Shadows in Velvet - Part 1

The city of Verashtel didn’t sleep. It dreamed.

Gilded bridges arched over canals where swan-headed gondolas glided silently, their lanterns glowing in shades of rose-gold and sea-glass green. Perfumed smoke curled from rooftop hookahs. Courtesans and spies wore mirrored masks that shimmered with spells to hide their true faces. Even the moon, pale and proud above the city’s spires, seemed half-masked behind silver clouds.

The night whispered in ten languages, and none of them told the truth.

From the edge of a vaulted rooftop, Vaelin watched it all unfold with the sharp detachment of a predator. His cloak shifted with the wind, patterned to blend with the slate tiles and dancing shadows. Below, the Grand Plaza was alive with illusion—glass dancers spun in fountains of colored light, and a string quartet played music without instruments. Sound spells—expensive ones—woven into the cobblestones.

It made him feel out of place. Dangerous.

“Eight guards posted at the north gate,” he murmured. “Two decoys. The real threat is the man in the copper half-mask, third balcony.”

Elira’s voice drifted softly beside him. “He's too still. Waiting for a signal.”

“They all are.”

The intelligence had been specific: three high-profile assassinations, orchestrated to happen during the Grand Nocturne Ball. Each target a political linchpin. If they fell, the balance between the eastern trade consortiums and the temple-bound provinces would collapse—possibly into war. No one else could get close enough to uncover the plan.

Their ticket inside?

A criminal jester with a taste for knives and chaos.

“I still don’t trust him,” Vaelin said, scanning the plaza. “If half the stories are true—”

“Half?” Elira said. She smirked. “That’s generous.”

She wore her traveling cloak open, revealing a silver-threaded corset beneath. Not armor, not quite, but reinforced with a web of spell-binding runes stitched by her own hand. Her eyes gleamed with calm amusement.

“Tovi’s dangerous,” she continued. “But not careless. He doesn’t survive by luck alone.”

Vaelin arched a brow. “He once escaped a hanging by seducing the hangman’s daughter mid-execution.”

“And she helped him steal the rope,” Elira said. “You read the same report I did.”

Their meeting point was beneath the city’s famed Crimson Ribbon Theater—a repurposed opera house that now served as a private masquerade den and blackmail exchange. It was said every noble worth ruining had a secret tucked behind its velvet curtains.

The interior was dark when they entered.

Only one light shone: a single enchanted lantern hanging above the stage, casting the space in soft crimson. Empty rows of plush seating loomed around them. Dust motes danced through the still air.

And then—

A flash of movement. The sound of clapping hands.

“Bravo! Bravo! I knew you two had flair.”

The voice was crisp, high-pitched, and somehow richer than any wine they served above the Plaza. It belonged to a halfling no taller than Elira’s chest, now center-stage and juggling five wickedly curved blades. Each blade glinted with spell-etched runes and glimmering bloodstones along the hilt.

Tovik Redmire, known to bards and bailiffs alike as Tovi the Vanished, gave an extravagant bow mid-juggle, then caught each blade in turn with the easy grace of a born liar.

He wore a performer’s jacket sewn from mismatched silks, a sash of peacock feathers, and a cravat so loud it should have counted as a war crime.

“My stars, you're taller than I imagined. Especially you, Vaelin. Do you loom naturally or is it a choice?”

Vaelin did not reply.

Tovi clicked his tongue. “No banter? A shame. Still, I’ll take brooding silence over breathless adoration. More room for me to shine.”

Elira crossed her arms. “Tovi.”

He brightened. “Elira. Lovely as your threat profile implied. I must say, I adore that you’re both punctual. I hate wasting charm on the absent.”

Vaelin finally stepped forward. “You said you had information.”

“I said I had secrets. Information implies something boring. This? This is thrilling.”

Tovi vaulted from the stage with the nimbleness of a cat half his height and twice as smug. He landed before them, unafraid, and handed Elira a velvet envelope sealed with wax shaped like a snarling mask.

“This is the list,” he said. “Three targets. Ambassador Kreel of Varnhold Reach. High Priestess Mereth of the Ashen Temple. Dwarven Guildmaster Stonehand. All attending tomorrow’s ball.”

“Who’s behind it?” Vaelin asked.

“The Cindress Veil,” Tovi said, shrugging. “Or so they call themselves. Cult of assassins. Masks on their faces, poetry on their daggers. Very dramatic. They used to take contracts only on eclipse nights, but these days they’re less picky. Gold over tradition, and all that.”

“And you?” Elira asked.

Tovi’s smile faded just a little. “I used to belong to the court that hired them. House Drelmore. Before it imploded in an unfortunate… banquet incident.”

“You mean when everyone at the table died,” Vaelin said.

“Except me.” He winked. “And that’s the problem.”

He held up his right hand. Faint along his wrist, a brand shimmered—a spiraling mark shaped like a laced veil.

“They marked me for death. That’s what the Veil does when it gets annoyed. Now I want to return the favor. And perhaps steal their wine.”

Elira took the envelope and tucked it into her sleeve. “You’re playing your own game.”

“Always. But the enemy of your assassin is your flamboyant asset.”

“You sure you’re not just trying to stay alive?” Vaelin asked.

Tovi gave a theatrical gasp. “Of course I am. But that doesn’t mean I won’t make it fun.”

He turned on his heel, walking backwards toward the stage.

“Meet me tomorrow at the House of Falling Stars. I’ll dress you properly. You’ll need new masks and believable aliases.”

He grinned. “And I need a bath. Possibly a heist.”

He vanished into the wings with a flourish, his voice echoing behind him.

“I adore you both already. Don’t die without me.”

Silence followed.

Vaelin finally exhaled. “He’s going to be a problem.”

Elira smiled faintly. “Yes. But he might be our kind of problem.”

Outside, the bells of the temple towers began to toll midnight.

And the masks of Verashtel stirred, eager to dance.

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All Parts of the Series

Shadows In Velvet Part 1

Shadows In Velvet Part 2

Shadows In Velvet Part 3

Shadows In Velvet Part 4

Shadows In Velvet Part 5