Chapter 233: The Private Wing (1)

Liam entered Felix’s wing for the second time in his life.

At least this time, it was with Arik and Mezos, not alone under the threat of his family being poisoned by the man who should have shielded them.

Now everything was under protection.

Ether seals crossed every door in hard blue lines. Detection wards sat along the skirting boards like silent insects. The transportation ward on the floor had been burned down to nothing but a pale circular scar in the marble, its old lines dead beneath newer suppression marks. Every corridor carried the clean, sharp scent of sterilized magic and fresh security work.

By the look of Mezos speaking quietly with a Shadow and an officer from Wrohan’s royal guard, nothing had passed through those doors.

Not officially.

Liam had learned to hate that distinction.

The wing looked almost untouched otherwise. Felix had always liked refinement without warmth: pale walls, dark wooden trim, heavy curtains, carpets soft enough to swallow footsteps, and vases placed exactly where one would expect a respectable old nobleman to place them if he wanted people to mistake expense for taste.

It was strange.

That was the first thing Liam felt.

He had spent so long thinking of Felix as poison, as threat, as a rot beneath the Canmore name, that seeing the private shape of his life felt almost indecent. There were umbrella stands. A silver tray for calling cards. A half-finished glass of old liquor preserved beneath a stasis charm on a side table, as if Felix had expected to return and complain that someone had moved it.

Liam stared at it.

"Disturbing," he said.

Arik glanced at him. "The ward?"

"No. The glass."

Mezos turned. "The glass?"

"It implies habits. I dislike being reminded that Felix had habits."

Mezos’s expression shifted into something dry and understanding. "Monsters also require tables."

"That is the problem."

Arik’s hand brushed Liam’s, there and gone, a question disguised as accident.

Liam answered by staying close.

The main doors to Felix’s private sitting room stood ahead, sealed with three layers of wardwork. Mezos dismissed the Wrohan officer with a nod and studied the seals himself.

"No disturbance," he said. "But the outer seal was applied by palace security, not Shadows. I do not trust it."

"Embarrass it," Liam said.

Mezos smiled faintly. "With pleasure."

He lifted two fingers. Ether slid from his ring in a thin silver line, touched the seal, and unfolded it so neatly that the palace ward gave up with no dignity at all.

The doors opened.

The room beyond was dim.

The curtains had been drawn. Dust hovered in the narrow beams of light that cut through the gaps. Everything was preserved, not lovingly, but completely: the bookshelves, the writing desk, the locked liquor cabinet, the low sofas, the ashtray without ash, and the tall clock that had stopped at some hour Liam did not care to know.

And on the far wall, covered in a white sheet, stood the giant portrait of Goliath.

Even covered, it dominated the room.

It was hung where every chair faced it whether the visitor wanted to look or not. The white sheet fell from the top of the frame to the floor, turning the portrait into a ghost with imperial proportions.

Arik went still.

Liam felt it through the air before he looked at him.

Behind Arik’s eyes, something ancient looked at the covered canvas and did not like being made into furniture for obsession.

Liam swallowed.

His own curiosity stirred, sharp and immediate.

The portrait had done something once. It had triggered memory. It had carried blood in the pigment and old Nurian ether in its bones. It was not just a painting; whatever Arik wanted to pretend when being protective became inconvenient.

Arik did not even look at him.

"No."

Liam frowned. "I did not say anything."

"You breathed like an engineer."

"That is not a real accusation."

"It is here."

Mezos, who had moved toward the desk, said, "It is also accurate."

Liam ignored him. "It may contain information."

"It contains a dead emperor’s ego and Felix’s obsession," Arik said. "Both are currently being left under a sheet."

The sheet moved faintly in the ward-filtered air.

Liam’s gaze followed the motion.

Arik stepped between him and the portrait.

"You are larger than necessary," Liam muttered. "And blocking valuable historical material."

"Yes."

"You are not even ashamed."

"No."

Liam looked up at him, then sighed. "Fine. I will not touch the portrait."

"Or uncover it."

"I did not agree to that."

"Liam."

"I will not uncover it," he said, wounded by tyranny.

Mezos opened the desk drawer. "While that emotional treaty develops, Felix kept private correspondence."

Liam turned at once.

The desk was immaculate. Dark wood, silver fittings, and a writing surface without scratches, as if Felix had never pressed too hard with a pen in his life. Inside the drawers, everything had been sorted into shallow compartments: old letters, data wafers, fountain pens, sealing rings, keys, and small paper envelopes labeled in Felix’s narrow, elegant hand.

Liam came closer despite Arik’s immediate attention.

"I am not touching," he said.

"You are leaning."

"I am reading."

"You read with your entire body."

"Occupational hazard."

Mezos lifted one envelope with gloved fingers. "Names."

Arik’s expression sharpened. "Canmore?"

"Not all." Mezos’s eyes moved over the labels. "Some are women’s names. Some children. Some have no family designation."

Liam’s stomach tightened.

Felix’s bastards.

The unacknowledged children who had still somehow received money, schooling, access, and positions near the systems he wanted to influence. People raised in the shadow of a name they were not allowed to carry openly, but useful enough to be fed.

Liam hated how much that felt like Felix.

"Private life," Liam said quietly.

No one answered.

Mezos opened another drawer. Inside were photographs.

Not many.

A young woman standing beside a garden wall. A boy in a school uniform. Two little girls sitting beside a fountain, one frowning at the camera with Felix’s eyes. A family that was not a family because Felix had apparently refused to give even his own blood the dignity of being named unless it served him.

Liam stared.

Interest and disgust moved through him in equal measure.

He wanted to understand.

He did not want to understand at all.

"That is worse," he said.

Arik looked at the photographs, and the cold in his face deepened. "Yes."

"I preferred him as abstract poison."

"So did I."

"Abstract poison does not keep school portraits."

"No."

Liam looked away first, back toward the covered portrait. "Did he ever care about anyone?"

Mezos’s answer came after a pause. "Possession can imitate care from a distance."

"That sounds like something written on a very depressing wall."

"It was in a training manual."

"Of course it was."

Arik moved to the bookshelves, scanning titles without touching. "He kept medical texts. Ether-channel studies. Old Nurian histories. Genealogies."

"Canmore genealogies?" Liam asked.

"Many."

Mezos lifted another data wafer. "And Agaron ones."

Arik’s jaw tightened.

Liam stepped nearer to the shelves. The books were arranged by subject, but not in a scholar’s order. In a predator’s order. Bloodlines besides fertility studies. Ether inheritance besides poison tolerance. Nurian imperial records beside modern medical journals on secondary gender instability.

Felix’s mind was here.

Liam felt suddenly cold.

Arik saw it immediately. "Enough?"

"No."

"Liam."

If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.