver, and watched the carriage pull away.

He adjusted his coat and moved toward a tea house on the plaza’s edge, signed: The River’s Rest.

It was made up of white stone walls, large windows overlooking the water.

But inside, it was elegant. Polished wooden tables, cushioned chairs, soft afternoon light filtering through curtains. A handful of people sat there, having quiet conversations over tea and pastries.

Alaric chose a table near the back window. Positioned where he could see both the entrance and the plaza outside.

He ordered nothing. Just sat there, waiting.

Outside, the river flowed past, steady and indifferent.

Fifteen minutes passed.

Then—

Clop! Clop! Clop! Clop!

A carriage rolled into the plaza. Finer than his had been. It stopped near the tea house entrance.

The driver dismounted and opened the door.

A woman descended.

She was tall, elegant. Her gown was deep emerald, cut in the latest style but practical enough for travel. Hair swept up beneath a subtle hat. Her face was composed, beautiful.

But her eyes were sharp. Assessing.

She paused beside the carriage, speaking quietly to the two guards who’d accompanied her. They nodded and took up positions near the horses. Not following. Just waiting.

She turned and walked toward the tea house entrance.

The door opened with a soft chime.

Her gaze swept the interior, quick and landed on Alaric.

Her brows furrowed, just slightly.

But she moved toward him anyway.

Alaric watched her approach, then gestured to the chair.

She hesitated for half a heartbeat, then sat beside him, close enough that her perfume reached him.

Alaric smiled.

"You’re looking good, Countess."