My Most Valuable Asset

In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.

— Sun Tzu, The Art of War

———

The candlelight danced across Lyra's face as she knelt beside my desk. Three weeks had passed since the Grundy incident. The girl who once flinched at shadows was gone. In her place was a weapon, her posture immaculate, her hands folded with a reverence that bordered on the fanatical.

"The guards now rotate every four hours instead of six," she reported. Her voice was pure, clinical detachment. "Jenkins was reassigned to the outer gates after his drinking became too obvious to ignore. His replacement, Garrett, is married to one of the laundry women. She talks in her sleep." Her fingers twitched almost imperceptibly as she delivered this information.

I kept my expression neutral. A new intelligence source already. At this rate, I'll know what color undergarments Lady Vivienne prefers by summer. It's like watching a house cat realize it's a panther.

"Lucius received another letter yesterday. Same seal as before." Lyra's red eyes never left my face as she spoke, watching for any reaction that might guide her next words. The intensity of her gaze was unsettling—like being studied by a predator who had somehow decided you were its master. "The sender grows impatient. They want a response within the fortnight. I could retrieve the letter itself if Master wishes."

That letter. It revealed too much. Someone was offering Lucius support for ambitions he shouldn't have yet. Not this early. In the novel, his plotting didn't start until his second year. My presence was accelerating the timeline. Or I'd missed something crucial. The narrative was already deviating from the script I knew, threads unraveling in ways I couldn't fully predict.

Welcome to the wonderful world of narrative deviation. Change one thing, watch everything else spiral into chaos. Classic butterfly effect.

"Any indication of what they're offering him?" I asked, dipping my quill in ink and making meaningless notes on a piece of parchment. The act of writing gave my hands something to do while my mind worked.

"Money. Connections. Protection from 'family disappointments.'" The last phrase carried a particular venom that made me glance up. Lyra's expression remained perfectly composed, but something cold stirred deep in her eyes. "I believe they're referring to you, Master."

How thoughtful of them.

I set down the quill and leaned back in my chair. The academy invitation lay spread across my desk like a death warrant written in gold ink. Royal seal, formal language, mandatory attendance—everything that screamed "your peaceful exile is about to end."

"The Royal Awakening Ceremony," I said, tapping the invitation. "Three days from now. After that, I'll be residing at the academy full-time."

Lyra's composure cracked for just a moment. Her eyes widened slightly, and her hands tightened in her lap. The reaction lasted perhaps two seconds before she schooled her features back into their usual mask of devoted attention.

"I see." Her voice remained steady, but I caught the underlying tension. "Will you... require anything specific for your departure?"

That flicker of fear. She thinks I'm abandoning her. The thought was immediately followed by a cold, pragmatic realization. Leaving her here isn't an option. It's tactical suicide.

"Lyra," I said, my voice low. "I have a problem. One that you might be the only solution for." I watched her face carefully. "What do you know about the requirements for a noble's personal attendant?"

She tilted her head slightly, the gesture reminding me of a predator scenting prey. "Noble students are permitted to bring one servant for personal needs. Typically someone from their household staff."

"And the requirements for such a position?"

"Literacy. Discretion. The ability to manage a noble's daily affairs without supervision." She paused, and for an instant, a glimmer of hope broke through her composure. "Why do you ask, Master?"

I stood and walked to the window. A chill radiated from the glass. Outside, the moon bleached all the color from the training grounds, turning the familiar landscape into a stark, alien geography of silver and black. Perfect metaphor for my situation—the same world I'd always known, but fundamentally altered by perspective.

This is either brilliant or catastrophically stupid. Probably both.

"Because," I said, turning back to face her, "I have a problem. The academy will separate us, and I need my most valuable asset close at hand." I gestured toward the chair across from my desk. "Sit. We need to discuss your promotion."

Lyra rose from her kneeling position but remained standing, her posture rigid. "Master?"

"A personal attendant," I explained, settling back into my chair. "Someone to manage my correspondence, maintain my quarters, ensure I don't embarrass the family name any more than necessary." I met her gaze directly. "Someone who can move freely through the academy without raising questions."

Understanding dawned in her eyes like sunrise breaking over mountains. She sank into the offered chair, her usual composure wavering. "You want me to come with you."

"I want you where you can be most useful. The academy is a nest of political intrigue that makes our little household dramas look like children's games. I'll need eyes and ears in places I can't go, hands capable of tasks I can't perform." I leaned forward slightly. "The question is whether you're ready for that level of responsibility."

And whether you're ready to watch me grovel in front of the entire family tomorrow morning.

"I am." The words came out as barely more than a whisper, but they carried the weight of an oath sworn in blood. "Whatever you require, Master. I am yours."

There's that devotion again. Still not sure if it's my greatest advantage or my most dangerous liability.