The Gentleman's Agony

On the second day of their recovery, Madame Thorne brought news that changed everything.

"The Chancellor has moved up his coronation," she announced, entering their room without knocking. "It's happening in five days, not two weeks."

"Five days?" Elara sat up, wincing at the movement. "Why?"

"Because he knows you have evidence against him, and he wants to consolidate his power before you can use it. Once he's crowned King, it'll be much harder to challenge his legitimacy."

"Then we move now," Silas said, trying to stand. His body protested violently, and he collapsed back onto the bed. "We can't wait three days."

"You can barely walk," Madame Thorne pointed out. "How do you expect to take on the Chancellor?"

"I'll manage."

"You'll die. And then the Princess will die, because the bond will kill her when you go." Madame Thorne's voice was harsh but not unkind. "I understand the urgency, but suicide isn't a strategy."

"Then what do you suggest?" Elara asked.

"We accelerate the timeline. Instead of building a comprehensive case, we focus on the most damning evidence and present it to Duke Ravencroft immediately. If we can convince him to stand against the Chancellor, other nobles might follow."

"Will he listen?" Silas asked.

"Maybe. He's old-fashioned and believes in the sanctity of the royal bloodline. If we can prove that the Chancellor is a traitor, he might be willing to act."

"And if he won't?"

"Then we're out of options." Madame Thorne pulled out a small vial of clear liquid. "This is a stimulant. It'll give you enough strength to move for a few hours, but the cost will be significant. You'll be even worse off afterward."

"I'll take it," Silas said immediately.

"Silas, no." Elara grabbed his arm. "You're already barely holding together. If you push yourself further—"

"We don't have a choice. The Chancellor is going to be crowned in five days. If we don't stop him now, we never will."

"But—"

"Elara." Silas turned to look at her, and through the bond, he let her feel his determination. "I've spent fifteen years surviving. I'm tired of just surviving. I want to actually do something that matters. Even if it kills me."

She stared at him for a long moment, and he felt her emotions warring through the bond—fear for his safety, frustration at their situation, and underneath it all, understanding.

"All right," she said finally. "But I'm coming with you. We're partners, remember?"

"You're still recovering from magical depletion."

"So are you. If you can push through it, so can I."

Madame Thorne looked between them and sighed. "You're both insane. But I suppose that's what it takes to challenge a Chancellor." She handed Silas the vial. "Drink half now, save the rest for later. And be careful—the stimulant will mask your pain, but it won't heal your injuries. You'll still be damaged, you just won't feel it."

Silas drank half the vial, and within seconds, he felt strength flooding back into his limbs. The pain receded, his vision cleared, and his body responded to his commands with something approaching normal function.

It was a lie, of course. His ribs were still broken, his spine was still fractured, his arm was still damaged. But for a few hours, he could pretend to be whole.

"How do I look?" he asked Elara.

"Like someone who's about to do something incredibly stupid," she replied. "So, normal."

Despite everything, Silas smiled.

They spent the next hour preparing. Madame Thorne provided them with fresh disguises—Silas in the clothes of a merchant's clerk, Elara in a simple dress that made her look like a governess. The documents were organized into a leather portfolio that looked official and important.

"Duke Ravencroft's estate is in the Noble Quarter," Madame Thorne said, marking a location on a map. "He's hosting a small gathering this afternoon—just close friends and family. If you can get inside, you might be able to speak with him privately."

"How do we get inside?" Elara asked.

"I have an invitation. Or rather, I have someone who has an invitation and owes me a favor. She'll get you in, but after that, you're on your own."

"Who is she?"

"Lady Ashford's personal secretary. She's sympathetic to your cause, and she's willing to help. But she's taking a significant risk, so don't waste the opportunity."

They left the boarding house through a back entrance, moving carefully through the city. The stimulant was working—Silas could walk without limping, could move without obvious pain. But he could feel the damage underneath, waiting to reassert itself once the drug wore off.

The Noble Quarter was even more heavily guarded than before. Checkpoints had been set up on every major street, and guards were stopping anyone who looked suspicious. Silas and Elara kept their heads down and their movements casual, just two ordinary people going about their business.

Lady Ashford's secretary met them three blocks from Duke Ravencroft's estate. She was a woman in her forties, with sharp eyes and the kind of face that suggested she didn't suffer fools.

"You're late," she said without preamble.

"We had to avoid several guard patrols," Silas replied.

"Fair enough. Come on, the gathering starts in twenty minutes." She handed them each a small pin—a silver rose, the symbol of Duke Ravencroft's house. "Wear these. They'll identify you as invited guests. And for gods' sake, try to look like you belong."

They followed her through the streets, and Silas marveled at how easily she navigated the checkpoints. A word here, a smile there, and the guards waved them through without question.

"You're good at this," he observed.

"I've been Lady Ashford's secretary for fifteen years. I've learned a few things about moving through the Noble Quarter without attracting attention." She glanced at him. "You're the Proxy everyone's looking for, aren't you? Silas Vane."

"Yes."

"And you're really bonded to the Princess? Not controlling her with blood magic?"

"Really bonded. The blood magic accusation is the Chancellor's invention."

"I thought so. The Chancellor has always been a liar." She stopped at a corner and pointed to a large mansion at the end of the street. "That's Duke Ravencroft's estate. The gathering is in the garden. I'll get you inside, but after that, you're on your own. Find the Duke, present your evidence, and pray he listens."

"Thank you," Elara said. "You're taking a significant risk to help us."

"I know. But Lady Ashford believes in you, and I trust her judgment." The secretary smiled slightly. "Besides, I had a brother who was a Proxy. He died five years ago, worked to death by an aristocrat who didn't care. If you can change the system that killed him, it's worth the risk."

They approached the estate, and the secretary presented their invitation to the guards at the gate. The guards examined the pins, checked a list, and waved them through.

The garden was beautiful—manicured lawns, flowering trees, a fountain that sparkled in the afternoon sun. About thirty people were scattered across the space, all of them dressed in the expensive casual wear that aristocrats favored for informal gatherings.

"There," Elara whispered, pointing to an older man standing near the fountain. "That's Duke Ravencroft."

The Duke was in his seventies, with white hair and the kind of bearing that suggested he'd been important for so long that he'd forgotten how to be anything else. He was talking to a small group of nobles, his voice carrying across the garden.

"How do we approach him?" Silas asked.

"Carefully. We can't just walk up and start talking about treason in front of witnesses." Elara studied the garden, looking for opportunities. "We need to get him alone."

They circulated through the gathering, staying on the edges, watching for an opening. Silas felt exposed—every guard, every noble, every servant was a potential threat. The stimulant was keeping him functional, but he could feel his body starting to protest, the drug's effects beginning to wear off.

After twenty minutes, Duke Ravencroft excused himself from his conversation and walked toward a small gazebo at the far end of the garden. He was alone, and this was their chance.

Silas and Elara moved quickly, intercepting him before he reached the gazebo.

"Duke Ravencroft," Elara said, her voice low but clear. "I need to speak with you. It's urgent."

The Duke turned, and his eyes widened when he recognized her. "Princess Elara? But you're—the Chancellor said you were—"

"The Chancellor lied," Elara interrupted. "About me, about Silas, about everything. And I have proof."

The Duke looked around nervously, checking to see if anyone was watching. "This is highly irregular, Your Highness. If the Chancellor finds out I spoke with you—"

"Then he'll know you're loyal to the crown instead of to him," Silas said. "Your Grace, we have evidence that the Chancellor is a traitor. He funded the Red Hand, he's been abusing Proxies for years, and he's planning to seize the throne through illegal means. We need your help to stop him."

"Evidence? What evidence?"

Silas pulled out the portfolio and opened it, showing the Duke the financial records, the letters, the journal. "This is all from the Chancellor's private safe. It documents his crimes in his own hand."

The Duke took the documents and read them carefully, his expression growing more troubled with each page. When he finished, he looked up at them with something that might have been horror.

"This is... this is monstrous. If this is real—"

"It's real," Elara said. "I was there when we took it from his office. Every word is true."

"But the Chancellor said you were under magical compulsion. That this Proxy was controlling you."

"I'm not under compulsion. I'm bonded to Silas, yes, but it's a partnership, not control. He saved my life during the bombing, and we've been working together ever since."

The Duke studied them both, his eyes sharp and assessing. "The bond between you—it's different from a standard Proxy bond, isn't it?"

"Yes," Silas said. "It's mutual. We share the costs of magic equally, and we can feel each other's emotions. It's not the exploitative relationship that the Chancellor wants everyone to believe."

"Remarkable." The Duke handed back the documents. "Your Highness, if what you're saying is true, then the Chancellor is guilty of high treason. But proving it will be difficult. He has the support of most of the nobility, and he controls the courts."

"That's why we need your help," Elara said. "You're respected, influential, and loyal to the crown. If you stand with us, other nobles will follow."

"And if I don't?"

"Then the Chancellor will be crowned King in five days, and everything my father built will be destroyed."

The Duke was quiet for a long moment, weighing his options. Through the bond, Silas felt Elara's hope and fear, her desperate need for the Duke to say yes.

Finally, the Duke nodded. "All right. I'll help you. But we need to be strategic about this. The Chancellor has eyes everywhere, and if he learns that I'm working against him, he'll move to neutralize me."

"What do you suggest?" Silas asked.

"We need to gather more allies. Lady Ashford, Lord Pemberton, General Blackwood—anyone who might be sympathetic to your cause. And we need to present the evidence in a way that the Chancellor can't dismiss or suppress."

"The coronation ceremony," Elara said suddenly. "We present the evidence during the coronation. In front of the entire court, where the Chancellor can't silence us."

"That's incredibly risky," the Duke said. "The Chancellor will have guards everywhere. You'll be walking into a trap."

"Maybe. But it's also our best chance. If we can expose him in front of the entire nobility, he won't be able to maintain his lies."

The Duke considered this. "It could work. But you'll need support. Guards loyal to the crown, nobles willing to stand with you, a plan for what happens after the Chancellor is exposed."

"Can you provide that?" Silas asked.

"I can try. Give me three days to make arrangements. And in the meantime, stay hidden. The Chancellor is getting desperate, and desperate men are dangerous."

"We will," Elara promised. "Thank you, Your Grace. You're saving the kingdom."

"I hope so, Your Highness. Because if this goes wrong, we'll all be executed for treason."

They left the garden the same way they'd entered, following Lady Ashford's secretary back through the Noble Quarter. Silas could feel the stimulant wearing off, his body's protests growing louder with each step.

They were two blocks from Madame Thorne's boarding house when the guards found them.

"There! That's them!"

Silas turned and saw six guards running toward them, weapons drawn. Behind them, more guards were emerging from side streets, cutting off their escape routes.

"Run," Silas said, grabbing Elara's hand.

They ran, but Silas's body was failing. The stimulant was gone, and the full weight of his injuries was crashing down on him. His ribs screamed with every breath, his spine sent jolts of agony through his entire body, his legs threatened to give out with every step.

Through the bond, he felt Elara experiencing the same thing—not as intensely, but enough to slow her down, to make her stumble.

They weren't going to make it.

The guards were closing in, and Silas could see more of them ahead, blocking the street. They were surrounded, trapped, with no way out.

"Silas," Elara gasped. "What do we do?"

He looked around, calculating odds and options. They couldn't fight—there were too many guards, and they were both too injured. They couldn't run—the guards were faster and had them surrounded.

Which left only one option.

"Hold on to me," Silas said. "And whatever happens, don't let go."

"What are you going to do?"

"Something stupid."

He reached through the bond and pulled, accessing Elara's magical potential. And then he cast a spell—not a small one, not a careful one, but a massive burst of force that knocked every guard within fifty feet off their feet.

The cost was catastrophic.

Silas felt his bones shatter, felt his organs rupture, felt his nervous system overload and shut down. And through the bond, he felt Elara experiencing the same thing, her body breaking in sympathy with his.

They both collapsed, and the world went dark.

The last thing Silas felt before consciousness left him was Elara's hand in his, and the bond between them, holding them together even as everything else fell apart.

And then there was nothing.

*

End of Chapter 8