novelraw Chapter 108: The Vellmont Gambit
Chapter 108: The Vellmont Gambit
The night had finally quieted.
The fires were out. The nobles gone. The courtyard empty save for the occasional whisper of wind brushing over scorched marble.
Towan sat on a low stone ledge, the weight of the evening still wrapped around his shoulders like a second skin. The stars blinked above him—indifferent, silent witnesses.
(How did the explosion happen?)
He replayed everything—the flames, the screams, the shattering of glass.
And then—
A voice.
“If anything explodes tonight… I’ll make sure it’s not your fault.”
Towan froze.
“Sera Vellmont…” he murmured aloud, the name tasting stranger now. “She knew. She knew something was going to happen.”
His eyes narrowed, mind racing. “But then… why did she save me? That arrow—she didn’t hesitate. She could’ve let me die.”
(Why help me... if she planted the fuse?)
He couldn’t place her intentions.
Was she warning him? Mocking him? Testing him?
No answer came. Only the quiet hum of his own unsettled thoughts.
Still, he said nothing to the others. Not yet. The weight of this piece didn’t feel safe in anyone else’s hands—not until he knew what it meant.
Instead, he stood and crossed the courtyard to where Sylra leaned against the railing, arms folded, silver eyes watching the stars like she was trying to outstare them.
“Hey, Sylra,” he said quietly. “Do you know anything about the Vellmonts?”
She turned, one brow lifting. “Vellmont? Yeah. Why?”
“Just curious.”
Sylra didn’t buy that for a second, but she answered anyway.
“They’re one of the Outer Houses. Powerful, but messy. They’re the ones who deal with the fallout from the kingdom’s... less presentable parts.”
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“You mean the slums?”
Her gaze sharpened slightly, surprised by the question.
“You really don’t know about them, huh?” she said, not unkindly.
“No. I’ve... always been a bit off the map.”
Sylra nodded. “The slums are a part of the kingdom that fell apart after a civil war about twenty years ago. Lawless now. Half jungle, half ruin. King abandoned it. Most nobles pretend it doesn’t exist.”
“So what do the Vellmonts do?”
“Contain it,” she said simply. “Keep the danger from spreading. Supposedly.”
“Supposedly?”
She gave a faint shrug. “No one really knows what happens out there. The few who’ve been? Don’t come back. Or they come back wrong.”
“Why do you ask?”
Towan hesitated for half a breath.
“I met one. Tonight.”
Sylra blinked.
“Wait… you mean the girl that danced with you?”
“...Yeah.”
A pause.
“That one.”
Sylra tilted her head, silver eyes narrowing with something unreadable.
“You surprised me, you know,” she said, arms still folded. “That dance? You weren’t half bad.”
Towan gave a tired shrug. “I had some practice. Cassia’s training nearly killed me.”
“Maybe so,” she continued, voice lighter now—but not quite casual. “But she danced like she knew your next step before you did. Like the two of you had been practicing for years.”
She paused.
“And she was… very close to you.”
The way she said very wasn’t jealous, exactly. More like... evaluative. Dissecting. But there was an edge to it—a flicker of something else beneath the surface. Towan wasn’t sure if it was irritation or concern. Or both.
“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for her already,” Sylra added, her smirk just sharp enough to be dangerous.
Towan nearly choked. “What? No! Of course not. I just—I was curious. About who she was. Why she singled me
out.”Sylra didn’t laugh. She just tilted her chin toward the ballroom ruins behind them.
“Probably to mess with Len.”
Towan blinked. “...What?”
“House Verestra and House Vellmont have been at each other’s throats for generations. Land. Politics. Trade routes. Even marriage alliances. If your mystery girl was a Vellmont, showing up at the Governor’s ball just to dance with his daughter’s favorite bartender?”
She gave him a look.
“That’s not flirting. That’s tactical warfare.”
From behind a marble pillar near the ruined archway, Len lingered in the shadows. Her fan—long since forgotten—hung limply at her side.
She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.
At least, that’s what she would tell herself later.
But the moment she heard “Vellmont”, her breath hitched.
“That witch…” she muttered under her breath, voice low and tight. “I knew she was a Vellmont.”
Her eyes narrowed as Sylra’s laughter drifted across the courtyard—soft, too soft.
Len turned sharply, silk skirts flaring as she disappeared down the hallway.
(Let them whisper. I’m not done yet.)
Far above, balanced effortlessly on the tiled edge of a slanted rooftop, Sera watched the entire exchange unfold.
Moonlight glinted off her mask—half-lowered now, revealing the ghost of a smile. One hand rested on her bent knee, the other twirled a slim throwing knife between her fingers.
“How cute,” she murmured, amusement laced with something colder.
Her gaze lingered on Towan just a second longer—then she stood, movements fluid and feline, and vanished into the night.
A faint echo of laughter followed in her wake.