VILTAR

  Viltar had learned long ago that maps could lie very well—not because they were drawn wrongly, but because they felt objective to the readers.

  The great continental chart covering the entire wall before him was a close example. The ink had faded and been retraced a hundred times, and still, it deceived the eye as it always had.

  Whoever first drew this thing had known exactly what they were doing. The symbol of the Tower loomed absurdly large at the world’s center, its careful lettering bold enough to swallow the space of several cities. It imposed a false sense of grandeur, a feeling that the world just pivoted around it.

  Viltar scoffed inwardly.

  A map was just a dead thing, fixed by the vision of its creator.

  The world was not.

  Something moved, and it would change.

  Behind him, the room was quiet. Viltar turned from the map and reached for the teacup cooling at his side. His hand was steady. The poison had done its work weeks ago—its visible work, at least. He took a sip, enjoying the bitterness, and set the cup down without comment.

  Neru remained kneeling, unmoving, her gaze hard as driven iron. Her voice returned to him uninvited.

  Authorize an internal investigation.

  Bold.

  Foolish.

  Decisive.

  True courage usually came indistinguishably with impatience. The one who made the right choice might not necessarily be the good one.

  The Frothena woman had seen something real. Didn’t mean she had seen it all.

  Viltar watched her with a faint, measured smile.

  “To ask an Archon to investigate the Tower itself,” he said. “Do you truly place that much faith in me?”

  Neru flicked her eyes briefly toward Elios, then answered with quiet seriousness.

  “In truth, my lord, I do not know you well. But Elios seems to trust your character without reservation. And I trust him.”

  Viltar followed her glance. Elios’s face tightened, caught somewhere between distress and denial. Viltar chose not to press him.

  Neru had no such intent either. She continued, her voice steady.

  “I heard that you had spent your life opposing corruption in Veyra, despite all odds. Are you still the same person? Or did the Tower’s influence erode that soul already?”

  The smile never left Viltar’s face, warm as a spring breeze. A desperate provocation, perhaps, but provocation all the same. To him, such tactics were child’s play. Still, he neither dismissed nor reproached Neru for daring to try.

  If she could not overcome her fear when facing him, she would never move forward. Not even a single step.

  A pity. If only she were a Veyran…

  Viltar spoke again.

  “The Tower does have its shadows. That much I know. But to ask me to act on a plan so speculative, based solely on your deductions… Your words alone are not enough. To speak plainly, they do not yet carry that weight.”

  Neru showed no sign of offense. She accepted it without hesitation.

  “I am indeed in no position to speak on terms with you, my lord,” she said. “But we are not negotiating. I am only presenting an idea. Whether you choose to trust it or not rests with you.”

  She had taken no bait. Viltar still failed to figure out her true role in Frothen’s grand plan. But that was not a problem.

  “Very well,” he said lightly. “If this is not a negotiation, then you have no opinion on how I should deal with the Drovar Dust, or with the Frothen exiles?”

  As expected, Neru hesitated.

  “As for that…” She clenched her jaw. “I believe you will handle it in a way that is just. One that is fair to Frothen.”

  “Hard to say ‘fair’ when it’s applied to Frothen only. The whole point of the word is objectivity.”

  Neru thought in silence for the space of half a minute. At last, she let out a heavy breath.

  “I can arrange for word to be sent back to Frothen, my lord,” she said. “But I cannot guarantee the Emperor will respond with any promise. Still, you may rest assured. If this matter is resolved, his stance will change. He may even come here himself at the coming Imperial Summit, to show good faith—”

  “No need,” Viltar said, raising a hand to cut her off. He had heard what he needed to hear. “You’re straining yourself. I only wished to see whether this was a snare. In truth, you could never represent Frothen in any official sense.”

  His words rang half true, half false. He had different responses for different answers.

  Neru’s shoulders slackened at once, the tension draining from her frame. She came close to smiling.

  “If that is so, then you have already—”

  Viltar gave a slight nod. “Still considering it. But I have harbored doubts for some time now. Your proposal arrives at a fitting moment.”

  Honestly, the girl had come like a black sail, but with a certain rearrangement, this could turn out to be perfect.

  Elios stood silent, teeth clenched, pain plain on his face. Viltar noted it and knew it could not be left to fester.

  “Elios,” he said, measured and firm, “I know your mind is torn with doubt and conflict. But this is something I would have had to do sooner or later. They call the Tower the vessel of all truth in this world. Yet if the Tower itself is a lie, then what meaning can truth still hold? And if the Tower is clean, then for the sake of its sanctity, it must be proven so. Can you do this?”

  The weight of the question washed over Elios. His gaze cleared, as though scoured clean. The strain in his face eased, replaced by calm resolve.

  “If an investigation is required,” he said evenly, “then as always, personal sentiment must be set aside. Thank you for the reminder, my lord.”

  Then he gave Viltar a complicated look.

  “But if you have doubts, my lord,” he asked. “How come you’ve never shared any of them with me? That’s just what my job is for.”

  Viltar glanced back.

  “It was not that I doubted you, my friend. But I needed time to collect my thoughts. Action taken too eagerly always betrays the one who initiates it. I have learned to wait — to let necessity decide for me.”

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  “Can you tell me more about it, my lord?” Elios asked. “When did your suspicions begin?”

  “After King Gwendal suddenly died without an heir, Veyra fell into chaos,” Viltar replied. “There were only three figures with the weight to assume power as regent. Myself. High Marshal Xal Deyn. And High Minister Caldrin Merev. The Queen could not rule in her own right, but she could serve as a pillar for her brother.”

  Elios nodded.

  “You suspected it might be a part of the Tower’s scheme?"

  “Not immediately,” Viltar said. “My doubts took shape only after I learned that Caldrin had signed an accord granting the Tower fifty years of extraction rights to Riverstone, Bronzefang, and Serpent’s Maw.”

  The names settled heavily between them.

  “The kingdom’s largest sources of aluminium, quartz, and silver,” Viltar continued. “At that point, I knew something was wrong. A man without money or soldiers, like myself, would soon be marked for removal.”

  “Because of your insight?” Neru said.

  Viltar shook his head. “Because both Caldrin and Xal despised my ideals. They would sooner eliminate me than fight each other. While the King lived, I had his protection. When he died, so did that shield. If a king could be removed, so could a chancellor.”

  Neru frowned. “Then where was Veyra’s former representative to the Tower? Was he not meant to safeguard the kingdom’s interests?”

  “To answer that,” Viltar said, “you must understand how authority truly functions within the Tower. The representatives form the Concordium of Kingdoms. Their role is largely symbolic. They speak for their realms and oversee the fair distribution of intelligence. But real power lies elsewhere.”

  He paused.

  “With the Grand Council of Elders.”

  The Tower’s neutrality had been built upon that structure. Any representative who rose to Archon was required to sever ties with their homeland, slowly and completely. By the end of their term, nothing remained. Even Viltar himself now walked that path, and he loathed the taste it left behind.

  “An Archon becomes an Elder when their term ends,” he said. “Permanently. Their authority does not diminish. If anything, it deepens. They can advise or overrule the Archon in office.”

  They did not rule the world openly. Yet their decisions shaped every kingdom.

  “I had thought you were the most powerful man in the Tower,” Neru said quietly.

  “In some respects, he is,” Elios replied. “But the Tower is too big and too complex an organization to be ruled by one will. The Grand Council preserves its balance. No one governs alone.”

  Viltar inclined his head. “Lord Antol, my predecessor, was not corrupt. He simply lacked the means to know, let alone stop, what was unfolding. Still, his incapabilities endangered Veyra.”

  Elios leaned forward. “So, when you replaced him…”

  Viltar nodded.

  “I proposed it myself. It was a long step down, but one I had to take. Xal Deyn only wanted me gone, so he didn’t oppose that idea. Caldrin was more complicated, but seeing my downfall lowered his guard. That was his last chance to dispose of me, and he missed it.”

  “Be careful, my lord,” Elios warned. “Your rapid ascension in the Tower uneases him. Making him dangerous. Did you forget what he tried last month?”

  Viltar’s expression did not change. “Which I had anticipated. A man with such fear and hatred was easy to read.”

  His gaze sharpened.

  “But that raised the true question. Who gave him the audacity to attempt poisoning an Archon within the Tower itself?”

  Elios shook his head lightly. “I investigated the case myself and didn’t see any evidence of the Tower’s intervention, if that’s what you’re suggesting, my lord.”

  Then, as if realizing he had overshared something he shouldn’t have, he took a glance at Neru.

  Viltar smiled at the sight.

  “I know you were very thorough with your work, but it wasn’t necessarily an intervention. If I could see through Caldrin’s mind, so could somebody else. And all they needed to do was a little push. Creating an opening, or something felt so.”

  “A skilful manipulator,” Neru whispered.

  “Now does that sound like the one we’re tracking?” Viltar asked in a low voice.

  “Forgive my bluntness, my lord,” Elios interrupted, “but I don’t see the connection. For what reason would they have to bring you down? King Gwendal’s fall can be explained by ambition and gain. But you… You are the one who has given the Tower more than anyone in recent years. You elevated its standing beyond anything before. You made Veyra proud that the Tower stands upon our land.”

  Viltar let out a slow breath.

  “Perhaps,” he said quietly, “because I looked too deeply into the abyss.”

  He walked to the window and gazed out at the colossal Tower, its shadow swallowing half the sky. “What I achieved here was not granted to me. I did what no Archon before me dared to do. I questioned the Grand Council.”

  Silence fell upon the chamber, thick enough to press against the lungs. Viltar’s words lingered like a blade left half-drawn.

  “I reached the deepest floor of the Library,” he said at last. “But unlike what the world believes, it is not where the Tower hides its greatest secrets. The true depths lie in the minds of the Elders.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back, his voice calm, almost gentle.

  “In my first year here, I spoke with them often. They praised me, and many even offered their aid in making me Archon. Yet that was not all I gained. The longer we spoke, the clearer their thinking became. A way of thought… warped beyond the world.”

  Viltar turned slightly, the Tower’s shadow cutting across his face.

  “Once I assumed the mantle, it became almost transparent. Perhaps knowing I would inevitably one day join their ranks made them careless. No one ever spoke plainly, but I could see the shadow they cast. Secret and isolated labs. Inhumane experiments. Projects revealed to the Archon only after they’re completed.”

  Neru swallowed. “What is it they truly want, my lord?”

  “You said it yourself,” Viltar said. “They seek mastery of knowledge. Not to guide the world, but to rise above it. They want the Tower to be more than a symbol of peace.”

  His gaze hardened, his words grim.

  “They want absolute control.”

  It took a long while for the air in the room to loosen its grip. At last, Neru broke the silence, her brow drawn tight.

  “Terrible. Has the Tower always been like this? Was there never anyone, Archon or Elder alike, with the conscience to act differently?”

  Viltar answered after a pause, with plain honesty.

  “The Tower is, at times, like a cursed prison. You act through its power, and its power acts upon you in return. A life cut off from the rest of mankind, sealed year after year behind those marble walls, slowly erodes what remains of one’s humanity. Playing gods for too long, some may start to actually believe it. As for the Archons, most simply walk the path laid out for them.”

  Elios looked at Viltar, unease and reverence mingling in his gaze.

  “And you, my lord?” he asked. “You stood against them?”

  “I did not confront them openly,” Viltar replied. “But I demanded transparency, more than once. And there were times I vetoed the Grand Council’s actions, when I judged them to be at odds with the Tower’s founding principles.”

  Viltar stepped closer and set a hand on Elios’s shoulder.

  “Enough connection for you yet?”

  Elios nodded, then hesitantly said. “No one has ever investigated the Tower itself. Even if we called in the entire Seeker Corps, it would amount to nothing.”

  Viltar shook his head. “We cannot move openly. That would only stir the grass and warn the serpent. You can’t have the Seeker Corps,” he said quietly, “but you have me.”

  Then he turned to Neru, his voice lowering.

  “What I have just told you is forbidden knowledge.”

  Neru brought her hands together in a solemn gesture. “I am already part of this, my lord. You can trust my silence.”

  “Even in Frothen,” Viltar added.

  Neru hesitated for the space of a single breath. Then she nodded.

  “I swear it.”

  Viltar nodded, satisfied. Frothena did not swear lightly. Their oaths were bound to honor, not convenience.

  He moved back to his desk and drew out paper and pen, grinding ink with steady motions, as though nothing momentous had just been spoken.

  “They still believe I am dying,” he said. “That illusion must not be broken before the right time. For that reason, neither Seraph nor I can accompany you. But my authority remains intact.”

  In a matter of moments, he finished writing three documents. Each bore the Archon’s seal, clear and unmistakable.

  “My signature will grant you passage and freedom of movement within the Tower,” Viltar continued. “But once you reach the Elders’ domains, these will serve no more than buying you time. From that, you have to rely on your own skills.”

  He then handed Neru a small ledger, tightly bound with cord.

  “This contains a condensed record of every anomaly I have uncovered in the Tower over the past years. It should spare you much wasted effort. If you uncover something new, adapt as you see fit.”

  Viltar looked up, his gaze settling on Elios.

  “You mentioned you brought back a sample of Drovar Dust. Where is it?”

  “Tarth has it,” Elios replied. “I will call him in.”

  “No need,” Viltar said, stopping him. “I will see the man shortly enough.”

  After a brief pause, he added, as if in passing, “The creature you encountered. The one beneath the cavern. It spoke the human tongue with ease, did it not?”

  Elios and Neru answered at once.

  “Yes, my lord. Do you know something?”

  Viltar smiled and shook his head, standing up.

  “Nothing at all,” he said lightly. “Study the materials first. If you need something, find me outside.”