Chapter 40: The Grand Duke Visits a Charity (1)

"Abi," I said.

"Yes, brother?"

"Tomorrow, you need to be on your best behavior."

His grin widened.

"Define behave."

I sighed.

It looks like the lamp commission remained necessary after all.

There were people in this world who made threats feel excessive. There were also people who made threats feel like an insufficiently detailed first draft.

Abinatha Konstantin, my newly acquired brother by way of ancient lamp, soul vow, and questionable divine luck, belonged firmly to the second category.

It was not enough to tell him to behave.

One had to define behave specifically, limit the scope, clarify the exceptions, and forbid at least seven disasters that would not occur to ordinary people but would certainly occur to him.

"First of all, no floating," I began.

Abi’s expression immediately fell. I always knew he found walking inconvenient, but I’d rather not have him be branded as a ghost.

"Second, no vanishing behind people and whispering into their ears."

"That only happened once."

"Doesn’t matter. Third, No manipulating space around unsuspecting priests."

"That has not happened... yet."

"Yet is the word I am concerned about. Fourth, no threatening nobles unless I give explicit permission."

"What if they deserve it?"

"They usually do but that is not the point."

"What is the point then?"

"Control."

Abi leaned back on the sofa with an exaggerated sigh. "Human investigations are tedious." 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

"Human investigations prevent human scandals from turning into human bloodbaths."

"Would bloodbaths be so terrible?"

"Before lunch, yes. I rather like to have an appetite when it comes to eating."

He considered that, then nodded. "Fair enough."

I stared at him.

At times like this, I wondered whether the soul vow had granted me a brother or a calamity with unchecked powers.

Most likely both.

The next morning arrived beneath a pale sky and a steady drizzle. It was not heavy enough to be considered rain, merely an indecisive mist that clung to the Capital’s rooftops and made the white stone streets shine like wet bones. Such weather would have been refreshing in Sonomi, where water falling from the sky was treated with proper respect.

Here, the Capital complained.

When did it not?

These people had fountains at every corner and still lacked gratitude.

I dressed in a formal but subdued coat of dark gray with restrained gold embroidery. It was not grand enough for the palace, nor casual enough for a private visit. Appropriate for a charitable institution, therefore. One must not overdress when visiting orphaned children. It made one look like a villain.

Well.

A villain of poor taste.

There was a difference.

Abi appeared in violet again. Naturally.

The robes today were simpler than his palace attire, though only by his standards. To ordinary eyes, he still looked like an expensive prophecy had decided to develop legs. Silver thread lined the hems, shifting faintly whenever he moved.

I can’t help but wonder where he gets his clothes. He was so picky about it that I wasn’t sure if he actually commissioned our tailors for his wardrobe. Did he make it himself?

His hair was tied back with a dark ribbon, and his amethyst eyes carried the sort of brightness that made me question whether bringing him was wise.

It was not.

But leaving him behind was also unwise. At least if I brought him, the disaster remained within sight.

Mostly.

Spiro waited in the entrance hall with William. The child was dressed in a neatly tailored set that had arrived from the boutique that morning, deep blue with silver buttons and a small cloak fastened at his shoulder. He looked far more like a young master now and less like a child borrowing clothes from the ghosts of my childhood.

I was pleased at the sight. A Konstantin child should be dressed like this.

"Father," Spiro greeted with a bow.

"Good morning."

His gaze flickered toward the door. "Are you going out?"

"Yes."

"To the charity?"

I paused.

William’s face remained perfectly composed. I almost felt doubtful.

"Did someone tell you that?" I asked.

Spiro hesitated. "Sir Bernard said a letter was sent to a lady asking her to meet you at the House of Gentle Mercy."

Bernard, who had just stepped into the hall carrying a portfolio, froze.

Ah. So, we had discovered the source.

I turned toward him slowly.

Bernard paled. "Your Excellency, I only mentioned the location while confirming carriage arrangements with the steward. I did not realize the Young Master was nearby."

Spiro lowered his head. "I was reading in the side room."

Reading. This child was always reading. Either that or quietly gathering intelligence under the deeply respectable disguise of literacy.

I felt oddly proud but deeply concerned, at the same time.

"It is fine," I said at last.

Bernard looked relieved enough to age backward. I could practically see his white hair turn back to black.

Spiro, however, still looked tense. "Is that place dangerous?"

"Possibly."

"Then why are you still going?"

"Because dangerous places often hide interesting people."

"Is that why Father goes to them?"

"Sometimes."

His brows furrowed. That answer was not enough for him.

Too bad. It’s the only answer I could give him.

A child did not need the full explanation that I was going to use a noblewoman’s gratitude call to inspect a suspicious charity tied to illegal child transfers, temple-adjacent blessings, and the caravan that had nearly delivered him to death in Lorillis.

That would be poor parenting. Or rather, honest parenting. The two were not always compatible.

Spiro’s fingers tightened around the book he carried. "Can I come?"

"No."

His face fell. I expected that. It still evoked a tinge of unpleasantness.

"No," I repeated, gentler this time. "Not today."

"Because it is dangerous?"

"Because I do not yet know what kind of danger it is. It is best to be prepared for all possible circumstances."

His lips pressed together.

A good sign. He wanted to argue but knew not to.

But it was also bad sign. This meant he was used to swallowing his objections.

This child kept creating conflicting reports inside my heart. Very inconvenient.

I crouched slightly, adjusting the clasp of his cloak though it needed no adjustment. "You will stay here with William and Bernard. Continue your lessons, walk in the garden if the rain stops, and eat lunch properly."

"Yes, Father."

"Also, no asking Bernard questions until he accidentally tells you classified information."

Bernard looked stricken.

Spiro flushed. "I did not mean to."

"I know." I patted his head. "That is why you were successful."

Abi laughed. William closed his eyes very briefly, as though asking his ancestors for patience.

Spiro looked confused, then faintly pleased, then guilty about being pleased. Truly adorable.

Troubling, but adorable.

I straightened. "I will return before dinner."

His gaze lifted immediately.

"Truly?"

"Yes."

"And if delayed?"

"Just as usual, I will send word."

His shoulders eased. It was such a small reaction, but still noticeable.

One day, I would find whoever taught this child to measure safety by whether adults returned when they promised.

That day would be educational. For them, at least.

We left not long after. The carriage rolled through wet streets, past noble estates, merchant houses, and smaller chapels that had dressed themselves in banners for the founding festivities. Everywhere, the Capital buzzed with celebration. Street vendors sold sugared nuts under awnings. Children ran between puddles and priests in white and blue robes distributed little paper charms to passersby.

The empire was celebrating its own age and the crowning of its future king.

How proud.

How utterly unaware of the rot beneath its polished shoes, that their so-called future king might meet his demise even before the crown touches his head.

Abi watched the streets with interest. "Humans are cheerful despite living in such a complicated mess."

"That is because most of them do not know about the mess."

"And the ones who know?"

"They profit from it."

"What about the ones who know and do not profit?"

"They become tired."

Abi looked at me. "Are you tired?"

"Frequently."

"And yet you keep adding to your problems."

"I do not add problems. Problems are drawn to my excellence."

"That is one way of interpretation."

"It is the correct one."

He smiled but said nothing more. A rare mercy or he so thinks.

The House of Gentle Mercy stood near the inner western district, where charitable foundations, minor temple offices, and educational institutions gathered beneath the approving shadow of the palace. The building itself was lovely in the way charity buildings often were when funded by people who enjoyed being seen funding them.

White walls with blue roof tiles. A small garden. Clean windows with a stone relief above the entrance depicting a robed woman sheltering children beneath her outstretched arms.

Very touching. And also, very suspicious.

If a place worked too hard to look kind, I immediately checked for hidden locks.

Our carriage stopped before the entrance. A small group waited for us beneath the covered portico. Two administrators in modest but expensive robes, a temple cleric, three attendants, and Lady Marielle Rouvier.

She looked like an older version of Lady Evelina, perhaps in her early thirties, and with the same delicate coloring common in House Rouvier. Pale gold hair with clear blue eyes. A soft smile and dressed in the color of muted rose that looked humble at first glance and costly at second.

She was an expert in respectable presentation.

How irritating.