Page 18 of Blood and Thorns

She bows her head, though not deeply. “You asked me to report here after drills.”

I gesture for her to close the door. “Yes. I have a task for you.”

Her gaze sharpens. “A mission already?”

“Consider it a practice scenario.” I stand, circling the desk. “We have a Vrakken ally, Sarith, who oversees select supply routes. He’s paranoid, distrustful of outsiders. I need you to learn the exact date and time of the next shipment departure.”

She frowns. “Why not ask him yourself?”

“Sarith is as stubborn as he is paranoid. He’d suspect something if I pried too intently. But you, an unassuming human, might coax it out of him.”

Valeria’s eyes flick with interest. “How do I find him? He’s not going to volunteer the information.”

I motion toward a parchment lying on the desk. “He’s in the eastern wing, currently reviewing inventory. You’ll pose as an assistant or servant, whichever approach feels natural. Gain his confidence, or use your wiles—whatever works. I’ll be watching from a distance.”

She picks up the parchment, scanning its sparse instructions. Her brow creases. “So, I just walk in, pretend I was sent to help, and ask about shipping schedules?”

A glint of amusement runs through me. “You’ll have to be subtler than that. He’ll smell an interrogation instantly. Be creative. If you fail, we’ll both know you’re not ready for the real courts.”

She purses her lips, the weight of the challenge plain on her face. Then she sets the parchment down. “I’ll do my best.”

“See that you do.”

I lead her to the eastern wing, down corridors lined with portraits of former Draeven patriarchs and matriarchs. Eventually, we reach a broad hallway outside a storeroom used for cataloging supplies—foods, tools, raw materials. A handful of House Draeven’s staff move in and out, carrying sacks and crates.

Sarith stands at a long wooden table, scribbling notes in a ledger. He’s tall, even by Vrakken standards, with stark white hair braided tightly against his scalp. His black eyes sweep over every crate that passes, his expression hawklike.

I stop Valeria behind a pillar, out of Sarith’s immediate line of sight. “Go. Convince him of your usefulness, glean the schedule, and return to me. I’ll observe from nearby.”

She nods, exhaling. “All right.”

With that, she steps forward, weaving into the flow of workers. I slip around the corridor, finding a vantage point behind a partial wall. From here, I can watch Sarith and Valeria through the gaps in the crates stacked along the side.

Valeria straightens her tunic, adopting a mild, helpful demeanor. She picks up a stray ledger from a box and approaches Sarith. I can’t hear every word, but I see her lips move in a polite greeting. Sarith doesn’t even glance up at first, scrawling in his own ledger.

She tries again, tilting her head in an ingratiating manner. Sarith’s gaze snaps up, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He mouths something—likely “Who are you?”

Valeria smiles, a touch deferential, and gestures to the ledger in her hands. Her posture conveys subservience, but her eyes remain keen. I watch as she points to a crate, possibly offering to help with inventory. Sarith scowls, tapping his quill impatiently.

A lesser slave might shrink away, but Valeria stands firm. She sets the ledger down, flipping a page as though referencing an item. Sarith leans closer, intrigued or perhaps just suspicious.

She gestures again, steps to the side, and nods at a stack of sealed boxes. He follows her gaze, muttering something, and waves a dismissive hand. But he isn’t dismissing her entirely—he’s explaining, possibly clarifying what’s in those crates. That’s a start.

I shift for a better view. Valeria moves around the table, asking questions with feigned innocence. Sarith grumbles, pointing to an entry in his ledger. She nods politely, inching the conversation forward. Her expression is a careful blend of humility and curiosity, as if she’s just another human assigned to help with menial tasks.

I can’t make out her exact words, but her gestures indicate she’s leading him to discuss shipping routes. Sarith stiffens, suspicion flashing in his eyes. He steps back, crossing his arms. Valeria remains calm, or at least she appears that way. I see her shoulders relax, her face adopting a thoughtful frown as if she’s only concerned with missing supplies.

Then she speaks again, pointing at the next page. Sarith’s gaze flicks to the crate labeled in bold runic script, the one that’s likely scheduled to leave soon. He shakes his head, as if unsure. Valeria cants her head, the picture of polite confusion. After a beat, he finally exhales and scribbles something in the margins, possibly confirming a date or time.

A grim smile curls on my lips.She’s close.

Her shoulders shift in a subtle gesture of relief, and she offers him a quick, grateful nod. Sarith scowls, but he doesn’t tear up the ledger or send her away. Instead, he mutters something that looks like a final warning. She bows slightly, stepping back from the table.

That’s my cue. I quietly retreat from my hidden vantage, slipping around the corner. Moments later, Valeria emerges, carefully holding the ledger. She spots me at the end of the corridor, and her eyes flicker with triumph.

We walk away from the storeroom, putting enough distance between us and Sarith to avoid eavesdroppers. Once we reach a quiet alcove, I turn to her. “Well?”

She offers me the ledger, opened to a page with runic notes. “He was reluctant, but I got him talking about an apparentshortage in goods. He mentioned a shipment leaving three nights from now, at the second moon’s rise.”

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