Carys
Tarsus summoned me at dawn. The message came through my slate while I was still in bed, Flinx curled against my side. Three words.
Private lab. Immediately.
I dressed in yesterday’s clothes and walked through empty corridors.
Staff wouldn’t arrive for another hour. The villa felt different in the pre-dawn quiet.
Less manufactured perfection, more exposed machinery.
The climate control hummed in the walls.
The lighting adjusted to simulate sunrise that wouldn’t happen for another thirty minutes.
Everything on Valyria was a performance.
Tarsus waited in his private lab, the one he kept separate from my workspace. This room held acquisitions he hadn’t decided to display yet. Pieces too dangerous, too valuable, or too controversial for public viewing.
He stood at a workbench, examining something I couldn’t see from the doorway. His silver hair was perfectly arranged despite the hour.
“Curator.” He didn’t look up. “Come here.”
I crossed the room. Flinx stayed by the door, his sensors tracking everything.
The artifact on the bench was Nerath. Four-armed serpent design, intricate metalwork, ceremonial dagger from their assassin cults. Beautiful craftsmanship. Also extremely illegal to own outside of Nerath space.
“I acquired this yesterday,” Tarsus said. “I want your assessment before I show it to Mr. Korven.”
I studied the dagger without touching it. The blade had a green tint. Poison channels ran through the decorative patterns. “Where did you acquire it?”
“A private dealer. Very discreet.” He watched me. “Do you think Mr. Korven would appreciate it?”
“He said he collects art, not weapons.”
“This is both.” Tarsus turned to face me. “I want you to verify its authenticity. Handle it. Check the metallurgy. Confirm the poison channels are original and not modern additions.”
I looked at the bench. No protective equipment. No containment field. Just the blade, exposed to air.
“I’ll need gloves,” I said. “And a spectrometer. Nerath poison can be absorbed through skin contact.”
“I’m aware.” His tone stayed level. “But I’ve been told this particular dagger has been deactivated. The poison channels were flushed decades ago. It’s perfectly safe to handle.”
“Who told you that?”
“The dealer.”
“And you trust them?”
He went very still. “I trust your expertise. Which is why I’m asking you to verify their claims. Unless you’re questioning my judgment?”
The trap closed around me. Refuse, and I questioned his authority. Comply, and I risked poison exposure. Either way, I lost.
“I’m not questioning your judgment,” I said carefully. “I’m ensuring accuracy. If you want authentication, I need proper equipment. That’s standard protocol.”
“Protocol.” He picked up the dagger himself, holding it by the hilt. No gloves. No hesitation. “Sometimes protocol is just cowardice. I’m holding it right now. Do I look poisoned?”
“Nerath poisons have variable activation times. Some work in seconds. Others take hours.”
“Then you’d better start now.” He set the dagger back on the bench and stepped aside. “Authenticate it. I have Mr. Korven arriving in twenty minutes, and I want to show him something impressive.”
I stared at the dagger. Green tint on the blade. Poison channels clearly visible in the metal. No way to know if they’d been flushed without proper testing.
Flinx sent from across the room.
“I need equipment,” I said again.
“You have twenty minutes.” Tarsus moved to the door. “I’m going to change. When I return, I expect a full authentication report. Don’t disappoint me, Curator.”
He left.
I stood alone in the lab, looking at the dagger, calculating probabilities. Tarsus had held it without protection. Either the dealer was right and the poison had been flushed, or Tarsus would start showing symptoms within the next few hours.
Or he was wearing a dermal barrier I couldn’t see. Or he’d built up immunity. Or the poison had a delayed reaction timer designed to kill whoever handled it second.
Too many variables. Not enough information.
Flinx warned.
Of course he was. This wasn’t about authentication. This was about obedience. About proving I’d follow orders even when those orders might kill me.
Six years. Six years of specific, cold cruelty.
I reached for the dagger.
The door opened.
Brevan Korven stepped into the lab, looking apologetic. “I’m sorry, I know I’m early. The attendant said the senator was expecting me, and I...” He trailed off, seeing me. Seeing my hand extended toward the blade. “Curator. What are you doing?”
“My job.” I didn’t pull my hand back.
“That’s a Nerath ceremonial dagger.” He moved closer, his casual collector’s interest gone. His voice dropped. “Those poison channels are functional.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then don’t—”
“I don’t have a choice.” I gestured slightly toward the ceiling. Toward the scanners Flinx had warned me about. “He’s watching.”
Brevan’s expression shifted. Understanding, then something harder. “Let me do it. I’ll tell him I insisted on examining it first.”
“He gave me an order.”
“Then I’ll countermand it. I’m the buyer. I have authority—”
“You don’t.” I met his eyes. Red irises, gold tracery, completely focused on me. “This is my contract. My risk. My choice.”
“Carys—”
I pushed him aside. Not gently. Hard enough that he had to catch himself against the workbench.
Then I picked up the dagger.
The poison hit immediately.
Not pain. Not yet. Just heat. Spreading from my palm up my arm, racing through my bloodstream. My fingers started tingling. Then burning. Then going numb.
“How long?” Brevan grabbed my wrist, checking my pulse. “How long does it take?”
“I don’t know.” My voice sounded distant. Strange. “Nerath poisons vary. Could be minutes. Could be hours.”
“What are the symptoms?”
“Numbness. Paralysis. Respiratory failure.” I set the dagger down carefully. My hand was shaking. “Usually in that order.”
“What’s the antidote?”
“Specific to the poison strain. I don’t know which strain this is.” My mind whirled. I needed to start researching.
“Damn it.” His hand dove into his jacket and emerged with a small case. A single dose of something in injector format. “I was saving this for myself. It’s a broad-spectrum antitoxin, standard for infiltration specialists. I figured Tarsus might try to poison me at the gala.”
“What is it?”
“Immunity booster. It’s not specific to Nerath poison, but it’ll fight the paralysis and should buy you time to work.” He opened one of the injectors. “I was saving it for future… problems.”
“That’s yours. I can work through this. The poison won’t be lethal. It wouldn’t be the first time Tarsus has wanted to test me.”
“You touched poison. I didn’t.” He moved behind me, one hand on my shoulder to steady me. “The math is simple.”
“If you give me your protection and something happens—”
“Nothing’s going to happen.” His fingers found the pulse point on my neck. Warm against my skin. “Hold still.”
The injector pressed against my throat. Cold, then pressure, then the sharp bite of the needle.
The booster hit my system like electricity.
Everything sharpened. Colors became too bright. Sounds too loud. I could feel Brevan’s hand on my shoulder, each finger distinct. Could feel his breath against my hair. Could hear his heartbeat, steady and calm.
“That’s...” I grabbed the workbench for balance. “That’s very intense.”
“The initial reaction usually is.” His hand didn’t move from my shoulder. “How do you feel?”
“Strange. Everything’s very bright.” I turned to face him. He was close. Very close. When had he gotten so close? “And you’re very close.”
“I’m stabilizing you.” But he didn’t step back. “The booster can cause disorientation. You need to stay focused.”
“I’m focused.” I was. Too focused. On his face. On the gold tracery along his jaw. On the way he was looking at me like I was something precious he was trying not to break. “You saved me.”
“Don’t think about it too much. I couldn’t just watch you die. You’re far too interesting.” His hand moved from my shoulder to the side of my neck, fingers gentle against my pulse. “Your heart rate is elevated.”
“That’s the booster.”
“Is it?” His thumb traced along my jaw. “Or is it something else?”
I should step back, put distance between us. Should maintain professional boundaries the way I’d been doing for years.
I didn’t move.
“This is a bad idea,” I said.
“Probably.” His voice was rough. “You’re compromised. The booster’s affecting your judgment.”
“I know.” I reached up and touched his cheek. His skin was warm under my fingers. “But I don’t care.”
He caught my wrist. Gently. “Carys.”
My hand was still shaking from the poison. Or the booster. Or something else entirely. “You saw the trap. If he figures out what you did—”
“He won’t.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because we’re going to lie.” His hand tightened on my wrist.
The door’s magnetic seal disengaged.
We sprang apart. Professional distance. Appropriate spacing. Nothing to suggest we’d been standing close enough to share breath.
Tarsus stepped through. He paused in the doorway, assessing. Taking in the scene. The dagger on the bench. My flushed face. Brevan’s careful distance.
“Curator.” He approached the bench. “Your assessment?”
My mouth was dry. The booster was still racing through my system, making every sensation too intense. I could feel Brevan beside me, careful not to touch, letting me handle this.
“Fourth dynasty Nerath,” I said. My voice came out steady despite the chemicals making my nerves sing. “Authentic metalwork. The poison channels are original. The green tint suggests kethril-based toxin, probably from the northern provinces.”
“And the dealer’s claim that it was deactivated?”
“False.” I met his eyes. “The channels still contain active poison. I can confirm that personally.”
He went very still. “You touched it.”
“You ordered me to authenticate it. Authentication requires direct examination.”
“And you’re experiencing symptoms.”
“Minor. Tingling in my extremities. Nothing severe.” The lie came easily. Six years of practice. “The poison is old. Degraded. Not immediately dangerous.”
“I see.” He looked at Brevan. “Mr. Korven. You arrived early.”
“My apologies, Senator. I’m eager to see your collection.” Brevan’s tone was perfectly calibrated. Wealthy buyer, slightly embarrassed. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”
“Not at all.” Tarsus’s posture relaxed slightly. “Though I’m surprised you didn’t try to stop her from handling a poisoned artifact.”
“I assumed your curator knew what she was doing. She’s clearly competent.” Brevan gestured to me. “Though perhaps next time I’d appreciate a warning before watching someone handle deadly weapons. Bad for the nerves.”
Tarsus smiled. Not warmth. Satisfaction.
“Of course. I forget that not everyone is accustomed to dangerous artifacts.” He turned back to me.
“Curator, please prepare a full authentication report. Include toxicity analysis and historical provenance. I want Mr. Korven to understand exactly what he’s considering purchasing. ”
“Yes, sir.”
“Excellent.” He gestured to the door. “Mr. Korven, why don’t we continue our discussion in more comfortable surroundings? I have several pieces to show you. Including something I think will interest you far more than Nerath weaponry.”
“I’d be honored.”
They left together. Master and guest. Senator and buyer. The performance continued.
I stayed in the lab, staring at the dagger on the bench. Still beautiful. Still deadly. Still exactly what Tarsus had intended it to be.
Another test. Another trap. A reminder of who held power.
But I’d passed. I’d touched the poison and survived. I’d maintained my cover. I’d stood next to Brevan and lied to Tarsus’s face.
We’d lied together.
Flinx approached, his sleek black form moving silently across the floor.
“I know.”
“I know, Flinx.” I picked up the dagger carefully, using a containment cloth this time. The blade still showed traces of green. Still poisoned. Still dangerous. “He saw the trap and saved me anyway.”
“I don’t know yet.”