Chapter 14: The Shape of Conspiracy
It was just that—a pause lasting no more than a second before his hand continued turning the pages. But his gaze lingered on one spot longer than usual, not with his habitual contemplative pause, but with the kind that only appeared when something he had been waiting for, or hadn't anticipated, fell before him. I saw it, and he knew I saw it, yet neither of us spoke of it.
"The Fae record what they witness in their songs," he said, his voice as steady as before. "Their records have always been accurate. But those little creatures… their songs are not prophecies."
"But their songs contain more details," I said. "So the version that's been passed down might be wrong."
"I merely said the Fae's records have always been accurate," he replied. "The rest is your own deduction."
This manner of response made it clear that further questioning would yield the same result—he would simply redirect the inquiry back at me.
"You know time is running out. My mother… I should at least see her one more time." My pride would not allow me to plead with anyone, but at this point, I had no other choice.
"I ask for your help, Master Osric." I rose slowly and bowed slightly toward him.
He watched me quietly, his hands folded into his wide sleeves.
"When your father was your age," he said, "the first time he sat in this room, he had that same look in his eyes." He stood and returned the book to the shelf, his back to me. "I've known your father for a long time, Mia. Some things about him were the same when he was young—once he starts asking questions, he won't stop." He turned around. "Some answers only count when you walk the path to find them yourself. What I can give you now, I have given. The rest—that's your path, not mine."
This wasn't an outright refusal, and I could find no angle from which to argue.
He sat back down and picked up the quill.
"That talisman you're holding," he said, "wear it properly. If the bone starts turning black, replace it with a new one."
He lowered his head and began writing something on the paper, about three lines, then looked up. "One more thing."
He paused, this time longer than usual, as if weighing whether to speak the words at all.
"That thing in the inner layer of the curse," he said, "you need to be careful. Until I figure out what it is, don't let anyone know where you've been."
He lowered his head again and continued writing, offering no explanation as to whom this "don't" was directed at.
I sat in that chair, clutching the talisman in my hand, watching him write, sensing that something large and still shapeless was moving toward me.
That was the shape of conspiracy.
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Cade had been sitting on the steps for nearly an hour, the book in his hands flipped back and forth to the same page.
His eyes scanned the words while his mind was elsewhere.
He calculated the time. He had figured out the assistant shift patterns on his way up—after evening prayers ended, there was roughly a fifteen-minute gap, the most relaxed security period in the entire tower. Everyone was somewhere in the corridors moving to somewhere else; no one was truly stationed in any fixed position. He had about twenty minutes left.
He returned the book to the shelf, stood up, and walked to the library entrance to glance down the corridor.
Mia hadn't come down yet.
He stood at the doorway for a few seconds, calculating. He could continue waiting for Mia to emerge so they could leave together, or he could use this window to act alone—take advantage of the shift change gap, go up while everyone was in motion, get the job done, and return before the shift change ended, settling back into that chair as if nothing had happened.
If he waited for Mia, the window would close. When the next suitable opportunity might come, he didn't know—perhaps there wouldn't be another today.
He returned the book to the shelf and walked into the corridor.
The tower guard had changed; this one was younger than the morning guard, and more lax. Seeing Cade approach, he stood up lazily.
"Credentials."
Cade produced the forged document.
The guard took it and flipped through it, then glanced up at him. "Single entry-exit. You've already entered once. If you leave now, you can't come back in." The young man clearly lacked experience—he noticed the document had been used but didn't catch that it was fake.
Cade took the document back and put it away, his tone casual with a feigned impatience. "I'm with that girl inside. She's still upstairs. I can't leave first."
The young guard looked him over.
Cade stood there without adding any explanation or showing any expression. His manner of waiting and his posture suggested this type of conversation was far from his first; he knew that saying more would be redundant.
Finally, the guard stepped aside, looking too lazy to create trouble for himself.
Cade walked back with an air of nonchalance, but once he disappeared from the guard's line of sight, he resumed his cautious demeanor.
He didn't head toward the library but took a route he had noted on his way up, toward the corridor on the inner side of the tower. The stone wall structure there was peculiar—sounds from the upper floors would travel down through the rock crevices, intermittent but audible. He had passed it while searching for the artifact display room earlier, hadn't stopped, but had memorized the location.
Now he stood by that section of wall, leaning against it.
The sound did travel down. Mia's voice, and another—an old man's tone, steady, each word deliberately placed.
He didn't lean in closer, just stood there, letting the fragments enter his ears. He didn't want to deliberately eavesdrop, but the content of the conversation captured his interest.
...binding type... curse... the caster knows who she is...
...can't kill her, it's to make her leave...
Then he heard a name.
The speaker's voice was clear, carrying a weight he himself might not have been aware of: Mireiya.
Originally, when Cade had found Mia wandering alone in the forest, her behavior, manner, and clothing all suggested she was no simple person. He had thought she might be of noble birth.
Aristocrats in the royal city occasionally sent their servants or maids through forest shortcuts rather than official waterways to the lower districts to purchase certain medicines—for what purposes, no one could say for certain. So Cade would sometimes try his luck at the forest's edge, guiding those who wished to conceal their movements, earning some extra coin.
However, during their journey together, Cade had already vaguely sensed that Mia's identity was more complicated than he had thought. This suspicion was now confirmed.
She was the famous princess from the prophecy.
He leaned against the stone wall in silence for a moment, then headed upward toward the artifact display room on the twenty-second floor.
He confirmed the position of the sound-absorbing stone in his palm once more, then began calculating the intersection points between the assistants' shift movement routes and his own. From the tenth floor to the twenty-second floor, there were twelve flights of stairs—three on main passages, two on side routes. The main passages would be crowded during shift changes, while the side routes would be empty, but the second section of the side route had a loose floorboard that would creak if stepped on; he had noted it on his way up. To avoid that loose board, he would need to press against the inner wall at the staircase corner and take small steps.