Chapter 39 Slums of Change
The sound started as a low grind, deep in the wall behind the shelves: a gear's click, a ratchet, the kind of noise that set every muscle in Daisy's body to high alert. She froze mid-sentence, one hand curled around the rim of a mug, the other flexing to recall the feel of a knife's hilt. Oliver noticed it too, the way his eyes snapped up, the way he leaned in, thumb flicking the latch of his belt dagger.
"Stay here," he mouthed, then moved. He was fast when he wanted to be, and for once, he didn't bother with theatrics, just a low, smooth step behind the nearest stack, body pressed flat to the old brick.
Samuel heard the noise last. He looked up, already reaching for the battered iron rod he'd set on the table, a thing so heavy it bent the wood under its own weight.
Daisy ignored both men and watched the door.
A slot in the wall slid open with a puff of dust. In the thin crack of darkness, Daisy saw a figure: tall, draped in the high-collared cloak of someone who'd never been cold a day in her life. Daisy understood everything she needed to know from the figure's movements: upright and confident, in contrast to the lower city's filth and ruin.
Eleanora Ravensworth.
She stepped into the room, not a single tremor in her walk. She wore black, the color of finality, and her boots were clean. The only detail out of place was a smudge on her right glove: ink, maybe, or old blood. She left the entrance open, like she knew she'd be leaving soon.
No bodyguards. No weapons. Alone.
Daisy felt her blood shift, a quickening under the scales. She let it rise, let it bead on her fingertips and coil into a set of razor daggers, small but enough. Oliver was ten feet away, but in three steps, he could be between Daisy and the threat. Samuel, for his part, stood behind the table, iron rod leveled at the Duchess's ribs.
Eleanora scanned the room. She noticed the blood first, then Samuel's rod, then the subtle flex of Oliver's blade. She smiled, baring teeth that were too white for a city that ran on soot and lies.
"Don't stop on my account," she said, her voice even, cold, the kind of tone Daisy remembered from the worst slumlords and the best killers.
Oliver edged closer to Daisy. He didn't speak.
Samuel broke the silence. "You're not welcome here."
Eleanora ignored him. "I know what you are, Daisy Smithson. I know what my father plans to do with your family. And I know that if you kill me now, he'll never stop hunting you."
Daisy flexed her hand, blood daggers hovering. "Maybe I like a challenge."
Eleanora tilted her head, amused. "I think you're smarter than that."
Oliver, still closer, said, "Get to the point, Duchess."
She didn't even glance at him. "Here's the offer. I help you get into the castle. In exchange, you help me kill Lord Ravensworth."
Samuel looked like he'd been hit with a brick. "You'd betray your own family?"
Eleanora's smile widened. "My father is a relic. A tyrant. He'll burn the city to keep his secrets. I don't plan to die with him."
The words hung in the air, pulsing. Daisy let the blood daggers sink back into her skin, but kept her guard up.
"What's in it for you?" she asked.
Eleanora moved closer, stopping just shy of the table. "When the council falls, someone will need to build the new order. I prefer to be at the center of things."
Samuel's eyes narrowed. "If we say no?"
She shrugged. "You can try to save your family alone, and hope the city doesn't eat you alive. Or, you can use me."
Xeris's voice crashed through Daisy's mind, a tidal wave of outrage. She doubled over, momentarily blinded by red. The dragon's thoughts were an earthquake: 'Trust her and you die. She is not what she claims.'
Daisy fought to keep her footing. She blinked, found Eleanora's eyes locked on hers: blue, sharp, but with something wounded at the core. She wanted Daisy to believe her. Or maybe just needed Daisy to need her.
Oliver moved between them, body tense. "We need proof. Anything less, and you're out the door."
Eleanora's lips parted, just slightly. "Fine." She reached into her cloak, slow and deliberate, and drew out a black silk pouch. She tossed it onto the table. It landed with a heavy thump.
Daisy didn't move. Samuel did, gingerly opening the pouch. Inside: a single, uncut ward crystal, the size of a chicken egg, dark red and shot through with silver veins. Daisy felt the power leaking off it, enough to burn out half a city block.
Samuel looked at her, then at the Duchess. "Where did you get this?"
Eleanora's face flickered, pride and fear wrestling behind her eyes. "It's from the council vault. I stole it last night."
Oliver whistled. "That'll get you dead."
"Only if I'm caught," she said. "With your help, I won't be."
Samuel's hands shook. Daisy saw it, saw the cost of trusting this woman.
Eleanora turned to Daisy, gaze softer now. "I know your secret, and I know the dragon in your blood. You don't want to be a monster, but if you don't act, my father will make you one."
The words landed harder than Daisy expected. She let the silence sit, counted three heartbeats, then said, "What's the plan?"
Eleanora's smile this time was genuine. "We break into the Equinox Gala. Every noble, every council member, will be there. My father will parade your family as trophies, proof that the city is safe, under his rule. We ruin him in front of everyone."
Daisy watched her, searching for the lie. She didn't see it.
She nodded, once. "Okay. We'll do it."
Samuel exhaled, like he'd been holding the breath for a year. "You'll need a glamour," he said to Daisy. "Your scales are too obvious now. The council will see through any regular disguise."
Daisy grinned, teeth sharper than she remembered. "Then you'll teach me how."
Oliver touched her shoulder, just a brush, but she felt the charge in it. "I'm with you. All the way."
Eleanora turned to leave, but paused at the threshold. "Don't trust me," she said, voice low. "But trust that I hate my father more than you do."
She slipped through the secret door, the mechanism grinding shut behind her.
Daisy sat at the table, pulse hammering. The blood on her hand dried, leaving a map of red lines that looked a lot like the city itself, cracked, alive, hungry.
She looked at Oliver, saw the fear and the faith mixed in his eyes.
They were out of time, out of plans. But for the first time in forever, Daisy felt like she was right where she was supposed to be.