Chapter 3 – Dain
DAIN
Ididn’t sleep. Couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face—calm, controlled, telling me to stand down.
Telling me to trust her. So I dragged myself to the dungeons at dawn, boots echoing through empty corridors, chest aching with every step.
The guard at the entrance barely looked up when I passed.
I didn't slow down or explain, just walked straight to her cell, the same one I’d seen her in last night.
The cell was empty.
The sight hit me like a blow to the sternum. Something seized in my chest, sharper than the ache I’d been carrying, and for a heartbeat all the air left my lungs. I scanned the corridor, searching for any sign. One overseer rounded the corner, nearly colliding with me. He froze when he saw my face.
“Where is she?” I demanded, voice low and cutting.
He blinked, trying for composure. “Commander Virellan, you must be more specific?—”
I stepped into his space, close enough that he could feel the heat rolling off me. “Captain Sylvenhart. Where?”
He swallowed hard, eyes darting away. “She’s been moved. Isolation. Council orders. They came last night, about midnight?—”
“No visitors?”
“No visitors,” he confirmed, voice shaking. “I’m sorry, Commander, but?—”
I didn’t wait for him to finish. I turned on my heel and walked away.
They’d moved her after I left. After I’d kneeled beside her, pressed my brow to hers, and promised without words that I’d protect her.
I went straight to Tywin. He already knew.
Another formal protest had been drafted, and the council would ignore this one too.
He told me to investigate quietly, bring him proof, and keep the squad contained.
The same instructions as yesterday, delivered with the same iron certainty and the same hand on my shoulder that was meant to steady me.
It didn’t.
I forced down some bread and cheese in the kitchens, washed my face, changed my shirt.
The bare minimum to keep myself functioning.
The ache in my chest had settled into something deeper now, a low, persistent burn that pulsed when I breathed too hard.
I pressed my knuckles against my ribs and kept moving.
I couldn’t see her. Couldn’t help her directly.
But there were still people in this palace who might have had answers.
The hallway was quiet, echoing every step as I approached the last door on the left—the one with no name, half-hidden behind a marble column. Light leaked out around the frame, blue and cold. I didn’t knock. Just shoved the door open.
Callan barely looked up from his desk, lamplight turning his eyes pale and tired. He didn’t stand. Didn’t bother pretending things were normal.
“Dain,” he said resigned.
I shut the door hard behind me, letting the echo linger. “You saw her before they moved her.”
His jaw flexed. “I did.”
I kept my distance, anger burning low and cold. “She said you’re not at fault. Is that true, or is she protecting you?”
Callan’s gaze was steady but rimmed with exhaustion. “I tried to shield her, Dain. The council used me. Used my connection to her. I was barely more than a pawn.”
“And after?” I stepped closer. “After you arrested her, after you walked her into that cell—what then?”
He looked away. “They locked me out. I executed the arrest and escorted her to the dungeons. That was all they wanted me for. After that…” He shook his head. “I haven’t been allowed near her since.”
“So you don’t know what’s happening to her now.”
“No,” the word came out bitter. “I know she’s in isolation. That’s all anyone will tell me.”
I studied him. He looked hollowed out, like he’d been fighting a war he knew he couldn’t win. Guilt was etched into every line of his face.
“Who pulled the strings?” I demanded. “Don’t feed me the official names.”
His mouth pressed tight. “Torven. Not directly; he’s keeping to Vasirien now; too many eyes on him here. But this was his doing. He had someone else draft the warrant and push it through the council, to put layers of distance between him and the order.”
Everything clicked into place.
“They had a Truthteller with her last night,” Callan added quietly. “She hasn’t broken.”
I let the silence stretch, making sure he felt it. Then: “You’re going to help me.”
He looked up, meeting my eyes. “How?”
“You’ve been slipping around this palace unnoticed for a year. Your illusion magic, your contacts. Use them. Find out what you can: who’s pushing this, what they’re planning, anything that gives us leverage.”
Callan nodded slowly. “And if I get caught?”
“Don’t.”
A ghost of a bitter smile crossed his face. “Fair enough.”
I moved toward the door, then stopped. “For her sake, Callan, you’d better deliver.”
“I will,” he said quietly. “I promise.”
I left without another word; the door thudding shut behind me.
No direct answers yet. Nothing but shadows and waiting. But at least now I had confirmation: Torven, the council, all of it connected.
Time to find someone who could give me more.
There was one person in this city who’d been collecting secrets longer than I’d been alive. If anyone knew the shape of what was happening beneath the council’s polished surface, it was him.
The tavern was all low light and shadow, windows caked in grime, chairs still upended on empty tables.
It felt more like a bunker than a business—a place for men who didn’t want to be found.
I ducked beneath the low beam, and Korr materialized from the back, eyes sharp despite the hour. He clocked me in a single breath.
“Shadow.”
The old nickname still fit. I sank onto the nearest stool. The wood creaked under me, familiar and grounding. I hadn’t realized how tightly I was wound until that moment. Korr disappeared and returned with a mug of black ale, so dark it swallowed the candlelight. He slid it across the bar.
“Drink.”
“I don’t need?—”
“Drink.”
I took the mug, forced a long swallow. Bitterness coated my throat, burning down into my empty stomach. Almost enough to cut through the cold that had been sitting in my chest since they took her.
Almost.
Korr watched me, assessing. “Are you planning to do something stupid?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. Save the stupid for when it counts.” He leaned against the bar, arms crossed. “How bad is it?”
I set the mug down. “Worse than I thought. She’s in isolation. No visitors. Not even Myrin.”
Korr’s face went stone-cold. “It’s worse than that.”
Something tightened behind my ribs, different from the ache—a cold, hard knot that hadn’t been there yesterday. “What do you mean?”
“The Black Cell,” he said flatly. “South wing, deep underground. The order’s been drafted. They’re moving her there this afternoon, after the Truthteller session.”
The Black Cell. Sensory deprivation. Total isolation. It was designed to break people. And it worked in the past.
“How do you know?” My voice came out rougher than I meant.
“I have contacts everywhere, Dain. You know that,” Korr’s eyes were hard. “The order came down this morning. Rotating guards, no repeat faces. They’re feeding her enough to keep her conscious. No windows, no warmth, no sound. Just her and the interrogator, nothing else.”
My hand found my ribs again without thinking. The knot pulsed, hot and wrong, like something was tearing loose inside. I breathed through it.
“Myrin’s raising hell,” Korr continued. “But they’ve locked her out entirely. Even Tallis can’t get close, and he oversees half the dungeon staff.”
“Tallis is trying?”
“Yes, but council orders override everything.” Korr paused, letting that sink in. “Your squad’s restless too. I’ve seen Quinton stalking these streets like a man possessed.”
My focus sharpened. “Quinton?”
He nodded. “Looks half-dead on his feet. Been walking the city like he’s hunting something. Or someone.”
If Quinton snapped, if he went after the council—everything Azaria had sacrificed to keep them safe would unravel.
“I’ll handle it,” I said.
Korr’s eyes narrowed. “You sure about that?”
“I’ll handle it,” I repeated, harder this time.
He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “What else do you need?”
“Everything you have on the council. Vareck, Hallen, Miren. Anything that makes them vulnerable.”
Korr’s mouth curved. “Vareck’s been paying off dock inspectors for months.
Sloppy work—easy to trace if anyone bothered looking.
Hallen’s son owes money to some very unpleasant people at the fighting pits.
Debts are piling up. And Lady Miren’s husband has been meeting with a Vasirien merchant. Repeatedly.”
“Torven’s merchant?”
“Can’t prove it yet. But the timing’s suspicious.” He reached under the counter, pulled out a leather folder, and slid it across to me. “Ledgers. Testimonies. Dates and locations. Not enough for a formal charge, but enough to make them sweat.”
I opened the folder. Names, numbers, witness statements: all meticulously documented.
“And Torven?” I asked.
Korr’s expression darkened. “Messages came through weeks ago. Coded, but not well. My contacts intercepted copies. Someone in Vasirien wanted her gone before she got too powerful.”
“Can you prove it was Torven?”
“Circumstantial. But the pattern’s there. Timing matches his relocation to Vasirien. Content matches his tactics.” He tapped the folder. “It’s in there. Use it carefully.”
I closed the folder, felt its weight in my hands. Real leverage.
“The city’s talking too,” Korr added. “Word’s out that Captain Sylvenhart was detained. No formal charges. High Lord bypassed. People are asking questions.”
“Good,” I said. “Keep them asking.”
“Already on it.” He refilled my mug without asking. “But Dain, listen to me. She’s holding on for now. Answering every question clean. But the Black Cell…” He shook his head. “It breaks people. You need to move fast.”
I stared at the folder. “I will.”
“And keep that squad together,” his voice dropped. “Don’t let them burn the city down until she walks out on her own two feet.”
I drained the rest of the ale and set the mug down with a final thud. “If they push her any further, Korr?—”
“If that happens,” he cut in, “you come back here. We’ll finish what the council started. One way or another.”
I stood, tucking the folder under my arm. The weight felt good. Solid. Something I could use. “Thanks, old friend.”
Korr clapped my shoulder. “Don’t thank me yet. Go get your captain.”
The air outside was colder, but I had what I needed now: proof of Torven's involvement, the council's vulnerabilities, and a timeline: this afternoon, they’d move her to the Black Cell.
And a plan forming. Miren was the weak link. Nervous, easily pressured, already uneasy about the arrest. She’d crack first. I had to push before they moved Azaria somewhere I couldn’t reach.
I’d spent years learning control. Azaria had taught me I could be more than the weapon I’d been forged into. But for her, I’d become that weapon again. Without hesitation or mercy.
Let the council try to break us. I’d see them shattered first.