Shadows in Velvet - Part 3

Rain traced the curved windows of the Skyglass Hall in thin silver lines, casting wavering shadows over the ballroom’s polished floor. Outside, Verashtel’s highest spire moaned faintly in the wind, but inside, the laughter was too loud, the music too sharp, and the masks far too fixed. Danger lingered beneath the perfume and poise.

Tovi Redmire leaned on the rail of the eastern mezzanine, flipping a silver coin through his fingers. He wasn’t watching the dancers below. He was watching the reflections in the glass. More honest than faces. More fragile than lies.

“You see it too, don’t you?” he murmured.

Beside him, Elira narrowed her eyes at the mirrored pillar that ran from floor to ceiling. She tilted her head, and the reflection flickered twice. Too slow. Not a trick of light. Not shadow. Surveillance spell.

“I see it,” she said. “The Veil’s not just watching. They’re listening.”

Tovi tutted softly. “Rude.”

Vaelin stepped from the stairwell behind them, moving with the quiet certainty of someone who expected the walls to be watching—and planned to burn them down anyway.

“We have a problem,” he said.

“Only one?” Tovi drawled. “Darling, I’m disappointed.”

Vaelin ignored the jibe. “Stonehand is here. Masked as a jeweler. Carries a servant’s tray. He’s speaking to Mereth.”

Elira’s jaw tightened. “Then he’s moving early, too.”

Stonehand was their third target, and the most dangerous. Guildmaster of the Forged Circle, rumored to wield blood-chiseled sigils that bound metal and bone alike. If the Veil turned him, or if he turned them, things would unravel fast.

Tovi spun his coin again. It vanished mid-air. “Then it’s time I told you a secret.”

Both Vaelin and Elira turned to him.

“Stonehand and I… have history.”

“What kind of history?” Vaelin asked.

“The dramatic kind. He once tried to kill me with a music box. I once trapped him inside a mirror for two weeks. You know. Typical lover’s spat.”

Vaelin stared. “You were lovers?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Tovi said with a grin. “I just seduced him to steal an artifact. And maybe also because he had great hands.”

Elira pinched the bridge of her nose. “Focus, Tovi.”

“I am focused. Intensely. Which is why I suggest we go dancing.”

“Dancing?” Vaelin repeated.

“Dancing,” Tovi confirmed, already twirling. “Because this is a ball, and Mereth just activated a death glyph in her sleeve. Watch.”

Elira turned just in time to see the Priestess raise a gloved hand toward the ambassador again. Something shimmered faintly around her wrist, a twisting symbol of unmaking.

Tovi grabbed Elira’s hand. “You’re the bait. I’m the distraction. Vaelin, be the sharp end.”

Before either could object, Tovi swept Elira onto the dance floor.

She followed his lead only because to resist would have drawn more attention. His movements were graceful, disarming. He smiled too much. Spoke too loudly. Every spin brought her closer to another noble, every flourish exposed a hidden dagger, or an arcane sigil sewn into silk, or a whispered betrayal exchanged under breath.

“I count six glyph-bound guests,” Tovi murmured. “Three from Kireth, one from the Ice Collegium, and two who shouldn’t be able to stand given their age and very suspicious vigor.”

“You’re saying they’re enchanted?”

“I’m saying half this room is cursed,” he replied lightly. “And if I were a betting halfling, and I am, I’d say Stonehand’s the anchor.”

Elira used the spin of the dance to scan the floor. Stonehand—heavyset, grey-bearded, eyes hidden behind a clockwork mask, was speaking with Mereth. Their gestures were subtle, masked as courtesy. But the energy around them buzzed, wrong and unbalanced.

Then Vaelin appeared.

He did not dance.

He walked straight up to Stonehand, bowed low, and said, “You dropped something.”

Stonehand blinked. “I did?”

“Yes. Your intentions.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then chaos.

Stonehand flicked a ring, an old, worn band crusted with iron. The glyphs on it flared crimson. A burst of concussive energy rippled outward, slamming into Vaelin, who twisted midair and rolled to his feet before impact.

Elira broke from Tovi and surged forward, hand crackling with shadow-light.

Mereth hissed and vanished in a blur of dust and silk.

Tovi didn’t flinch. “And I thought I was the drama.”

Stonehand snarled, twisting his ring again, only for his hand to stop mid-motion.

Vaelin held it fast, a blade already pressed to the guildmaster’s ribs.

“Say the word,” he said to Elira.

But she shook her head. “We’re not killing him yet.”

Instead, she raised her hand and murmured a phrase in the old tongue. The glyphs around Stonehand’s chest ignited, then froze, inverted, and shattered like ice under strain.

He crumpled, unconscious, spells bleeding into the marble floor.

A noble screamed.

The music stopped.

Guards rushed toward them, but paused when Tovi raised his hands.

“False alarm!” he called brightly. “My cousin always faints when complimented by masked men. Poor dear. So shy.”

The nobles muttered. The guards hesitated.

Tovi leaned down to whisper in Stonehand’s ear.

“I win again. You owe me two mirrors and a night I’ll pretend never happened.”

Then, to Elira and Vaelin: “We need to go.”

They moved fast, out a servant’s hallway, past the velvet curtain into the hollow shaft of the tower.

Once alone, Elira exhaled.

“Tovi,” she said slowly, “what else are you keeping from us?”

He turned, twirling the now-familiar silver coin.

“Only what I haven’t decided yet.”

“Why’d you help us stop the assassination?” Vaelin asked.

“Because if anyone’s going to be stabbed tonight,” Tovi said with a wink, “it should be me.”

Then he bowed, dramatic and precise, and disappeared into a shadow-laced corridor, leaving only laughter behind.

___________________________________________________

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