Chapter 27
title: "Blood and Blackmail" wordCount: 2728
Lady Ashren's face went white when she saw what Caelan was holding, and he knew he would not need to kill her after all.
The ledger was small, bound in green leather that had cost more than most families in the Narrows earned in a year. Caelan set it on her desk with deliberate care, watching her eyes track the movement like a rabbit watching a hawk's shadow.
"Where did you get that?" Her voice had gone thin.
"Does it matter?" Caelan pulled out the chair across from her without being invited and sat. His hands were steady despite the tremor that had started in his left leg that morning. "I think we both know what's inside."
Lady Ashren's sitting room was all cream silk and gold filigree, the kind of tasteful wealth that whispered rather than shouted. Through the windows, Caelan could see her gardens—imported roses from the Southern Provinces, a fountain with water that ran clear and cold. The Narrows had three public wells, and two of them ran brown.
"I don't know what you think you've found, but—"
"Forty-three thousand marks." Caelan opened the ledger to a page he'd marked with a strip of torn cloth. "Allocated for grain shipments to the Occupied Kingdoms after the drought. Except the grain never arrived, did it?"
She was good. Her face barely moved. "There were complications with the supply chain. Bandits on the—"
"There were no bandits." Caelan turned another page. "There was no grain. You took the money and invested it in a textile operation in Vael. Very clever, actually. The returns were excellent."
Lady Ashren's fingers curled around the arms of her chair. She wore rings on every finger, emeralds and sapphires that caught the afternoon light. Caelan's mother had owned one ring, a thin band of silver she'd sold three months before she died.
"Even if what you're suggesting were true," Lady Ashren said, "you have no proof that would stand in any court."
"I am not interested in courts."
The words came out flat. Caelan stood and walked to her window, looking out at the roses. Behind him, he heard her shift in her chair.
"What do you want?"
"Your support." He turned back to face her. "Public endorsement of the reforms I'm proposing. Your voice carries weight with the merchant houses."
"And if I refuse?"
Caelan smiled. It felt like pulling on a mask. "Then I'll make sure every family who lost someone in the Occupied Kingdoms knows exactly where their relief money went. I'll have copies of this ledger posted in every square from here to the docks. Your name will be synonymous with theft and murder."
"You wouldn't dare." But her voice shook.
"Let me be clear." Caelan moved closer, and she pressed back in her chair. "I have watched children starve while you wore their food on your fingers. I have nothing left to lose, and you have everything. So yes, Lady Ashren. I would dare."
She stared at him for a long moment. Then her shoulders sagged. "What exactly do you want me to say?"
Victory tasted like copper. Caelan pulled a folded paper from his jacket. "I've written a statement. You'll read it at the Council meeting in two days. You'll—"
"Two days?" Lady Ashren's head snapped up. "I thought the demonstration was scheduled for three days from now."
"Plans change." The lie came easily. Caelan's leg was shaking harder now. He locked his knee to stop it. "You'll read the statement, and you'll vote in favor of the redistribution proposal. After that, we're done."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
Lady Ashren took the paper with trembling fingers. She read it once, then again. "This will ruin me with half the Council."
"You'll survive." Caelan turned toward the door. "The people you stole from did not."
"Wait."
He paused, hand on the doorframe.
"You're not what I expected," Lady Ashren said quietly. "Venn said you were idealistic. Naive. But this—" She gestured at the ledger. "This is just extortion."
"The water remembers." Caelan looked back at her. "Every debt. Every theft. Every body that washed up on the banks of the Kael after your drought profiteering. I'm just helping it collect."
He left before she could respond.
The hallway was too bright. Caelan blinked against the light streaming through the tall windows, each one showing a different angle of Lady Ashren's perfect gardens. His vision blurred at the edges.
Just need to make it outside. Just need to—
"My lord?"
A servant appeared at his elbow, young and nervous. Caelan waved him off.
"I can find my own way."
"Of course, my lord. But Lady Ashren wanted me to ensure you had refreshment before—"
"I said no."
The servant stepped back. Caelan forced himself to walk normally, to keep his spine straight and his steps measured. The front door was twenty paces away. Fifteen. Ten.
His hand closed on the brass handle and he pulled.
The afternoon air hit him like a fist. Too hot. Too bright. The street swam in front of him, cobblestones rippling like water. Caelan made it down the steps and around the corner into an alley before his legs gave out.
He hit the ground hard, palms scraping on stone. The tremor in his leg had spread to his whole body now, muscles jerking in rhythms he couldn't control. His stomach heaved.
Blood hit the cobblestones in a dark splash.
Not now. Not here.
But his body wasn't listening. Caelan retched again, bringing up more blood, and the world tilted sideways. The alley walls pressed in. He could hear water rushing, could feel it closing over his head, cold and dark and—
"Mama?"
The word came out in a child's voice. His voice, from twenty years ago. Caelan tried to push himself up but his arms wouldn't hold him.
The water was rising. It lapped at his knees, his waist, his chest. He could see her ahead of him, her dark hair spreading like ink in the current. She wasn't struggling. She'd stopped struggling.
"Mama, please."
But she was sinking, and his legs wouldn't move. He was frozen, watching her slip under, watching the water close over her face. The silver comb in her hair caught the light one last time before it disappeared.
Someone was screaming. It might have been him.
"Mister?"
The voice was small and real and close. Caelan's eyes snapped open. The water was gone. He was lying in an alley, blood pooling under his cheek, and a girl was crouched three feet away.
She couldn't have been more than eight. Bare feet, dress that had been mended so many times the original fabric was hard to identify. She had a smudge of dirt on her nose and eyes that had seen too much.
"You're bleeding," she said.
Caelan tried to speak. His throat was raw. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine." She tilted her head. "You look like my da did before he died."
"Comforting." Caelan managed to get one arm under himself. The world spun but stayed mostly solid. "You should go."
"Should I get help?"
"No." The word came out too sharp. Caelan softened his tone. "No. I just need a moment."
The girl didn't move. She was studying him with the kind of careful attention that came from a life spent reading danger in adult faces.
"You're him, aren't you?" she said. "The bastard prince. The one who's going to fix everything."
Caelan laughed. It hurt. "Is that what they're saying?"
"My ma says you're going to make the nobles pay for what they done. Says you're going to give us back what they stole." The girl's voice was matter-of-fact, reporting information without judgment. "Are you?"
"I'm trying."
"Trying's not the same as doing."
"No." Caelan got his other arm under himself and pushed up to his knees. His vision grayed out for a moment, then cleared. "No, it's not."
The girl watched him struggle to his feet. She didn't offer to help. Smart kid—knew better than to get too close to someone who might be dangerous.
"What's your name?" Caelan asked.
"Lissa."
"Well, Lissa." He leaned against the alley wall, breathing hard. "You didn't see me here. Understand?"
"Why not?"
"Because if people know I'm weak, they'll use it against me. And if they use it against me, I can't help your mother or anyone else."
Lissa considered this. "What's it worth?"
Despite everything, Caelan smiled. "You're negotiating?"
"Ma says everything's got a price."
"Your mother's right." Caelan reached into his jacket and pulled out a silver mark. It was more money than the girl had probably seen in her life. "This, and a promise."
"What promise?"
"That I'll remember you asked." He held out the coin. "When I'm sitting in some comfortable room making decisions about the Narrows, I'll remember a girl named Lissa who knew the difference between trying and doing."
Lissa took the coin. She bit it, checking if it was real, then tucked it into her dress. "You really going to remember?"
"The water remembers," Caelan said. "So do I."
She nodded, satisfied, and turned to go. Then she paused. "Mister? You should probably stop bleeding before you try to walk anywhere. Just saying."
She disappeared around the corner before Caelan could respond.
He looked down. His shirt was soaked through, dark stains spreading across the fabric. When had that happened? He pressed a hand to his side and it came away red.
Not good.
Caelan pushed off the wall and took a step. His leg held. Another step. The street at the end of the alley looked very far away.
He made it three more steps before he heard the footsteps.
"You look like death."
Thalia's voice cut through the haze. Caelan looked up to find her blocking the alley entrance, arms crossed, expression caught between anger and something that might have been concern.
"Thought you were watching the docks," he managed.
"I was. Then I heard the bastard prince was bleeding out in an alley near the merchant quarter." She moved closer, eyes scanning him with clinical precision. "Sit down before you fall down."
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding from places people shouldn't bleed from." Thalia grabbed his arm and guided him to a stack of crates. "Sit."
Caelan sat. The world tilted but Thalia's hand on his shoulder kept him upright.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Lady Ashren."
"She do this?"
"No. I did." Caelan closed his eyes. "Used blood magic to make her feel what the people she stole from felt. Hunger. Pain. All of it."
"Burn it down," Thalia muttered. "You can't keep doing this. Your body can't take it."
"I know."
"Do you?" She crouched in front of him, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Because from where I'm standing, you're killing yourself for a revolution that might not even happen."
"It will happen."
"Not if you're dead."
Caelan laughed. It turned into a cough that brought up more blood. Thalia's expression went flat.
"We're getting you to a healer."
"No." He grabbed her wrist. "No healers. They'll ask questions."
"Then what?"
"Just—give me a minute. I'll be fine."
"You keep saying that." Thalia pulled a cloth from her pocket and pressed it to his side. "You keep saying you're fine while you're literally falling apart. What's the plan here, Caelan? Bleed out in an alley after you've won? Very heroic."
"Better than being Venn's martyr."
The words slipped out before he could stop them. Thalia went still.
"What?"
"Nothing. Forget I said anything."
"No, wait—" She sat back on her heels. "You think Venn wants you to die?"
Caelan didn't answer. The the pause extended longer than comfortable between them.
"Shit," Thalia said finally. "You do. You think he's setting you up."
"I think he's playing a longer game than I understood." Caelan opened his eyes. "I think he wants me to succeed just enough to inspire people, then fail spectacularly enough to radicalize them. Dead martyrs are more useful than living revolutionaries."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Survive." He pushed himself up. The cloth fell away from his side, soaked through. "Prove him wrong."
"By bleeding to death in alleys?"
"By being more careful." Caelan took a step. His leg held. "By not using blood magic unless I have to."
"And Lady Ashren?"
"Handled. She'll support us at the Council meeting."
Thalia studied him for a long moment. "You tortured her."
It wasn't a question. Caelan didn't deny it.
"I did what was necessary."
"That's what they all say." But Thalia moved to his side, letting him lean on her. "Come on. Let's get you somewhere safe before you collapse again."
They made it to the end of the alley before Caelan's vision started to blur. He blinked hard, trying to clear it, but the edges of the world were going soft and dark.
"Thalia—"
"I've got you."
But she didn't. His legs gave out and he was falling, and the last thing he saw before the darkness took him was Thalia's face, twisted with something that looked almost like grief.
Cold water. Dark water. Water that filled his lungs and pressed against his eyes.
Caelan was ten years old and standing on the banks of the Kael, watching his mother wade in. She was wearing her best dress, the blue one she saved for festivals. The silver comb gleamed in her hair.
"Mama, what are you doing?"
She didn't answer. She kept walking, the water rising to her knees, her waist, her chest. She didn't struggle. She didn't fight.
"Mama, please!"
But his legs wouldn't move. He was frozen, rooted to the bank, watching her sink. The water closed over her head and he could see her face through the ripples, peaceful and still and gone.
He tried to scream but no sound came out. He tried to run but his feet were stone. He tried to reach for her but his arms were lead.
The water remembered. It always remembered.
Someone was shaking him. Caelan's eyes snapped open and he was back in the alley, lying on his side in a pool of his own blood. Thalia was gone. The girl—Lissa—was back, her small face pale.
"Mister? Mister, you need to wake up."
"I'm awake." His voice was a rasp.
"You were crying." She looked scared now. "And saying things. About water and your mama."
Caelan tried to sit up. His body screamed in protest but he managed it, leaning against the wall. "How long?"
"I don't know. I went to get help but when I came back the lady was gone and you were—" Lissa's voice cracked. "You were making these sounds."
"What lady?"
"The one with the short hair. She was here and then she wasn't."
Thalia. She'd left him.
No—she'd gone for help. She must have. Unless—
Unless she'd gone to report to whoever she was really working for.
Caelan's hand went to his jacket, checking for the ledger. Still there. He pulled it out and held it up to Lissa.
"Take this."
"What?"
"Take it. Hide it somewhere safe." He pressed the ledger into her hands. "If I don't come for it in three days, take it to the Council building. Give it to anyone who'll listen. Tell them it's proof Lady Ashren stole from the Occupied Kingdoms."
"I don't understand."
"You don't have to." Caelan's vision was blurring again. "Just promise me you'll do it."
Lissa clutched the ledger to her chest. "Why me?"
"Because you know the difference between trying and doing." He managed a smile. "And because I think you're the only person in this whole damn city I can trust."
The girl stared at him for a long moment. Then she nodded and tucked the ledger under her dress, next to the silver mark.
"Three days," she said.
"Three days."
She turned to go, then looked back. "Should I get help now?"
"No." Caelan closed his eyes. "Just go. Please."
He heard her footsteps, light and quick on the cobblestones. They paused at the end of the alley. Through the blood and the hallucination, Caelan heard the street child's footsteps running away, and he could not tell if she was running for help or to sell the information that the bastard prince was dying in an alley.