16. If It Were a Better World #7
Leira crossed the room, slow and deliberate, every step echoing across the polished floor. Her smile never surfaced.
"I came to deliver an update," she said smoothly. "On the Canariae."
Kirelle's brow arched. "You mean the one promised to me? The one you were contractually bound to deliver six months ago?"
Leira plucked a grape from the platter and rolled it between her fingers before popping it into her mouth. "That one."
Kirelle's smile sharpened. "Well? Where is she?"
Leira met her gaze without flinching. "Not coming."
The absence of sound dropped like venom into still water.
Kirelle's hand tightened around her glass. "Excuse me?"
"I've changed my mind."
"You don't get to change your mind," Kirelle snapped, rising now, the fire catching in her voice.
"You signed blood to ink. That Canariae is mine.
She was promised to me so I could deliver her back to Malec and secure my position.
She doesn't get to rot in exile while you keep her locked away like a pet. "
Leira exhaled through her nose, bored. "Your desperation is showing, dear."
Kirelle stepped closer, fury burning hot. "I'll take this to Malec myself. You think they'll let you tear up a sacred contract? You think you can withhold?—"
“Withhold what?” Leira interrupted, her voice dropping to a colder edge. “My bloodline?”
Kirelle froze.
Leira took a step closer, her eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "Because that's what you're really after, isn't it? You want access to what runs through my son's veins, you want to bear a child with Talandros blood so you can finally matter in this world."
"I have every right?—"
"You have nothing," Leira said flatly. "And I will make absolutely certain you never get my bloodline. You're not worthy of it. No one is. But least of all you, you grasping, desperate little social climber."
Kirelle's face went white with rage. "How dare you?—"
She lunged.
It was fast, fueled by genuine fury and trained reflexes. Kirelle was no soft noble. She had been raised in court politics, trained in self-defense, knew how to strike when cornered.
But Leira was faster.
She sidestepped with the fluid grace of someone who had spent decades perfecting violence, and her hand came up in a precise arc.
The slap connected with Kirelle's cheek with enough force to send her stumbling sideways.
Kirelle's feet tangled in her elaborate gown, and she went down hard, palms hitting the polished floor.
The sound echoed through the parlor like a gunshot.
Leira stood over her, not even breathing hard. She adjusted her gloves with casual precision.
"Get up," she said quietly.
Kirelle's head snapped up, eyes blazing with humiliation and rage.
"I said get up." Leira's voice carried no heat or anger, just cold command.
Kirelle pushed herself to her knees, one hand pressed to her reddening cheek.
Leira bent down slowly, her face level with Kirelle's. When she spoke, her voice was soft as silk with poison underneath.
"Let me remind you who you just lunged at," she said.
"I was Surin's queen. His right hand and strategist when this kingdom was nothing but scattered provinces bickering over trade routes and bloodlines.
I built Ulvareth's military doctrine, designed the intelligence networks that still run through every noble house in this realm, I orchestrated campaigns that brought three neighboring kingdoms to their knees. "
She straightened slightly, looking down at Kirelle with cold assessment.
"I am not some flabby-armed noble getting fat sitting around a parlor all day eating grapes and drinking wine. I am the reason Ulvareth is as great as it is, as ruthless as it is, as strong as it is." Her eyes narrowed. "And you would do well not to forget that."
Kirelle's chest heaved, tears of rage threatening at the corners of her eyes.
"The contract is void," Leira continued, her tone returning to its usual lightness as though she hadn't just put a noblewoman on the floor. "Terminated. As of this moment, you are owed nothing."
She turned for the door, pausing at the threshold to glance back.
"Oh, and Kirelle? If you go running to Malec or Surian about this, do tell them everything. Tell them how you lunged at me like a feral cat and ended up on your knees." Her smile was cruel. "I'm sure they'll find it very becoming."
And with that, she was gone, leaving the parlor thick with perfume, silence, and Kirelle's burning humiliation. Kirelle remained on the floor for a long moment, her hand still pressed to her stinging cheek, her mind racing with fury and calculation.
Leira's Caelistra townhouse was silent when she entered.
She didn't bother with the front entrance. Slipping instead through the servant's door, she carried twilight in with her, the bitter scent of pipe smoke clinging to her cloak. She moved like a shadow, silent and decisive, armed with one last gamble.
Her private study waited. She slid inside, bolted the door, and set all three locks in place. No interruptions.
The old cabinet groaned as she pulled open its lowest drawer. Inside, folded parchment lay stacked over half a dozen false leads: ink-stained terrain maps, scraps of fabricated testimony, rumors she'd sown like poisoned seeds across the realm for months.
This wasn't correspondence. It was bait.
She unfolded a fresh sheet and began to write, her handwriting deliberately crude, as though penned by a nervous informant rather than a master strategist. She crafted it to look like intercepted intelligence between spies:
The target has been spotted in the eastern highlands region.
Confirmed sighting of dark-skinned Canariae female, heavily cloaked, traveling with a healer.
Local merchants report supplies being purchased for extended stay.
The Canariae appears to be with child, approximately seven to eight months along.
Sheltering in one of the vacation estates—specific location unconfirmed.
The area houses multiple noble properties, most unoccupied this season.
Recommend immediate search of the region.
She paused, reading it over. Vague enough not to point directly to her door. Specific enough to send them searching the right area. The eastern estates were scattered across miles of highland territory—dozens of properties, most abandoned until summer. Malec would have to search them all.
But he would search. And eventually, he would find her.
Her quill hovered over the parchment. Then she added one more line, the hook that would make Kirelle move immediately:
Source claims the woman is protected by someone with significant resources. Move quickly before she is relocated.
Perfect. That would ignite Kirelle's paranoia. Make her think someone else was sheltering Allora, someone with enough power to keep her hidden. It would drive her straight to Malec with this information.
She sealed the parchment with common brown wax, the kind used by merchants and minor functionaries. Nothing that could be traced back to her. Then she wrapped it in plain cloth and set it aside.
A court runner was summoned, not one of her trusted hands but a forgettable face. Disposable.
The boy arrived within minutes, bowing low.
"Take this to Lady Kirelle's estate," Leira said, pressing a silver coin into his palm along with the package.
"Tell her it was left at the courier station by an anonymous source.
Someone paid to have it delivered to her specifically, claiming it contains information about the missing Canariae female. "
The boy's eyes widened slightly. Even servants knew that name carried weight.
"Yes, mistress."
"And boy?" Leira's voice dropped lower. "If anyone asks where this came from, you received it from the courier station. You know nothing else. Understand?"
"Yes, mistress."
When the door closed behind him, the room exhaled as though it had been holding its breath the entire time.
Leira sank back into her chair and stared at the empty space where the parchment had been. Kirelle would receive it within the hour. She would read it, see the mention of the eastern estates, and her desperation would do the rest.
She would go to Malec and would show him the information all while demanding he search every vacation manor in the eastern highlands, not realizing she was doing exactly what Leira wanted.
And Malec, desperate and half-mad with obsession, would come. He would search the region methodically, estate by estate, until he found the one that was occupied.
Until he found her.
Leira reached into the drawer again and drew out a small glass vial. The exit plan. A measured dose, enough to induce deep sleep if things went wrong. Enough to ensure escape if Malec brought an army instead of coming alone.
Her eyes lingered on the bottle.
What would happen when he finally found Allora? The timing was unpredictable. The girl could give birth to another man's child before Malec ever arrived, and that revelation might shatter him completely. Or it might drive him to even greater madness.
Either way, one truth remained certain: Kirelle would not own this ending, Leira was going to make sure that Kirelle would never get the chance to own Allora’s fate and to squeeze Malec of his very essence just so she can stay rich on daddy’s dime.
When Malec came storming in—and he would—Leira intended to let him have the girl. Let him claim his obsession. But she'd make absolutely certain he understood the cost of what he'd become.
And if things went wrong…
Well. She'd face him as she always had. Smoke in her lungs, a knife in her boot, and just enough leverage to walk away alive.
Afew days later, the wind howled through the narrow stone alleys of Dremond's Gate, carrying with it the stink of soot, salt, and survival. It was colder here than Surian expected, the kind of cold that did not care who you were.