Chapter 63 Veyrion （Bonus）
BONUS: Veyrion
Shadeau
I dropped the casks at the back door and let the tavern keeper grumble through his thanks. I should have left after that.
Instead, I stayed.
One drink. Nothing more. A moment to watch the room and make sure nothing followed me in.
Shadeau was never a place of leisure for me.
I came for business—always. Contracts, favors, exchanges that thrived better in shadow than daylight. This time, it was mead. A small shipment from the north, thick with honey and smoke, the kind that bought goodwill faster than coin if poured for the right people.
I had just settled at the end of the counter, halfway through my glass, when the door opened again.
She didn’t hesitate in the doorway. No pause, no flare of nerves. She stepped inside like she already knew she belonged there, even if the room hadn’t realized it yet. Her eyes swept the space once—measuring, searching—then she took a seat at the bar without ever looking in my direction.
That, more than anything else, caught my attention.
Most people felt me. If not fear, then awareness. A glance held too long. A step adjusted unconsciously. She did neither. She was focused elsewhere, intent fixed toward something only she could see.
When I finally looked at her properly, the scar beneath my ribs warmed.
It hadn’t done that in a very long time.
I kept my face neutral and turned back to the bartender, lowering my voice.
“Whatever she orders,” I said, nodding once in her direction, “put it on my tab. If she refuses, bring her something anyway.”
The bartender flicked a glance her way, then back to me, curious but not foolish. He nodded.
I could feel the magic on her even without touching her. It pressed faintly against my senses, restrained but constant, like heat held under skin. Familiar in a way that made my jaw tighten.
I should have finished my drink and walked out before instinct overruled judgment. But then she spoke.
“Have you seen Ma?tre Vesper?”
The name cut clean through the tavern noise.
The question wasn't directed at me but I answered before I could stop myself.
“Haven’t seen Vesper in Shadeau for months.”
She froze. Just for a heartbeat. Enough.
When she looked at me then, really looked, something in her expression settled. Not fear. Determination. The kind that had already bled for its goal and would do so again if necessary.
When she described what she was looking for—small, obsidian, spherical—I felt it settle into place.
The Eye of Nareth.
That was no coincidence. Few things ever are.
People didn’t ask about relics like that unless they were already entangled in them.
I watched her closely after that. The way she weighed every word. The way she refused help even when she needed it. When she bristled instead of yielding.
Intriguing. Dangerous.
When we left the tavern together, I kept my pace measured. Let her think she was choosing this path. Let her think she could walk away if she wanted.
Then I saw her wrists.
Silver Salt.
The sight of it scraped something old and ugly through me. I caught her arm before she could pull away and saw the damage beneath the sleeve—skin already breaking down, rot setting in.
When my hands touched her skin, the truth of her hit me fully.
Strength. Not raw. Not wild. Contained so tightly it bordered on cruelty. Whoever had shaped her had done so with intent—and fear.
She wasn’t fragile. She was being managed.
As I worked, something else surfaced. Not memory exactly. Pattern. The sense of a long search tightening toward its end. Like a lock finally accepting the right key.
She wasn’t sent by chance.
Not to Shadeau. Not to me.
She was the piece that had been missing.
After Seraphine’s, when she slipped away into the city and vanished into shadow, I stood still for a long moment, letting the night settle.
Then I returned to the docks.
“Did anyone see a woman leave the city alone?”
“Glowing. Pirate coat.” A pause. “Smells like Violets.”
They exchanged looks. One nodded.
“Aye. Slipped aboard a black-hulled vessel just after dusk. Mean-looking thing.”
“Name?” I asked.
“The Black Marrow.”
I laughed softly, the sound rich with satisfaction.
“Now,” I said, already smiling, “that is a coincidence.”