Chapter 156: Alliance [4]
Velra’s nails clicked against the barrel, a soft tap-tap-tap that echoed louder than it should have in the silence. Her crimson eyes didn’t leave mine, though her lips curved in a smirk that was half challenge, half warning.
"You mistake dependency for weakness," she said smoothly. "If I choose to trade with humans, it is because it amuses me. Nothing more."
I chuckled. "Of course. You’re not desperate. You’re just... indulging yourself by clinging to a half-rotten supply line."
Her gaze sharpened, the glow in her pupils flaring like embers. For a moment, the room felt smaller, air pulled thin by her presence alone. Amelia’s hand twitched at her side, no doubt ready to summon her magic in case this delicate truce snapped.
I leaned forward, folding my hands atop the table. "Let’s not waste time, Velra. You need blood. Rare blood. And not just once — consistently. The kind your dwindling kin can’t provide anymore. Amelia," I tilted my head toward her, "has access to those resources through her Frost Company connections."
Velra’s eyes slid toward Amelia, slow and predatory. "And what does she want in return? To play apprentice? To steal a century of knowledge from me with nothing but a trickle of monster ichor?"
Amelia flinched at the venom in her tone, but she didn’t look away. Her chin lifted, just enough to show she still had spine left. "If knowledge is worthless, as you claim, then you shouldn’t be so reluctant to part with it."
Velra’s smirk faltered. Just for a breath.
I couldn’t help but laugh. "Touché."
Amelia pressed on, emboldened. "I don’t care for your pride, vampire. But I’m not blind. The frost beasts, the trolls, the wampa herds—those are my family’s business. I can ensure that blood reaches you. Fresh, steady, hidden from prying eyes. In return, I want access. Lessons. A fraction of what you’ve hoarded for centuries."
Velra’s tongue flicked across her lips, slow and deliberate, though her posture remained regal. "And if I refuse?"
Amelia hesitated, then surprised both of us. "Then you’ll crawl back to whatever pitiful scraps you’ve been gnawing on."
The silence that followed was thick, almost electric.
I grinned. Bold. Very bold.
Velra let out a low laugh, rich and cruel. "You think you can bind me with commerce, girl? No. But..." Her eyes flicked back to the barrel beside her, lingering just a little too long. "...perhaps there is a shape to this deal. A trial. A... test of worth."
Her gaze cut between Amelia and me, sharp enough to slice. "If the Frost Company can deliver what you claim — blood untouched by filth, strong enough to feed, rare enough to matter — then I will consider it. But I will not hand over secrets cheaply. Knowledge has a price beyond coin, and you both know it."
I tilted my head, pretending to ponder. "Then we’re agreed. A test. You’ll see what Amelia can provide, and she’ll see whether your ’knowledge’ is worth the trouble."
Velra’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Exactly. And if she fails..." Her gaze landed squarely on Amelia, crimson eyes burning. "...I’ll drink her dry."
Amelia’s breath hitched, but to her credit, she didn’t back down.
I leaned back in my chair, satisfied. The pieces were moving now.
---
Doran almost laughed when the first whispers reached him.
"A thief called the Faceless Imposter... in the North? Already?"
The sheer absurdity made him pause mid-sip of his tea. Hadn’t the boy only just slipped away, still green behind the ears? And here he was, carving his name into rumors like some shadow out of legend.
It was reckless, too. The Duke of Voss’s hounds were still nosing through every alley for him, snapping at anything that smelled faintly of theft. To stir up attention now, in the North of all places, bordered on madness.
And yet—
The Count’s vault? Broken into as if it were no more than a pantry? Even the papers had printed the story, wrapped in layers of speculation and outrage. That wasn’t just a rumor; that was an announcement.
Doran leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. It was a smile that didn’t belong on his usually arid, weathered face — a desert man who carried himself more like stone than flesh.
"I see," he murmured, voice dry as dust. "He’s doing well... even without me. Let’s see how much he’s grown."
He had business in the North anyway. Threads of trade, half-finished deals, debts waiting to be collected. Now, with his own affairs tidied enough to leave unattended, the timing was almost poetic.
Yes. Perhaps it was time to pay a visit to the apprentice he had left to fend for himself.
And see, with his own eyes, whether the boy had turned into a assassination thief worth the name.
Doran’s caravan rolled out before dawn, the desert winds still clinging to his cloak.
The North was no easy journey — frostbitten roads, corrupt tollkeepers, nobles who taxed with one hand and robbed with the other. But Doran was a merchant before anything else. Obstacles were just another column in the ledger, to be balanced and paid for.
Still, he couldn’t quite shake the curiosity gnawing at him.
Faceless Imposter.
The name had teeth. Names like that didn’t just appear; they were forged, hammered against steel and sharpened on blood. And for one as young as his wayward apprentice... it hinted at recklessness, at arrogance.
Or perhaps at brilliance.
He chuckled under his breath. The boy had been quick with his hands, quicker with his tongue. Too clever for his own good, too hungry to be content with scraps.
Doran had seen it the moment they met — that itch in his eyes, that need to take.
Now the world was starting to see it too.
By the time his wagons crossed into the frost-lined valleys, Doran already had word prepared. Contacts in the city, discreet informants, men who owed him coin.
All he needed to do was tug on the right thread, and his apprentice’s trail would unravel before him.
"North," Doran murmured again, tasting the word like wine. "Let’s see how far you’ve run."
His smile widened — sly, sharp, dangerous.
"Let’s see if you’ve learned to stop being prey... and started being a wolf."