Page 62 of Silvercloak

Levan simply stared back, blandly, unmoved.

Every single interaction between father and son seemed to be a power struggle.

“Very well,” Lyrian said, after several taut beats, and Saffron had the strange sense he was fighting some fierce internal battle. “Let us proceed.”

The docks clanged with the bustle of trade, the calls of workers, the tinkling of bells, the snapping of banderoles. Over their heads, a crate hovered of its own accord, then floated away in the direction of a magnificent purple riverboat.

While the sun was high in the sky, the air was cool in the shadows between freight stacks. Following Lyrian, the Bloodmoons snaked silently through the maze of crates until they arrived at an old shipping container repurposed into an office, the name Kasan Melian etched neatly onto a wooden sign nailed to the door.

Lyrian entered without knocking, bracketed by Segal and Vogolan. Levan and Saff followed.

“Good day, Kasan.” Lyrian’s tone was pleasant, and somehow more unsettling than overt hostility.

Behind a squat wooden desk, Kasan Melian leapt to his feet. The merchant had deep olive skin, gold-rimmed glasses, and a densely lined forehead. He wore a royal-blue cloak, a gold cuff etched with thirteen dragons around his wrist—a follower of Draecism, then—and a petrified expression.

“S-sir?” he stuttered. “Sir. A pleasure, of course, but … I usually deal with Vogolan.”

Lyrian strolled casually around the office, studying the dates and transactions pinned to the noticeboard, slowly leafing through a ledger on Kasan’s desk. Subtle yet invasive shows of power, almost daring Kasan to protest. The noises of the dock were dulled, leaving only taut, threatening silence.

“There was a crate missing from our latest shipment,” Lyrian eventually said. Every word was calm, precise, as though it had been measured on a set of scales. “I would like to know which of your workers pilfered it.”

Kasan blanched, gripping the edge of his desk so hard that his dry, cracked knuckles turned bone white. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lyrian pinched the bridge of his nose, his serenity fissuring somewhat. Saffron recognized the tic of impatience; Levan did the same.

“Nobody ever makes it simple, do they?” he said, then sighed. “Nobody answers my questions, nobody tells the truth. It’s exhausting. Because you know I always win, and so why put off the inevitable? Fighting the inevitable is not bravery, but idiocy.”

Kasan steeled his jaw. “I truly didn’t know there was a missing—”

“When you took the contract, you assured us that you ran the tightest of ships.” Lyrian had yet to draw his wand—another subtle show of strength.To wield fear is to wield the greatest power of all. “That your boat would never spring a leak.”

“Sir, I can only apologize if supply went astray,” said Kasan, banging a fist on the desk as though he was as incensed as the kingpin. “Whoever’s responsible will be let go immediately.”

Lyrian rubbed at his temples, as though this was giving him a headache. “Lox addiction is hardly difficult to spot. The sweats, the night terrors, the black tinge to the veins. You must knowexactlywho stole from the stash.”

“I don’t, I swear it, I—”

“Honesty is so hard to come by these days.” Lyrian withdrew his wand at last. Segal and Vogolan raised theirs in unison. “And you know, I don’t want to do these gruesome things to people. I have no innate bloodlust, believe it or not. But I will stop at nothing to protect my own.” A thin curl of a smile. “Perhaps we aren’t so different, after all.”

“Sir, please—”

“Clear the desk,” Lyrian said coldly.

With a swoosh of his wand and an inaudible mutter, Segal cleared the desk. Kasan took a step backward, hand floating to the gold cuff at his wrist as though his faith might protect him, somehow, but everyone in the room knew he was long past saving. He was outnumbered, and overpowered, and nothing short of dragon intervention would save him now.

Lyrian raised his wand, which Saff now knew to be his late wife’s weaverwick. The garnet wood tremored slightly, as though it contained too much power for Lyrian to command.

“Sen ascevolo.”

Kasan’s body arched hideously as it was dropped onto the desk, all the wind slamming out of his lungs with an audibleooft.

A curl of a smile on Lyrian’s face. “Sen debilitan, nis cerebran.”

Every inch of the merchant’s body was paralyzed—except for his head, which shook frantically.

“Here’s your first lesson, Filthcloak,” Lyrian drawled to Saff. “Nothing gets you what you want faster than pain. Of course, fear is a more powerful tool long term, and in time you will learn to manipulate those threads. But for a quick fix, pain is king. Levan here is known for his, ah,handiwork.Segal has a penchant for kneecaps, while Vogolan likes teeth. In my youth, I used to enjoy removing minor organs. Appendixes, gallbladders. A kidney, if someone badly misbehaved. A painful procedure, without whiteroot or poppymist, as I’m sure you can imagine. I wonder what your signature will be?”

Saff’s ribs felt like they were about to cave in.

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