Chapter 15
Nine days after Prince Valerius departed on what should have been a simple arrest, Dara had developed three new opinions about waiting.
First, it was boring.
Second, it was necessary.
And third, she had gotten surprisingly used to having armed Crown guards stationed around her estate.
She sat in the west sitting room with Bernard across from her, a folder of project reports spread across the table between them. Outside the windows, she could see two guards patrolling the garden paths with the disciplined efficiency that came from Valerius's personal selection.
He had left a substantial security detail when he departed.
Not a token force.
A real one.
Enough men to make it very clear that no one was getting within a hundred feet of her without facing someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
Dara turned another page and tried to focus on the numbers rather than the fact that somewhere west of here, Valerius was probably returning with prisoners, evidence, and whatever consequences came with successfully capturing a fleeing nobleman.
The roads were finished.
That was the first good news.
Final inspection had been completed three days ago, and Bernard’s report confirmed what Dara had already seen before the kidnapping: smooth, well-graded, properly drained roads lined with the sort of landscaping that made travel less visually offensive.
She had paid for comfort.
She had received infrastructure.
The side effect that everyone else could now use them too remained irrelevant to her satisfaction.
"The district road master submitted his formal completion report," Bernard said, sliding a signed document across the table. "He notes that the work exceeded regional standards and requests permission to use the project as reference for future contracts."
Dara glanced at it. "Fine."
Bernard made a small notation.
The destination garden was nearly complete as well.
The garden at the district edge—the one she had commissioned because she wanted her beautiful new roads to actually lead somewhere worth visiting—was scheduled for a grand opening within the next two weeks.
A proper destination.
An experience.
The kind of place people would travel to deliberately rather than pass through on their way to somewhere else.
Premium landscaping.
Imported plants.
Walking paths designed for aesthetic pleasure.
Pavilions for sitting and enjoying refreshments.
Vendor spaces for food and drink.
Entertainment areas.
A complete experience—the kind of place where people could spend an entire afternoon rather than just passing through.
And, because the System had made its opinion on giving things away for free offensively clear, an admission system and vendor permits had already been arranged through Gareth.
She was going to have a beautiful destination to visit whenever she wanted, with every comfort and convenience she could think of, and people were going to pay her for the privilege of experiencing it too.
Dara felt quite pleased about that.
"The head gardener requests a walkthrough before opening," Bernard continued. "To ensure everything meets my lady's standards."
"Schedule it," Dara said.
She wanted to see it.
Not just for approval.
For enjoyment.
Because she had paid an enormous amount of money to create something beautiful, and she intended to use it.
The food vendor planning had also progressed nicely during the last week.
Gareth had sent over preliminary contracts for roadside vendor stations—small permanent structures positioned at intervals along her new roads where travelers could purchase refreshments, rest their horses, and spend money that would eventually filter back through taxes and fees.
Modern highway rest stops, essentially.
Except medieval.
And profitable.
Dara had already approved three locations and was reviewing the fourth when Grace entered with fresh tea.
"My lady," Grace said quietly, "you've been working for three hours without pause."
Dara looked up.
Had she?
Yes.
Apparently.
The light had shifted considerably since she had sat down.
She accepted the tea with a small nod of thanks and took a careful sip.
Still hot. Still perfectly sweetened.
Grace remained excellent at her job even when Dara was too focused to notice time passing.
"The vendor permits for the garden are nearly finalized," Dara said, more to herself than to Bernard. "Gareth recommended limiting the initial contracts to ten vendors to avoid overcrowding during opening week."
Bernard inclined his head. "A sensible approach."
Yes.
It was.
Start controlled, expand carefully, maintain quality.
The same strategy they had used for the boba tea launch.
Which, according to Gareth's most recent sales report, continued to perform unreasonably well.
Dara set her teacup down and looked at the next folder.
The desolate mountain.
She had not visited it yet.
The purchase had been finalized weeks ago, and the road construction leading toward the mountain range had begun, but between the kidnapping attempt, the investigation, and being effectively grounded for her own safety, she had not actually seen the property she now owned.
That needed to change.
Soon.
Once the conspiracy wrapped up and she could leave the estate without armed escorts treating every carriage ride like a tactical operation.
Dara wanted to see her mountain.
Wanted to walk the land she had bought.
Wanted to confirm that it was, in fact, as desolate and useless as promised.
And if it happened to have decent views and pleasant air, well. That would be acceptable too.
"The mountain road crew reports steady progress," Bernard said, apparently reading her thoughts from her expression alone. "The weather has been favorable. They expect to complete the first access route within another month."
Good.
One month.
Manageable.
Dara made a mental note to schedule a visit as soon as Valerius returned and the security situation normalized.
Assuming it normalized.
Assuming Montrose’s capture actually ended the immediate threat.
Assuming—
She stopped that line of thinking before it became unproductive.
Bernard was watching her with the calm patience of a man who had spent decades reading noble moods.
"My lady has questions about the governor," he said.
Not a question.
An observation.
Dara exhaled slowly. "Yes."
Because that was the other concern she had been carefully not thinking about for the past few days.
Regulus.
Her father.
The governor.
Whose district office had been revealed to contain a corruption network that predated Montrose by years, whose head clerk had fled rather than face questioning, and whose entire administrative structure was now under Crown scrutiny.
What did that mean for him?
For his position?
For the household?
Dara did not know.
And it bothered her more than she expected.
She had been living in this household for almost three months now.
Regulus was… not a warm father, exactly.
The original Lynara's memories made that clear enough.
But he was her father. And in the past three months, she had grown unexpectedly used to him—his distant politeness, his tendency to delegate everything, his complete lack of interest in interfering with her projects.
It was not affection, exactly.
But it was not nothing either.
And his position as governor directly affected her own status, her access to funds, and her ability to continue operating with the resources she had grown accustomed to.
If Regulus fell, what happened to her?
What happened to the household?
"The Crown will make its determination based on evidence," Bernard said quietly. "If the governor's involvement was passive negligence rather than active participation, the consequences will be measured accordingly."
Dara looked at him. "You think he didn't know?"
"I think," Bernard said carefully, "that Governor Voss is a man who prefers to delegate rather than manage. Which creates opportunities for those beneath him to act without oversight."
Incompetence, then.
Not malice.
That was... possibly survivable.
Possibly.
Dara picked up her tea again and took another sip, letting the warmth settle her thoughts.
Nine days.
The roads were finished.
The destination garden was nearly complete.
The food vendors were already planned.
Her mountain was waiting to be visited.
Her father's future was uncertain.
And somewhere west of here, Valerius was probably bringing back prisoners and answers.
The knock came at the sitting room door precisely as Dara finished that thought.
Not Bernard's usual quiet tap.
Not Grace's soft entry.
Sharp.
Official.
Grace moved to answer it at once.
A Crown messenger stood in the doorway, dust-covered and clearly just arrived, with the sort of exhausted alertness that came from riding hard and fast.
"Message for Lady Lynara Voss," he said.
Dara set her teacup down very carefully. "I'm listening."
The messenger bowed once, then straightened.
"His Highness Crown Prince Valerius sends word. Lord Silas Montrose has been captured in Brackford. Three archmages have also been taken into custody. It is suspected they are the same individuals responsible for the attempted kidnapping of your ladyship."
There.
Relief moved through her in a wave.
Captured.
Almost all of them.
The messenger continued.
"The prisoners are currently being transported under Crown guard to the secure holding facility at the Crown Annex in Ambervale.
Expected arrival is two days from now. His Highness will return to the Voss estate in two days' time after delivering the prisoners and coordinating with Crown authorities. "
Two days.
Dara absorbed that.
Nine days away.
Two more days.
Then Valerius would be back.
The messenger had been sent ahead to give warning.
With evidence.
With answers.
With whatever came next.
"Thank you," she said.
The messenger bowed again and withdrew.
Grace closed the door softly behind him.
Silence settled over the room.
Bernard said nothing, but his expression had eased slightly.
Grace refilled her tea.
And outside the windows, the late afternoon light continued warming Ambervale with the sort of golden clarity that suggested nothing particularly dramatic was about to happen.
Dara knew better than to trust that.
But for now—for two more days—she would let herself enjoy the quiet.
Then Valerius would return, and consequences would follow soon enough.