Terrible Accident

Gupta adjusted the amber glasses on his face.

Even in the refined setting where he and Thanatos now stood, the poisoner wore it and his articulated bronze gauntlets. With the reagents stored inside them, he had prepared a greenish liquid, now tucked into the inner pocket of his silk coat.

It was his final card for that evening.

The Chalice of the Magus was known throughout Castra Devana as more than a simple tavern. Built atop a stone outcrop, ancient thaumaturgic runes were inscribed on its walls, some still active, glowing faintly in silver and sky-blue.

According to whispers from the Senatorial Ring, the building had been erected over an old summoning circle, and still carried the energy of decades of rituals. That night, its vaulted ceiling was decorated with the pennants of the Swords Party, while thaumaturgic lights cast a warm glow.

The jester exaggerated his sway, the bells on his hat jingling as he bowed to the noble ladies or mocked some aristocrat in discreet tones. Still, his voice dropped low as he spoke:

“Ravia found nothing. Not a crumb about this Madame Umbra. If she truly stands at Prebito’s side, then she knows how to cover her tracks.”

Gupta cleared his throat, though he kept smiling.

“Or someone in our circle talks more than they should. Either way, Fidenzio is working on it while we play our part here.”

“At last, something closer to your style” Thanatos mocked. “I heard that last time you had to face a pair of Sand-Knowers.”

The alchemist shrugged.

“It’s no secret I once was a soldier — not a good one, or I’d have stayed in the trade. Still, I feel far more at ease in these halls than on the battlefield.”

“Perhaps we should reconsider De Lio’s requests more carefully” the performer suggested, his tone hesitant. “I’m not sure if I want to keep this contract if things grow more violent.”

“Hazards of the trade, Thanatos. I’m no more eager than you for direct combat, but I wouldn’t abandon the princeps’ cause so lightly.”

They crossed the great hall. The noise of voices and toasts blended with the scent of narcotics disguised under expensive perfumes. Imperial guards turned a blind eye, many distracted with bets at the card and dice tables spread across the room.

At the back, musicians played a slow arrangement for lutes and flutes, muffled by the conversations.

Prebito was the center of attention.

The senator spoke loudly, surrounded by supporters, toasting with enthusiasm. Gupta studied him from a distance, measuring the timing. The silver goblet always returned to his right hand, without him noticing.

One instant would suffice.

The poisoner edged closer, feigning interest in a side conversation with two drunken guild masters. The vial was in his hand, hidden by his body. Just a swift touch — a single drop into the wine. Neither scent nor taste would betray it until it was too late.

But the movement was stopped.

A woman slid gracefully into his path, her black silk dress fitted close to her body, her red-and-gold butterfly mask shimmering under the lights.

La Farfalla.

“What a coincidence, master alchemist” her voice rang clear, almost melodic, as she placed herself between him and Prebito’s table. “I came to see your carnival tricks up close. Will you offer wine to the guests?”

Gupta held the smile, but a drop of sweat ran under his collar.

“I’m only admiring a fine vintage. Nothing more.”

La Farfalla tilted her head, the mask reflecting his gaze back at him.

“I knew you would be here. I even knew the color of the coat you’d wear.”

The silence between them clashed with the murmur of the hall.

“What an honor to be noticed by such a distinguished lady” he mocked, searching for Thanatos, who had been nearby a moment ago.

Someone was not only spying on them but knew exactly what Fidenzio’s circle intended. If Farfalla killed him here, Gupta needed someone left to carry the message.

Stay calm.

An open clash would draw too much attention — guards, senators, and even Prebito himself. Chaos would be inevitable.

She won’t kill me here. Not now.

Thanatos suddenly intervened, spreading his arms in a theatrical gesture.

“My lady, don’t you see? This good man only wished to toast to the health of the esteemed campaign chief of the Swords. What harm is there in wishing long life?”

“Long life… or a quick death?” La Farfalla whispered, laughing cruelly.

Senator Prebito, oblivious to the conversation’s true weight, raised his goblet once again, answering the jester. Gupta slipped the vial back into his coat. The plan was ruined. La Farfalla would never allow him to get close.

Time seemed to slow within the Chalice of the Magus. The runes on the walls pulsed faintly, almost as if sensing the tension. Gupta and Thanatos withdrew, though the alchemist kept his gaze locked on Prebito, who lifted his cup toward him.

La Farfalla now stood at the senator’s side. The gesture was no accident: it was a warning.

If La Farfalla held such privileged information, it was no mere coincidence. They were being tracked step by step, just as he had feared.

She slipped away as lightly as she had appeared, just as a burst of laughter and applause rippled through the hall. Gupta turned to see what had caused the stir and watched a tall, slender woman approach the Sword’s campaign chief without obstruction.

With a narrow face, noble features, and an enigmatic smile, she wore a silver dress of elegant cut, covered by a white mantle embroidered with floral motifs. Pale-blonde strands framed her face softly, the rest pinned in a braided bun.

“Who is she?” The alchemist asked Thanatos.

“Her name is Mave Lestat, from what I’ve heard. She appeared only recently on Gran-Devana’s political stage, but she is already known as an agitator for the Swords’ most radical factions.”

Gupta studied her. The way she toyed with her wineglass, the faint curve of her smile — she was not there for amusement.

But for him, the night was over. The poison remained unused.

And the enemy knew far too much.