Chapter 5: Shadow Blades
POV: Corwyn Darke
The dungeons beneath Duskhollow Keep were older than the keep itself.
Carved from living rock generations before the first Darke raised walls above, they held the cold of centuries. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness. The torchlight made shadows dance on walls slick with moisture.
I descended alone, leaving Gareth at the top of the stairs despite his protests. Some conversations needed privacy.
[ PRISONERS: 2 ]
[ PHYSICAL STATUS: WOUNDED, STABLE ]
[ PSYCHOLOGICAL STATUS: FEARFUL, RESISTANT ]
The first cell held the assassin Gareth had hamstrung. A man in his thirties, lean and scarred, currently slumped against the wall with his leg bandaged. His eyes tracked me as I approached the bars.
"Lord Corwyn." His voice was rough. "Come to gloat?"
"Come to talk." I pulled a stool from the corner, settling outside his cell. Close enough to speak quietly, far enough that he couldn't reach through the bars. "You have a choice to make."
"Kill me. I won't betray—"
"Lord Darklyn. Yes, I know who sent you. The question isn't who, it's why and what comes next." I produced an apple from my pocket, bit into it. The crunch echoed in the stone chamber. "Would you like one? I imagine they haven't fed you yet."
He said nothing, but his eyes followed the apple.
"Here's what I know." I counted points on my fingers. "Darklyn poisoned me three weeks ago. When that failed, he sent you. Your orders were to make my death look like illness or accident—something that wouldn't attract Crown attention. With me dead, Darklyn would petition to become guardian of the 'cursed' Darke lands. Neat and legal."
The assassin's expression didn't change, but his breathing quickened.
"Here's what I don't know." I leaned forward. "How many others has Darklyn placed in my household? What's his timeline for escalation if this attempt failed? And who else in the region is he threatening or bribing?"
Silence.
I finished the apple, tossing the core into the corner. "You have two choices. Tell me everything, and I send you to King's Landing with evidence against Darklyn. You'll face justice, but you'll live—and you'll bring down the man who used you like a tool."
"And if I don't talk?"
"Then I keep you here. Comfortable enough. Fed adequately. But every few days, I ask again. And every few days you refuse, I let one small piece of information about your cooperation leak back to Darklyn's ears." I smiled without warmth. "How long do you think he'll let a potential liability live? A month? Two? Eventually he'll send someone to silence you. And unlike me, they won't be interested in conversation."
The assassin's face went pale.
[ INTIMIDATION CHECK: SUCCESSFUL ]
[ PSYCHOLOGICAL BREAK: IMMINENT ]
I let the silence stretch. Water dripped. Shadows moved. The cold seeped deeper.
"Darklyn has three more agents in your household," the assassin said finally. "Cook's assistant, a stable hand, and the new washerwoman. They're not killers—watchers only. Report on movements, schedules, vulnerabilities."
"Names?"
He gave them. I committed each to memory.
"What's his timeline?"
"The lord wanted you dead within the month. If assassination failed, he planned to manufacture evidence of treason—forged letters to crown enemies, fabricated debts. Enough to petition the king for seizure of your lands on legal grounds."
"Forged evidence. That changes things."
"Who else is he pressuring?"
"Lord Rykker of Ironwood. Lord Darklyn's been demanding increased tribute, threatening to expose some gambling debts to the Crown. Rykker's desperate—might do anything for relief."
[ INTELLIGENCE GATHERED ]
[ DARKLYN NETWORK: 3 AGENTS IDENTIFIED ]
[ DARKLYN TIMELINE: 4 WEEKS ]
[ POTENTIAL ALLY: LORD RYKKER ]
I stood, brushing dust from my clothes. "Thank you. That was... helpful."
"What happens now?"
"Now I think." I turned toward the stairs, then paused. "The other prisoner—your companion—he hasn't talked. Should I expect the same silence from him, or will he be more... cooperative?"
The assassin's laugh was bitter. "He's a true believer. Darklyn's man through and through. You'll get nothing from him but curses."
"Then he stays here. You... we'll discuss your future later. Depending on how accurate your information proves."
I climbed the stairs, leaving him in the dark.
POV: Mira Waters
The names Lord Corwyn gave her were unexpected.
Mira had suspected Dalla—the new cook's assistant was too curious, asked too many questions about schedules and routines. But Wynn the stable hand? He'd seemed so earnest. And old Mags the washerwoman had worked in the keep for years...
"That's the point," she realized. "Sleepers. Waiting to be activated."
She found Wynn first, in the stables at dawn. He was brushing down one of the horses—Lord Corwyn's usual mount—with careful, practiced strokes.
"Morning, Wynn."
He turned, smiled. "Mistress Waters. Early start?"
"Lord Corwyn's orders. Reviewing all household staff." She kept her voice casual, watching his hands. They'd stopped moving on the brush. Just for a moment. "When did you start here again?"
"Eight months ago. Just after the lady passed."
"Eight months. Long before the current crisis."
"And who hired you?"
"The old steward. Master Fennick." Wynn's smile wavered. "He... he left recently, didn't he? Family matter?"
"So I'm told."
Mira stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Wynn, I'm going to ask you something, and I need an honest answer. Lives depend on it—including yours."
His face went still. The mask slipped, just slightly.
"What does Lord Darklyn pay you for reports?"
Silence. Then, quietly: "Five silver a month. Just... just information. Who comes and goes. What the young lord does. I never—I wasn't involved with—"
"With the assassins? No. But you told them which window to use, didn't you? Which guards were lazy about night patrols?"
Wynn's shoulders sagged. "They were going to expose my father. Debts to a Pentoshi trader. My family would lose everything."
"Leverage. The oldest weapon."
"Lord Corwyn knows about you," Mira said. "About all of you. He's choosing to give you a chance. One chance. Come to the great hall at midday. Confess everything. Help us identify anyone else Darklyn has compromised." She gripped his arm. "Do this, and the lord may show mercy. Run, and you'll be hunted as a traitor."
Wynn's eyes were wet. "I never wanted anyone hurt. I just—"
"Midday, Wynn. Make the right choice."
She left him standing in the stables, hands trembling around the brush.
Two more conversations to have. Two more chances to offer.
"The young lord's approach is... unusual," she thought. "But it might actually work."
POV: Corwyn Darke
The third assassin returned to Darklyn that night.
I watched from the battlements as the rider disappeared into the darkness, carrying a simple message sealed with my signet ring. Two words: I know.
No threats. No demands. Just acknowledgment that the game had changed.
[ MESSAGE SENT: I KNOW ]
[ DARKLYN RESPONSE: PENDING ]
[ ESTIMATED ESCALATION: 72 HOURS ]
"He'll come himself next time," Gareth said, standing beside me. "Or send enough men to take the keep by force."
"He can't do either without justification. Not with the Crown watching." I turned from the view, pulling my cloak tighter against the wind. "Darklyn's strength was plausible deniability. Accidents happen. Young lords die of mysterious illnesses. Now he knows I've captured his assassins, have their confessions, can prove his involvement if pushed."
"So he's trapped?"
"He's delayed. There's a difference." I started down the stairs, Gareth following. "A smart man would negotiate. Offer genuine friendship in exchange for silence. But Darklyn isn't smart—he's ambitious. He'll double down, find some other angle of attack."
"What angle?"
"Legal probably. Forged evidence, manufactured debts, accusations of treason. Things that require a trial rather than an assassin's blade." We reached the courtyard. Guards moved past on patrol, torchlight flickering off their spears. "Which gives me time to prepare a defense."
"And what defense is that?"
I smiled grimly. "Allies. Resources. A domain too valuable to destroy and too strong to take easily. If Darklyn wants Duskhollow, I'll make sure the cost of claiming it exceeds the value of having it."
Gareth was quiet for a moment. Then: "The iron deposits."
"Among other things." I clapped him on the shoulder—a gesture that surprised us both. "Get some sleep, Ser Gareth. Tomorrow we start building in earnest."
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