The baroness looks at you inquisitively. A shadow passes over her face, but she says nothing.
—My situation is ordinary, Your Grace. What’s extraordinary is encountering you here, in this exact place and moment—as if the stars themselves conspired to guide you into my path. And the stars are never wrong. Your reign is faltering. You must return swiftly, before the damage to your lands—and to your name—becomes irreparable.
—That much I know, my dear Baroness—but thank you for confirming what I feared. Still, fears are only shadows. I need facts. Do you have more details? What exactly happened back in Moravice? And who’s behind it?
—I know not who is truly behind it, but I’m convinced it’s retaliation for your uncle’s role in the war against the Emperor. There are two main possibilities: either Emperor Claudius himself seeks to destabilize the region—though in my view, that is the least likely.
—And the more plausible one?
—Someone within your inner circle. Someone exploiting your current vulnerability to challenge your father’s claim to the Duchy—or, at the very least, to siphon as much as they can before order is restored. Merely leaving your lands in such times… Your Grace, you’ve placed yourself in grave danger.
—And what should I do, then?
—If I may be so bold as to advise you, Your Grace: finish your journey quickly and return to Moravice without delay, before the rebellion sparks into open flame. I’ve heard whispers—rumors of your death. They may have even reached the Duke himself. God only knows what he must be feeling right now. And in a place like this, there are always knives for hire, eager to turn rumor into truth for the right price. You’re in grave danger. Leave this city while you still can—either make for your uncle, if that remains your plan, or better still, turn back to Moravice at once.
— What route you recommend me to arrive safely to Zalenica?
There’s a pause. The kind that tastes of caution.
—I wouldn’t recommend going to Zalenica—especially not by night. The smugglers’ trails are teeming with hired blades, and the caravan routes are watched. Too many eyes linger where coin is expected—and tongues are all too eager to wag for the right price.
I advise you to turn back to Moravice… the safest route is to ride hard to the south, and not stop until you reach the dry well at Rasha’s Spine. There, switch mounts. That, among other things, is what the diamonds I’m offering you are for.
From there, continue straight to the edge of the Painted Cliffs, to the city of Al-Mirkat. You’ll find those still loyal to your cause—but caution will serve you well even here. Ask for Lord Gustav. He remains fully devoted to your house. If anyone can help you from there, it’s him.
She lowers her voice, gaze sharp as flint.
— But be discreet. In Al-Mirkat, even loyalty has a price—and ears have learned to live long by listening. And whatever you do, never sleep in the same place nor make camp beneath the same sky twice. In this heat, the knives come slowly—but they come all the same.
—What about you, Baroness? Why are you in a place this dangerous?
—I came on family business—matters that required my direct presence. I have well-connected kin in this city, with influence enough to help secure the safety of my lands. I return to Moravice in two days.
She studies you for a moment, then continues with quiet intent.
—If Your Grace feels inclined to return as well, I can escort you to my relative’s estate. It’s the safest place in this city for someone of your standing. You’ll be well protected there—at least until we depart.
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