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Chapter 878: Nightingale’s Investigation

By the Earl’s own account, the fallen Gilen Family had no capacity to support peasants. Whatever warm porridge was flowing in that yard, the money behind it was Viscount Somi’s — and presumably so was the renovation, and the extension, and the whole performance of it.

Nightingale didn’t understand why Somi had chosen to absorb Hyde rather than help him revive the Gilen house, as custom and reputation would have encouraged. But the food in the yard was real, and the hands serving it were real, and she supposed that a man willing to feed the destitute couldn’t be entirely without virtue. Hyde, at least, had landed somewhere better than a ditch.

Even if Hyde was suffering. Even if his situation was hopeless. It was not her concern.

She had only come to see the old house, and to let herself feel whatever she was going to feel about it.

She was preparing to move on when something made her stop.

She surveyed the yard again — the ragged peasants, the order-keeping servants, the guards at the gate, the noble presiding over it all — and something snagged.

Hyde was not wearing a God’s Stone of Retaliation. Not even the cheap kind.

Through the Mist, she could see him clearly: his face, his collar, the line of his coat — nothing. When she shifted her attention to the guard beside him, her vision met a solid black disc at his chest, blocking what lay beneath.

That was the aberrancy.

A viscount’s heir not wearing a God’s Stone — when the guards were wearing them. It was not merely unusual; for anyone of noble rank in this age, in any house that feared witches at all, it was extraordinary.

She entertained the possibility that Hyde had developed some tolerance toward witches. She discarded it almost immediately. She still remembered the contempt in his voice from years ago, the way he had said it without hesitation or cruelty — just flat certainty: I’d rather not have you as my sister. All witches belong in hell, with demons. She had not had her ability then, but she hadn’t needed it. His eyes had carried everything.

Perhaps he simply couldn’t afford one. It did happen to fallen nobles. But Hyde had joined the Somi household — and the Somis were clearly not poor. If he wanted a God’s Stone, he could have one.

After a moment, she turned back toward the yard and walked in.

She was passing through the gate when she caught the guards’ voices, low and close.

“Nobles are something else. No better than us really, just a pet the lord keeps to make himself look generous. But put him in fine clothes and suddenly he’s got bearing. Is that what their lordships mean by aristocratic manner?”

“Enough of that,” the other guard muttered. “His lordship’s inside. If someone hears you and reports it, you lose a month’s wages.”

“Relax. I’ve got good ears — I’d know if anyone was coming. And I’m not lying. Everybody from the ground floor to the upper hall has heard his lordship scream himself red in the face at him.”

“You know how he is about his temper, and you still want to goad him.” A grunt. “Noble or not, he’s still above you. And you — who are you? Even the village foreman outranks you. If my uncle hadn’t asked me to keep an eye on you, I wouldn’t waste the breath.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll shut—” The first guard went abruptly still. “Wait.”

“What?”

A pause. “Felt like someone just walked past.” He looked around slowly. ”…Probably just me.”

Nightingale moved through the wall.

She had used this method for years: locate the highest-quality God’s Stone in the building, and you’ve located whoever matters most. The stone’s domain was a black void in the Mist — the better the stone, the larger and more defined the shadow. She followed it through corridors and up a floor until she found the room.

Viscount Dott Somi was inside.

There were three people: the viscount in a high-backed armchair, a fully armed knight standing guard at his shoulder, and an old man in scholarly robes positioned before the desk — the kind of man who had spent his life in a king’s city library or a lord’s private service.

“You shouldn’t have shouted at Hyde yesterday, my lord.” The scholar’s voice was measured, the tone of someone who had given this advice before. “He does submit to you — but occasional warmth makes him play his role more convincingly.”

Dott Somi slapped the desk. “I know that. I can’t help myself.” His voice had the sharp, cramped quality of a man who was used to louder rooms. “I spent decades building what I have. I was this close to securing both eastern domains — and then a single order from Roland Wimbledon unmade everything. Did you hear what that old fool said? He’s willing to hand over his feudal rights! Does it never occur to him that others might need what he doesn’t value? That infuriates me!”

“Smile, Your Lordship.” The scholar stroked his beard. “You already vented last night. Since you’re so opposed to the new policy — why didn’t you simply refuse to surrender your rights in person?”

Dott opened his mouth, closed it. ”…Do you think I’m in a position to defy the king? Timothy’s royal knights were destroyed by Roland. You want me to die on my own doorstep?”

“Then your complaints don’t help and only sour your mood further. Shall I keep listening to them?”

A long pause. A muffled curse.

“His Majesty has forfeited feudal rights and nothing else,” the scholar continued evenly. “Follow Earl William’s example. Manage your present domain well and you won’t lose much.”

“Without executive authority over my jurisdiction, the patrol teams will come eventually. How do I stop them then?” Dott shook his head. “You know what I’ve been selling. The moment they find it, I’m on the gallows.”

“Then stop selling it,” the scholar said, without any pause at all. “I’ve told you this couldn’t last. You’ve already raised enough capital, and now that the Church no longer restricts you, legitimate trade is open. Why did you put all that effort into absorbing the Gilen family? To expand territory and authority — to reach a more secure position. You don’t need the other thing anymore.”

The viscount sat with that for a long time, staring at nothing. Seven minutes. Eight. Then, with the expression of a man deciding to be heroic about something unpleasant, he nodded. “This will be the last distribution. When Hyde is done, I’ll speak to him directly.”

“Don’t suspend it all at once — that will raise questions. Keep up the appearances briefly, but stop accepting new orders.”

“Agreed.” With the decision made, some weight seemed to leave Somi’s frame. He leaned back, and something almost like good humor entered his face. “The two Gilens have no idea what they missed. Since neither of them knows anything, I’ve always been perfectly positioned as their benefactor.” A short laugh. “Hyde still thinks his parents died in the refugee riot, doesn’t he? Ha.”

The contraction in Nightingale’s pupils was involuntary.

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