Chapter 4 — The Flood Money

The black crystals disappeared before sunrise.

By breakfast, the brazier had been scrubbed, the bridal chamber aired, and every servant who had seen Adrian collapse had been ordered to silence.

The official announcement blamed an overfull wedding cup.

Julian read it aloud at the breakfast table, then glanced at me over the paper.

"Seven alarm bells for too much champagne. My brother always did enjoy ceremony."

"Did your physician secure a sample?"

He slid a tiny stoppered vial across the table.

Three black crystals clicked against the glass.

"Dr. Fairfax swept them into his sleeve before the royal chamberlain cleared the room. He says they contain the mineral trace your reagent was designed to expose. He cannot identify the poison without more material."

"He does not need to. Not yet."

If we accused Seraphina now, Adrian would call it jealousy. Lucien would remove every bottle, ledger, and courier before noon.

One frightened night would not destroy their plan.

The flood accounts might.

We spent the next week beneath the Bell & Briar, comparing Ledger Seventeen-B with customs receipts, monastery rolls, and military supply contracts.

The numbers formed a cleaner confession than any criminal would give aloud.

The southern counties had received less than half the gold allocated after the spring floods. Deputy Chancellor Cedric Voss routed the balance through Rosemere, an estate legally owned by a charity whose trustees had been dead for nine years.

From Rosemere, the money vanished into grain contracts, stable accounts, and a monastery fund that had never belonged to a monastery.

It paid soldiers.

"Three regiments," Julian said, tapping the final column. "Not completely, but enough to buy their colonels."

"Lucien is early."

In my first life, those payments had begun near winter. Our interference had forced him to accelerate.

"Is that bad?" Julian asked.

"It makes him dangerous. It also makes him careless."

I chose six pages from the ledger. Each contained a transaction that could be confirmed without revealing how much we knew. Julian’s printer made three exact copies. One went to Chief Auditor Marlowe. One went into the Bell & Briar vault.

I carried the third to Queen Eleanor.

She received me in her private morning room, where no courtier could watch her face.

"You have been married seven days," she said. "Most brides ask me about precedence at banquets. You bring stolen treasury records."

"Marriage has broadened my interests."

Her mouth almost curved.

Then she read the first page.

"Where did you get this?"

"From a place Cedric Voss believed had burned."

"And why bring it to me instead of the King?"

"Because His Majesty must be able to say truthfully that he did not organize an attack upon one son to benefit another."

She lifted her gaze.

"Which son?"

"That is what the auditors must determine."

It was not what I believed. It was what the evidence could presently support.

Queen Eleanor rang for her secretary.

Two mornings later, Cedric Voss stood before the Royal Court of Auditors.

The hearing chamber overflowed. Ministers crowded the benches. Petitioners from the flooded counties stood along the rear wall in patched coats, mud still dried into their boots.

Julian and I sat in the royal gallery.

Lucien stood below with the King’s councilors, composed and grave. He looked like a man attending the funeral of public trust.

Cedric looked like a man who had just discovered that trust could hang him.

Chief Auditor Marlowe raised Ledger Seventeen-B.

"Did you authorize these transfers?"

"Those marks could have been forged."

Marlowe called three Exchequer clerks. Each identified Cedric’s cipher. A customs master confirmed the gold had passed through Rosemere. Then a former monastery treasurer testified that the receiving account had never belonged to the Church.

Lucien moved before the final witness finished.

"Your Majesty," he said, turning toward King Rowan, "Cedric Voss entered the Exchequer upon my recommendation. Whatever the court decides, I accept responsibility for failing to see his corruption. I ask permission to withdraw from all matters concerning the investigation."

Perfectly timed. Painful to behold. Entirely false.

Murmurs of approval moved through the chamber.

Lucien had cut away his purse before anyone could trace the hand inside it.

Then Adrian rose.

He was pale after the wedding-night attack, but his voice carried.

"Cedric Voss has served the Crown for twenty years. The southern works were chaotic. Before we destroy a loyal man over damaged records, he should be permitted to restore what was lost through continued service."

Seraphina sat behind him. Her gloved hand rested against his chair.

Her uncle was not truly an uncle, merely a distant cousin who had helped her family enter court. To Adrian, that was enough.

In our last life, he had regretted every slight Seraphina suffered. Now he intended to repay all of them, whether the kingdom could afford it or not.

One of the flood petitioners began to cry.

King Rowan’s face darkened.

"Loyal?" he asked. "He stole bread from children sleeping on church floors."

"He has not been convicted."

"Then you will not interfere while he is tried."

The King ordered Cedric taken into custody and suspended from office. When Adrian protested again, Rowan confined him to the Crown Prince’s residence for fifteen days and stripped him of his seat on the Exchequer Council pending review.

The heir to Valedoria had tried to save Seraphina’s kinsman.

He had only succeeded in falling beside him.

Lucien did not look toward Adrian as the guards led Cedric away.

He looked up at me.

By sunset, the city had a new story.

Lady Evelyn had bewitched a drunken prince and stolen confidential records to punish the man who rejected her. The Ashbourne army was preparing to place Julian on the throne. My father’s officers were traitors waiting for a signal.

Every lie bore Lucien’s fingerprints, but none bore his name.

"I can arrest the pamphleteers," my father said when he came to Julian’s residence.

"Then tomorrow there will be twice as many," I replied. "Let them call us ambitious. Fear will make Lucien move his money where we can see it."

That night, one of Julian’s theater couriers brought us three sealed sale orders.

Lucien was disposing of a riverside warehouse, a cavalry yard, and a townhouse near the western barracks. None appeared in his public accounts.

All three buyers were listed under the same newly formed company.

Grey Gull Trading.

I looked at Julian.

He raised his glass.

"Congratulations, wife. By morning, you will own your enemy’s war."