Chapter 169: The Ledger of Unquiet Debts

Chapter 169: Chapter 169: The Ledger of Unquiet Debts

The faint sound of Cassiel’s wheelchair rolling closer made Elysia tense without realising it.

She turned her head.

His expression was steady, almost unreadable. He reached over, extinguished the candle beside the bed, and settled down next to her.

The room sank into darkness, save for the thin moonlight slipping through the curtains.

Elysia lay still, unable to name the feeling stirring inside her.

Perhaps it was because he would be leaving soon. Perhaps it was because, despite sharing a bed, she still knew so little of what went on behind those calm eyes.

In the dim light, she traced the sharp, clean line of his profile, from his brow down the bridge of his nose to his jaw. With his eyes closed, he looked distant.

Unapproachable.

She did not like it.

Beneath the blanket, she rubbed her fingers together. The words had been sitting on the tip of her tongue for some time.

But when she finally said his name, it came out quieter than she intended.

"Cassiel..."

"Mm?"

His reply was low and languid, already touched by sleep.

Elysia swallowed. "The wine earlier... has it completely worn off?"

Heat rushed to her cheeks the moment she asked.

She had not forgotten their previous kisses, nor the circumstances that had accompanied them.

Aphrodisiac wine.

Bitter medicine.

And she had never objected.

In fact, if she was being honest with herself, she quite liked it when he kissed her.

But asking him herself was another matter entirely.

Her fingers curled into the blanket.

"Do you..." She forced herself on, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you want to kiss for a little while?"

Cassiel’s eyes opened at once.

She was right there, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her even in the dark.

A faint blush coloured her cheeks, softening her in a way he rarely saw.

His throat moved.

Of course he wanted to. He had wanted to long before they were ever married.

The problem was that Elysia did not love him.

At least, he had no reason to believe she did.

She apologised whenever she thought she had inconvenienced him. She never asked him for anything.

Even when he had offered to bring her something from the north, she had insisted she needed nothing.

That was not how a woman in love behaved.

The thought cooled the warmth rising in his chest.

"I’m better now," he said quietly.

Elysia blinked.

Her gaze dropped. "So... no kissing."

She tried to sound casual, as though either answer would do. Yet the moment the words left her, she felt foolish.

He was already kinder to her than she had ever expected. Why had she put him in such an awkward position?

She began to turn away.

Cassiel almost let her.

Then he saw it. The small light of anticipation fading from her eyes as she tried to convince herself it did not matter.

He let out a quiet breath, leaned in, and pressed his lips to hers.

It was brief. Light. Gone almost before she could feel it.

"Okay," he said, brushing his fingers against her cheek. "Lysa, it’s late. Go to sleep."

"...Mm."

She turned onto her side and pulled the blanket close, her heart still beating too quickly.

Was that all?

Perhaps he had only indulged her because she looked disappointed.

Or does he simply not like me the way he used to?

Elysia pressed her lips together and closed her eyes, determined to stop thinking about it.

Sleep did not come easily. By the time it finally claimed her, the sky outside had begun to pale.

When she woke, the space beside her was cold.

She found Bran in the courtyard, checking the straps on a travelling chest.

"Where’s Cassiel?"

"His Grace left before dawn, Your Grace." Bran straightened. "He didn’t say where. Only that there were matters he needed to settle before we leave."

"Oh." Elysia nodded slowly. "Will he be back for supper?"

Bran hesitated just long enough to give her the answer. "His Grace said not to wait up."

She smiled to hide the faint disappointment in her eyes and went back inside.

Yet as she crossed the covered walkway, her steps slowed.

From here, past the moon gate and the rows of clipped hedges, she could see the tiled roof of Rose Hall.

It was quiet.

At least for now.

Since the betrothal banquet, Melissa had not set foot outside Rose Hall.

Roxana had been barred from the manor, while Lillian rarely ventured out after the disastrous matchmaking session.

Xanther had been even more careful. After what he had tried to do last time, he had not dared come within sight of the Duke’s courtyard again.

Word was he took his meals in his own rooms, slipped out by the side gate, and returned smelling of cheap perfume and wine long after the lamps were lit.

If they passed each other in a corridor by chance, he turned and walked the other way.

Anyone else might have called that peace.

Elysia knew better.

A cornered dog that stops barking hasn’t stopped being a dog. It’s simply waiting for its master to leave the yard.

And in two days, the master of this yard would be gone.

She stood very still beneath the eaves.

In her previous life, she had never imagined how much damage a widow in a back courtyard could do. Melissa had spent years whispering into the right ears, stirring the servants, and writing falsehood she later denied.

Now Cassiel would be in the north with Bran at his side, and the only person standing between Rose Hall and the rest of Draevenor manor would be a seventeen-year-old duchess whom they hated with every fibre of their being.

They would not move at once. Melissa was too careful for that.

But Elysia did not know how long Cassiel would be gone.

A week.

A fortnight.

A month.

And Xanther...

Elysia’s fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve.

She would not be foolish enough to give either of them that chance.

"Miriam," she said when she returned to her rooms, "bring me the household ledgers. All of them. And the accounts for Rose Hall."

Miriam’s eyes widened. "All of them, Your Grace?"

"Yes."

It took two maids to carry them in. Elysia had the books stacked on the desk beneath the window, rolled up her sleeves, and began to read.

Rose Hall’s allowance was generous. Neither she nor Cassiel had reduced it, not even after the incident with the token. They had only cut off the illegal sources of income Melissa had been drawing from the manor.

Elysia ran her finger down the columns. Candles. Coal. Silk thread for Lillian. Medicinal tonics for Melissa’s headaches.

Lillian’s entries were small and rarely anything even remotely extravagant, the sign of a girl who had learned never to ask for more than she needed.

Elysia’s gaze softened for a moment. Whatever she did next, she would have to make sure Lillian did not pay for it.

Then she turned to Xanther’s accounts.

At first glance, nothing was wrong. His monthly sum was drawn on time, every time.

On second glance, she noticed that it was always drawn early. Days early. And three times in the past two months, the steward had noted a request for an advance.

She sent for the steward.

He arrived wiping his palms on his coat, and he did not last long under her calm questions.

Yes, Master Xanther had asked for advances.

No, he had not said why.

And yes, the steward admitted with a hard swallow, there had been men at the side gate. Twice. Rough men, asking after Master Xanther. They had mentioned the Velvet Lantern.

"How much does he owe?" Elysia asked.

"I... I couldn’t say, Your Grace. But the second time, they said that if he didn’t pay by the end of the month, they would come and collect from the Duke himself."

Elysia closed the ledger slowly.

So that’s it.

A man drowning in debt to the wrong people would sell anything he could lay his hands on.

And Xanther had something very valuable to sell.

She remembered it clearly.

She had heard from the servants that the Marchioness of Gildemont had taken an heirloom pendant and pressed it into Xanther’s hand, before she learned what kind of man he was.

A masterfully crafted piece, as old as the Asheford name.

Ysoria had regretted it last night, but she could no longer take it back.

Xanther could not wear it. Nor could he pawn it openly.

Every jeweller in Caelvyr would recognise the crest, and that would carry the risk of word reaching the Marchioness.

But he could sell it quietly on the black market, to someone who asked no questions.

If such a buyer happened to appear.

A slow, thoughtful smile curved Elysia’s lips.

"Miriam, fetch me some paper. And my plain cloak."

"Are we going out, Your Grace?"

"You are." Elysia dipped her pen. "To Cloudmere Lane. My aunt Imogen’s tavern."

She wrote quickly, in a hand far steadier than her heartbeat. When she finished, she folded the letter twice, sealed it with plain wax rather than the Draevenor crest, and placed it in Miriam’s palm.

"Give this to my aunt and no one else. If anyone at the side gate asks where you’re going, tell them you’re buying embroidery thread."

Miriam looked at the letter, then at her mistress. Whatever she saw in Elysia’s face made her straighten.

"Yes, Your Grace."

When she was gone, Elysia sat alone at the desk, the ledgers spread out before her, watching the light shift slowly across the floor.

Cassiel had two days to put his affairs in order before he left.

So did she.