Chapter 473: The Serpent’s Fang and the Velvet Coil (1)
The flame in Lyan’s lantern wavered softly, casting restless shadows that danced across the old maps scattered haphazardly on his desk. Each shifting shadow seemed to echo the uncertainty lingering in the corners of his mind. He paused, exhaling slowly, watching the candlelight flicker, the flame almost hesitant—as if sensing the gravity of the moment.
Quill poised steadily between his fingers, he drew a slow, deep breath before continuing to write, each stroke meticulously calculated. The final line of his letter to Prince Erich carried the heavy weight of strategy, a subtle blend of truth and careful deception. His hand moved smoothly, the ink a stark contrast against the crisp parchment:
"Beware court whispers, for trust is the coin most cheaply spent and yet most dearly missed."
He read those words again, quietly mouthing them as he finished. A tightness briefly tugged at the corners of his mouth, appreciating the bitter truth hidden in the careful warning. Gently setting down the quill, he reached for the sealing wax. The serpent stamp gleamed ominously, the metal cool yet familiar in his palm, a constant reminder of the enemy’s presence.
Pressing it into the molten wax, he felt a strange chill—the serpentine emblem appeared almost alive, its coils catching the wavering candlelight as if shifting subtly. It was a powerful sigil, a reminder of the stakes, the danger lurking beneath every step he took.
With deliberate care, Lyan folded the parchment neatly, its edges crisp beneath his fingers. His gaze drifted upward as footsteps echoed softly in the corridor. A young messenger appeared in the doorway, solemn and attentive, the gravity of the situation reflected clearly in his wide eyes.
"Take the Briar Pass," Lyan instructed quietly, his tone firm yet reassuring. He handed the messenger the letter, their eyes meeting briefly, a silent understanding exchanged. "And ensure you’re seen."
The courier nodded gravely, the parchment tucked securely within his cloak as he swiftly turned, disappearing into the shrouded night, carrying Lyan’s carefully laid plans—plans woven to lure their hidden enemies into the open.
Morning broke quietly, the pale sky wrapped in a thick, persistent mist that refused to lift, as though the heavens themselves held their breath. Lisban’s courtyard was alive with carefully orchestrated deception. Wilhelmina stood near the center, eyes sharp and assessing, every motion deliberate as she methodically inspected wagons lined neatly in rows. Crates labeled "Rations" were opened and closed quietly, revealing only bundles of straw meant to deceive enemy spies.