Three messengers arrived at dawn: one from the capital, one from House Fenn, and one with no seal at all.
Caelan watched from his chamber window as they approached the manor gates.
The capital messenger rode a handsome chestnut stallion with the royal crest emblazoned on its saddle.
The Fenn courier's mount bore green and gold trappings that caught the early morning light.
But it was the third rider who drew Caelan's attention most, dressed in nondescript grey, riding a plain horse with no distinguishing features.
"Interesting," he murmured as Aldric entered the room with his morning tea.
"Visitors, my lord?"
The old servant joined him at the window, his weathered face tightening at the sight of the Fenn colours.
"Messages, it seems. And from varied sources."
Caelan sipped the bitter herbal brew that had become part of his morning ritual.
Five days had passed since their discovery at the Moonlit Crescent temple, five days of studying Elias Verne's journals and practising the basic forms of both Nullcraft and the unfamiliar divine techniques associated with Goddess Osyra.
His body remained frustratingly weak, but his mind had never been sharper.
Marcus Chen's cold analytical abilities combined with Caelan Albrecht's growing magical awareness created something neither man had possessed alone.
"Shall I receive them, my lord?" Aldric asked.
"Yes. Bring their messages to the study. I'll play the sickly heir for our visitors."
By the time the messengers were escorted in, Caelan had transformed.
Gone was the focused practitioner of Nullcraft and divine magic, replaced by the pale nobleman barely able to stay upright in his chair.
A blanket covered his legs despite the mild morning, and he made sure his hands trembled slightly as he received each sealed parchment.
"My thanks," he told the messengers, his voice deliberately weak.
"Aldric will see that you're fed before your journeys back."
After they departed, Caelan's posture straightened.
He examined the seals on each message—the royal crest stamped in gold wax, House Fenn's falcon pressed into green, and the third bearing no seal at all, merely a plain blob of black wax with a tiny crescent impression visible only when held at a certain angle.
"Which shall we open first, my lord?" Aldric asked, returning after settling the messengers in the kitchen.
"The one from House Fenn. Best to know what new threats our enemies deliver."
Breaking the green seal, Caelan unfolded the parchment. His eyes narrowed as he read.
"Lord Vaeron demands immediate payment of half the tribute amount—one hundred and fifty gold sovereigns," he said.
"He claims it as a 'show of good faith' before our agreed meeting."
"A trap," Aldric observed.
"You don't have that sum, and he knows it."
"Of course. He wants me to fail."
Caelan set the message aside.
"He writes that his men will arrive in three days to collect. Hardly enough time to gather such funds, even if we had them."
"And the royal message?"
Caelan broke the golden seal and scanned the contents, his expression growing more troubled.
"A summons to the capital. The King is convening all noble houses in two weeks for what they're calling a 'Conclave of Unity.' Attendance is mandatory, with severe penalties for any house that fails to appear."
"This is unprecedented," Aldric said, his voice hushed.
"The king rarely involves himself directly in the affairs of noble houses."
"House Fenn's work, no doubt," Caelan mused.
"They want me out of the manor, forced to show myself publicly as the weak heir everyone expects."
"Or they plan to finish what they started with your father," Aldric suggested darkly.
"A royal conclave would provide perfect cover for an 'accident.'"
Caelan nodded grimly, reaching for the third message.
Breaking the simple black seal, he unfolded the parchment and found only a few lines of elegant script:
"The Shrouded Bazaar convenes on the night of the new moon. Your presence has been requested. The bearer of this message will provide directions if you attach a silver coin to this parchment and return it unsealed."
Caelan read it twice, then handed it to Aldric.
"Have you heard of this 'Shrouded Bazaar'?"
The old servant's eyes widened as he read the message.
"Yes, my lord, though it's not spoken of in polite company."
"What is it?"
"A gathering of... specialists. Those who deal in secrets, rare items, and sometimes death.
A neutral ground where contracts are made, information exchanged, and unusual goods traded." Aldric hesitated.
"Your father would never have associated with such a place."
"I'm not my father," Caelan said quietly.
"And House Albrecht can no longer afford the luxury of pristine honour."
He leaned back, considering the implications of all three messages. House Fenn pressing for money he didn't have.
The crown demanded his presence at a gathering where he would be exposed and vulnerable. And now this mysterious invitation to a den of assassins and spies.
Threads of conspiracy, all pulling in different directions—yet somehow connected.
"We need to move quickly," he decided.
"First, the Fenn demand. We can't pay what we don't have, but we can delay. Draft a response indicating that I've dispatched agents to gather the funds from outlying Albrecht properties."
"A lie they'll soon discover," Aldric pointed out.
"A delay we need," Caelan countered.
"Next, this royal summons... this may actually work to our advantage.
The capital will be full of nobles, their attention focused on the conclave. Perfect cover for other activities."
"And the Shrouded Bazaar invitation?"
Caelan tapped the black-sealed message. "This is unexpected, but potentially valuable.
If House Fenn has allied with the Eclipsed Order, we need our own allies—even unsavoury ones."
"You mean to attend?" Aldric looked concerned.
"Such gatherings are dangerous, my lord. Especially for someone in your... condition."
"The Raven's Ghost will attend," Caelan corrected with a cold smile.
"Not the sickly heir."
"But who would invite you? The attack at Blackthorn Keep has spawned rumours, certainly, but for someone to connect those events to House Albrecht directly..."
"Someone who pays attention," Caelan said.
"Someone who sees value in what I've become. Or perhaps someone working for the Eclipsed Order, setting a trap."
"All the more reason to decline."
"All the more reason to prepare carefully," Caelan countered.
"Knowledge is survival, Aldric. The Bazaar may offer information we can't get elsewhere—about House Fenn, about the Eclipsed Order, about the Black Seraph."
Aldric's expression remained troubled, but he nodded slowly.
"What would you have me do, my lord?"
"First, attach a silver coin to this message and return it to the grey messenger. Then bring me Elias Verne's journals.
If I'm to navigate these dangers, I need to understand them better."
As Aldric left to carry out his instructions, Caelan spread the three messages on the desk before him.
Each represented both threat and opportunity. Each pulled him in a different direction.
House Fenn wanted him bankrupt and powerless.
The crown—manipulated by Fenn, no doubt—wanted him exposed.
And whoever had sent the Bazaar invitation wanted... what?
His skills?
His family name?
His connection to the Black Seraph?
The scholar's warning echoed in his mind: "They know you've awakened. They're coming."
Perhaps they were already here, watching from shadows, waiting to see how he would respond to these new pressures.
Caelan spent the afternoon studying Elias Verne's journals, searching for any mention of the Shrouded Bazaar or connections between the Eclipsed Order and noble houses.
The scholar's notes were extensive but frustratingly cryptic, filled with references to sources Caelan didn't have access to and people he'd never heard of.
One entry, however, caught his attention:
"The Order operates through proxies in three spheres: nobility, clergy, and criminal enterprises. Each cell knows only its immediate contacts. But all paths lead eventually to the Crescent Chamber, where the Serene Thirteen gather. I've identified two members: Lady V------- of House F----, whose family rose suddenly four generations ago, and Master D------, who controls half the assassins' contracts in the southern provinces."
House Fenn, it had to be. And this Master D—perhaps the very person who had sent the Bazaar invitation?
When Aldric returned that evening, he brought surprising news.
"The messenger accepted the coin, my lord. He said to tell you that a guide will come three nights hence, when the moon is darkest. You're to go alone to the western crossroads and wait."
"Did he say anything else?"
"Only that you should bring proof of your deed at Blackthorn Keep." Aldric hesitated.
"There's something else you should know, my lord. About the Shrouded Bazaar."
Caelan looked up from the journals.
"You're familiar with it?"
"More than I should be," the old servant admitted, his eyes downcast.
"Before I entered service with House Albrecht, I... had other associations. Your grandfather saved me from a hanging, truth be told. Gave me a new life, a purpose beyond mere survival."
This was unexpected. Caelan studied the servant with new interest.
"You were a criminal?"
"I was a broker of information," Aldric said carefully.
"I knew people who knew people. Sometimes those people did terrible things. I never killed anyone myself, but my words sometimes led to deaths."
"And you attended these Bazaars?"
"Three times, in my youth. That was forty years ago, but such institutions change slowly. I still remember the protocols, the unspoken rules."
Aldric straightened his shoulders. "If you insist on attending, my lord, you'll need proper guidance."
Caelan smiled—a genuine expression that softened his normally calculating features. "It seems everyone has secrets, Aldric. I'm glad yours might prove useful."
"The Bazaar operates under strict neutrality," Aldric explained.
"Violence is forbidden within its boundaries. Contracts may be arranged, but no blood is spilled on its grounds. Break this rule, and every assassin, thief, and spy will hunt you down."
"What can I expect to find there?"
"Information brokers. Merchants of rare and sometimes forbidden items. Assassins seeking contracts.
Nobles hiding behind masks to purchase services they couldn't publicly acknowledge.
" Aldric paused. "And representatives of various organisations seeking talented recruits."
"Like the Eclipsed Order?"
"Possibly. They wouldn't operate openly, but through proxies. The Bazaar is a web of alliances and rivalries as complex as any royal court."
Caelan considered this new information.
"Can you contact anyone from your old life?
Someone who might provide additional insight?"
Aldric hesitated, then nodded.
"There's one person—if she still lives. A woman known as the Spider.
She navigates all webs without being caught in any. For the right price, she might offer guidance."
"Find her," Caelan instructed.
"We have three days before the new moon, and much to prepare."
As Aldric departed on his clandestine mission, Caelan returned to the window, gazing out at the darkening landscape.
Three days until the Shrouded Bazaar. Five days until Fenn's men arrived demanding payment he couldn't provide. Two weeks until the royal conclave forced him into the open.
The threads of conspiracy were pulling tighter, threatening to strangle House Albrecht before it could rise again.
But threads could also be rewoven into new patterns. Traps could be turned against those who set them.
And a raven, even a wounded one, could fly through many webs without being caught.
"The game grows larger," he murmured to himself, watching as the first stars appeared in the twilight sky.
"But so do the opportunities."
In the shadows of his mind, Marcus Chen's cold calculation merged with Caelan Albrecht's growing determination.
Neither man alone would have been enough to face what was coming.
But together?
Together, they might just weave a conspiracy of their own.