I. The Knife in the Dark
The moon over Blackford was a thin silver coin, pale and wan. It cast long shadows over the sea cliffs, over the wall-guards who yawned in their towers, over the back gates left ajar by careless hands or well-paid saboteurs.
In the stillness between heartbeats, the Dead Man slipped through.
He wore no armor, no heraldry. His cloak was blackened wool, damp from the mist. His boots made no sound against the cobbles. Two short knives—iron and bone—hung at his hips like fangs.
He was no brute. No loud slayer. The Dead Man killed as a whisper might end a prayer.
Tonight, his mark was not a target of flesh.
It was the Black Ledger of Blackford Keep—the hidden record of every secret ally, every backdoor deal Duchess Elara had ever made to maintain her power. Magnus had promised gold, land, and a clockwork heart—if only the Dead Man could find it.
He moved like smoke between the servant's quarters, skimming up the staircases none of the nobles used. Three guards died without noticing—eyes wide open, throats opened wider.
The Duchess's study lay behind a steelwood door.
Locked.
But locks were suggestions to the Dead Man.
Within minutes, he stood inside.
And then he saw her.
II. Elara's Counter
Duchess Elara stood behind her own desk.
She wore no crown tonight. Just a robe of night blue and a rapier at her belt.
"Well," she said, her voice calm. "He finally sent you."
The Dead Man didn't reply. He didn't speak—ever. But his head tilted slightly, as if questioning her presence.
"I wondered when the puppet master would stop playing nice." She gestured toward the shelves. "You're looking for the ledger."
He approached. Silent. Deadly.
She didn't move.
"I burned it," she said. "Two nights ago."
No reaction.
"You think you're here to take my secrets," she continued. "But Magnus is wrong about what gives me power. It's not what I hide. It's what I won't give him."
Still nothing. The Dead Man drew a single blade.
"I could call my guards. They'd die. But I'd die slower, wouldn't I?"
The knife hovered in the air.
Then, suddenly—he paused.
Elara blinked.
He reached into his cloak. Pulled out a different scroll. Unfurled it.
Not an order of assassination. Not a threat.
But… a pact.
III. The Pact of Blood and Steam
The scroll was bound in silver twine. Its wax seal bore not the Phoenix of Emberhold, but Magnus's personal mark—a gear with an eye in the center.
Elara read it aloud, lips tightening with each line.
To the Most Formidable Duchess Elara,
I have sent my knife not to kill, but to offer you a place at the forge. Your walls will fall, and your people will kneel. But you need not die with them.
Swear loyalty, grant me Blackford's ports and workshops, and in return, I will make you Empress of the North.
I offer not surrender, but ascension.
—Magnus Veyron
Elara stared at the page.
Power, yes.
But also submission.
Could she live with being his tool? Was that better than the certainty of destruction?
She looked at the assassin.
He bowed, slowly, offering her a pen.
"I suppose," she murmured, "it's better to ride the storm than be broken by it."
She signed.
IV. The Dead Man's Smile
When the Dead Man returned to Emberhold, he did not knock. He simply appeared.
Magnus was in his forgelab, testing a spring-loaded grappling arm for his automata.
He turned, eyes narrowing.
"Well?"
The assassin placed the scroll on the table.
Magnus read the signature. Elara's name, in violet ink.
He exhaled. Not relief. Satisfaction.
"And the ledger?"
The Dead Man tilted his head slightly. An uncertain shrug.
"Hm." Magnus folded the scroll away. "She claims it's destroyed. No matter."
Tobias stood nearby, aghast. "You let her live?"
Magnus smirked. "Blackford is now mine without a siege. Her navy, her engineers, her sea access… all without firing a shot."
"And what if she betrays you?"
"Oh, Tobias," Magnus said, his tone almost amused. "She already has."
V. The Real Ledger
Far beneath Blackford Keep, in the crypt where only Elara dared walk, a leatherbound book lay hidden behind her father's tombstone.
The real ledger.
Intact.
Unburned.
She stood before it alone now, candle flickering.
"Let him come," she whispered. "Let him build his empire."
She closed the secret door behind her.
"Every gear he tightens will strangle him in time."