The Domini saga : lich lords favor

The river has risen around the abandoned stairs, exposing a narrow shelf of black stones beneath the landing. Bren crouches there, rain silvering her dark coat.

Boot marks end at the waterline beside a strip of gray cloth pinned beneath a rusted iron ring. Violet symbols have been stitched into its edge.

Across the river, a young adult woman watches from beneath a weather-stained green cloak. Her lean face, cropped black hair, and pale scar beneath one eye remain partly hidden by mist.

The watcher lifts empty hands but does not approach. Beneath the landing, the black stones bear a second trail of shallow cuts leading into the flooded dark.

Kynes’s telekinetic force closes across the river. The watcher lifts from the opposite bank and slides over black water, her green cloak streaming as ripples race beneath her.

She lands hard but upright on the stone shelf before him. The gray cloth tears free from its iron ring, and its violet stitching flashes through the spell.

The symbols discharge into Kynes’s casting hand. His fingers lock rigid again as cold light crawls beneath his skin, while the cloth falls smoking into the rain.

The watcher keeps her empty hands raised at close range. Beneath the ruined stitching, the exposed cloth reveals a three-pointed sign crossed by a single violet line.

Kynes gives her a puzzled look and shrugs, disappointment sharpening the quiet edge of his words. His locked casting hand remains rigid at his side.

The watcher lowers her hands. Rain beads on her green cloak as she glances toward the flooded cuts beneath the landing, measuring what to reveal.

She points to the single violet line crossing the sign. Its direction angles downstream, while the watcher’s guarded posture gives way to open cooperation.

Kynes’s question lands softly, but the watcher hears the authority beneath it. His locked hand remains rigid as rain threads between them.

Bren’s eyes narrow toward the downstream mark. The watcher reaches inside her cloak and produces a damp brass token stamped with Seln’s three-pointed sign.

The watcher studies Kynes’s rigid casting hand, then the violet line stitched into the torn cloth. Rain gathers on her lashes as understanding sharpens.

The brass token warms between the watcher’s fingers. Its three-pointed emblem darkens, and a thin violet thread briefly points downstream toward the eastern quay.

Kynes gives the watcher a grim smile. His casting hand remains rigid, violet light still locked beneath the skin, but his voice carries effortless certainty.

The watcher’s guarded expression shifts into recognition. She looks from Kynes to Bren, then closes her fingers around Seln’s brass token.

Kynes follows the watcher downstream, moving lightly over the rain-slick stones despite his rigid casting hand. Bren keeps pace beside him, alert and silent.

The watcher guides them through narrow lanes and beneath leaning balconies, choosing shadows where lamplight fails. The brass token remains warm in her grasp.

They descend worn steps toward the river. Beneath a warehouse foundation, the watcher presses Seln’s three-pointed token into a concealed brass slot.

A hidden door opens onto a cramped records room lit by one blue-flamed lamp. Shelves of bound account books line the walls, and fresh footsteps mark the dust before a locked writing desk.

Kynes searches the records room with exacting patience, tracing dust, displaced bindings, and the faint warmth lingering around the locked writing desk. His rigid casting hand never slows him.

He shifts the desk aside with telekinetic force, revealing a narrow iron ring set into the floor. Beneath it, a concealed stair descends into darkness.

The stair ends at a cramped chamber where Seln, a nervous middle-aged man with a narrow build and a pinched, sweat-shiny face bearing a crooked brass earring, thinning brown hair, and a wine-red coat, freezes beside a travel chest.

The cramped chamber falls silent. Seln’s gaze drops to the travel chest, then shifts toward the hidden stairs, as though measuring how many clients would trust a broker branded dishonest.

Sweat gathers along Seln’s hairline. He slowly nudges the chest away from himself and raises both hands, leaving its brass-bound lid plainly visible.

Kynes nods once toward Bren. His rigid casting hand hangs uselessly at his side, but the gesture leaves no uncertainty about what she should take.

Bren crosses to the travel chest and kneels beside it. She tests the hinges, finds no trick in the lid, then slides a narrow blade beneath the false bottom.

The panel lifts cleanly, revealing folded payment notes, stamped receipts, and a sealed name-card wrapped in oilskin. Bren removes the bundle without disturbing the rest.

Kynes draws the chamber’s ambient magic inward. Cold violet light streams from the stones, the lamp flame, and the stale wards, feeding the rigid lock beneath his skin.

His fingers loosen with a series of quiet clicks. The violet restraint drains away, leaving his casting hand free as the room’s magical pressure settles.

Kynes turns toward the concealed stair and passes through the records room. At the doorway, his shoulder catches the blue-flamed lamp, sending it clattering onto the floor.

Oil spills across the boards and catches at once. Fire crawls beneath the shelves as Bren grips the oilskin bundle, Seln stares at the spreading blaze, and smoke begins to fill the hidden room.

Smoke thickens through the records room. Bren thrusts the oilskin bundle into Kynes’s free hand, then follows as he guides Seln up the concealed stair and into the rain.

Kynes reaches an open, unoccupied dock beneath the eastern quay. He slips on wet planks, catches himself against a mooring post, and scrapes his palm raw.

With the burning records room behind him, Kynes unwraps the bundle beneath a sagging awning. Payment notes and stamped receipts lie dry inside, beside the sealed name-card.

He reads the records completely. The receipts trace repeated transfers to Vey’s agents, while the name-card identifies their hidden patron as Marrow Quill, a foreign intermediary based in Baldur’s Gate.

Bren studies Kynes beneath the sagging awning, rain ticking against the quay while the oilskin bundle rests securely in his hand.

Seln huddles near a mooring post, watching the smoke drift from the hidden records room. His face tightens at the mention of Vey.

Bren takes the receipts and sealed name-card while Kynes keeps the payment notes. Together, they lead Seln beneath the waterfront shadows toward safer streets.