Chapter 85 : The Whispered Covenant of Shadows
Chapter 85 — The Whispered Covenant of Shadows
At first, the true meaning of Giltheon’s words eluded me—his cryptic mention of an exception that could only mean one thing: the culprit was a figure cloaked in the highest echelons of power.
An exclusive purchase of knowledge, a secret hoarded and withheld from even me.
“Perhaps,” he mused with a crooked grin, “the criminal himself bought that knowledge.”
But then, with a shrug as if dismissing the weight of my silent plea for truth, Giltheon confessed, “I’m sorry, but that, too, is beyond my telling.”
The faint scar beneath his eye—once invisible in his impassive demeanor—now flickered under the flickering candlelight, a mark both sinister and telling.
Seeing no hope of coaxing more from him, I fell silent.
My gaze drifted to where Ahin remained slumped, his consciousness still stolen by swift and ruthless force. When he awoke, the memory of this intrusion would be nothing but a faint mist, destined to dissolve.
Relieved, I was about to speak when Giltheon’s voice, smooth as silk and edged with gravity, interrupted my thoughts:
“Ruler.”
He crossed his legs with languid grace, his tone leisurely but laden with portent.
“I believe it is time to disclose the purpose of my visit to you, Duchess. I have squandered more time than I intended.”
I held my breath, waiting.
“As I said before,” he continued, “I was sent by one who cares deeply—who holds you in genuine regard.”
“Someone who cares for me?” The question fell from my lips, brittle with doubt. Who could that be? The only soul I had ever known to truly care was my father. But he…
“Are you certain this one is my father?” I rose abruptly, uncertainty and hope warring within me.
Giltheon’s reply was cold, unyielding:
“I will not entertain questions. I am merely the bearer of my client’s request. Beyond that, I have no words to spare.”
His voice was a chilling echo of finality.
He glanced at his watch, his demeanor shifting as urgency crept in.
“The reason I risked coming here—plainly put—is because the Duchess stands in grave peril.”
“Peril?”
His words struck me like cold mud, heavy and suffocating.
“It is as if you stand trapped in a mire, unarmed and vulnerable.”
My features twisted, disbelief and dread knitting together.
Then came the words that cleaved my thoughts in two:
“If you do nothing, you will be poisoned… just as your father was. By that man.”
Poisoned?
The word exploded in my mind. I had never spoken this suspicion aloud—not even to Johannes. My father’s letters, hidden deep beyond prying eyes, were mine alone to decipher by candlelight’s trembling glow.
Could Giltheon truly know this secret?
Was I the only one, alongside the murderer, who bore this truth?
Or… was there more lurking in the shadows—perhaps even Giltheon himself held ties to my father’s demise?
I fixed him with a frigid glare.
“You speak as if you have heard this before.”
Unmoved, Giltheon’s eyes flicked toward my skirt.
“You carry something dangerous,” he remarked. “Did the Duke entrust this to you?”
“Don’t speak so boldly—” I began.
He cut me off, his voice low and resolute.
“Duchess, I say only this: I come bearing news from one who cannot appear before you.”
His gaze pierced me, and I bit back a retort.
“If you think to summon your escort now, abandon the thought.”
He smiled darkly.
“For if you do, the Duchess of England will not obtain the answers she seeks.”
His words echoed in the hollow space between us.
I faltered, the weight of truth pressing down.
“I cannot—will not—send this to Old Mrs. Russell.”
The absurdity of it all tightened my eyes to narrow slits.
“Why?”
“Because she is hunting you, too.”
Old Mrs. Russell—now an adversary? The threads of this web only grew more tangled, more bewildering.
“Curiosity paints your face,” Giltheon observed. “I’m sorry, but the full tale must wait.”
“You speak as if you know all.”
“Indeed,” he said, “I am Docilia’s finest problem solver.”
His laughter was low, almost bitter, before his expression sharpened like a blade.
“Avoid her if you can—right now. For if not, death is your sole destiny.”
I scoffed.
“Do you truly expect me to believe such riddles without proof? You approach me as if I still cling to my father’s shadow—and now you target me?”
Giltheon sighed deeply.
“My client is… particular.”
He fumbled in his coat, withdrawing two notes, crisp and heavy with portent.
“If you doubt my words, accept this. Should you heed the message within, it directs you where to go.”
I took the trembling paper, eyes widening as my fingers betrayed me, crumpling the fragile sheet.
Before me, clear and unyielding, were two words:
Miriam Camps
Beneath, scrawled in faint, delicate letters:
Army Uniform
A cipher known only to my father and me.
Raising my eyes, I confronted Giltheon’s watchful gaze.
“Who are you, truly?”
Slowly, I drew the revolver concealed beneath my gown, aiming it steadily at his temple.
“He said I would recognize this at once.”
He shrugged, a wry smile flickering.
“As you know, I am a problem solver.”
“It may confuse you, but now is the time for the Duchess to act alone. That is the only way to safeguard you.”
Moments ago, he forbade questions about my father. Now, casually, he handed me a note steeped in our shared secret—an anagram devised only by him and me.
‘Miriam Camps’—a veiled confession of my true self: Isaac Primm.
The code beneath spoke further truths—Army Uniform—a signpost perhaps pointing toward Johannes Schulz himself.
If this note truly came from my father, its meaning was clear: heed this message, and find your path.
“Once again, I am sent by one who cares deeply for the Duchess. You must move alone.”
He spoke with a conviction that could only stem from one who had known my father.
Pieces of evidence swirled—whispers of poison, secret notes written in cipher.
I could not still my racing heart. With renewed resolve, I pressed the barrel of the gun harder against Giltheon’s temple.
“If this is your father, be honest. I can wait for words—but bullets wait for no one.”
His laughter was soft, almost tender, as he tapped the gun’s muzzle with a finger and met my gaze.
“Put it down. They say couples grow to resemble one another, but this is terrifying.”
He chuckled, then fixed me with a solemn stare.
“You must choose wisely.”
My breath caught.
“Will you go to Old Mrs. Russell, who may seek your harm—or will you pursue the answers you so desperately crave?”
Dry saliva clung to my throat as I weighed his words.
“The choice lies with you alone.”
One foolish step could be my last.
I steadied my hand, lowering the gun with trembling certainty.
And yet, a question lingered, unspoken until now.
“If you are here, then—who commands this train?”
