Chapter Nine: Aftermath and Realization

Raymond sat at the edge of the wooden table, pressing a bloodstained cloth to the gash in his side. The air in the room was heavy with the aftermath of violence – the overturned chair, the shattered vase, and the lingering scent of spilled lamp oil. Ethan stood nearby with a furrowed brow, carefully re-tightening the bandage around Raymond's ribs. The flicker of several candles cast long shadows, their light dancing over the concern on Ethan's face and the grim resolve hardening in Raymond's eyes.

"It could have been worse," Ethan muttered, breaking the silence. His voice was low and taut with lingering adrenaline. "If you hadn't noticed the second assailant on the balcony…" He shook his head, not finishing the thought. The unspoken end of the sentence hung in the air: you might not be standing here now. Ethan tossed a glance at the sprawled rug near the fireplace where an assassin had fallen moments earlier. Two of the attackers lay dead, and a third had fled into the night when their plot failed. The guards were in pursuit, but Raymond suspected the man would vanish long before they caught him.

Raymond drew a slow, measured breath, feeling the sharp stab of pain as his bandaged side stretched. He closed his eyes for a moment, mastering the pain before speaking. "They were prepared," he said quietly. "They knew exactly when and how to strike. This wasn't some opportunistic bandit raid." He looked up at Ethan, who had moved to retrieve a cup of water for him. "This was planned."

Ethan handed Raymond the cup. "Planned by someone with resources and information," Ethan agreed. There was a hard edge to his voice now. "Someone who knew you would be in the great hall after the council meeting tonight, and who hired professionals to do their dirty work." He paused, and in the silence the crackling of the hearth fire sounded unusually loud. "Raymond… we both know who would go to such lengths."

Raymond drank a small sip of water, then set the cup down. The cool liquid did little to wash away the bitter taste that had risen in his mouth. He did know. In his mind's eye, he could still picture the cruel smile of Dorian Valner earlier that day at the council, the thinly veiled contempt in Lord Valner's eyes during their last encounter. House Valner. The realization settled heavily between them, even before either man spoke the name aloud.

"House Valner," Raymond said, voice firm despite the quiet volume. He exchanged a grim look with Ethan, who nodded. It was not a question but a confirmation of what they had both deduced. The Valners were behind this attack.

Ethan ran a hand through his hair, exhaling a curse under his breath. "They want you gone," he said. "First the constant political pressure, then the threats… now this. Dorian Valner doesn't want to face you fairly in the duel, so they tried to eliminate you tonight." His eyes flickered to Raymond's wound. "At the very least, they wanted to… weaken you."

Raymond gingerly straightened his back, ignoring the hot lance of pain that shot up his left side. He recalled the fight: the assassins clad in dark leather, moving with trained silence. One had wielded a dagger coated in something – the cut on Raymond's forearm still burned oddly, and he wondered if it had been poison. If Ethan hadn't arrived when he did… Raymond set his jaw at the thought. They nearly succeeded.

"They came damn close," Ethan echoed Raymond's unspoken thought, his tone tight. "It's definitely Valner's style. Cowardly methods under a veneer of honor." He almost spat the word. For a moment, anger flared in Ethan's expression. He had been with Raymond long enough to have his own grievances against House Valner's machinations. But then Ethan schooled his features and spoke more calmly, "We'll need proof if we're to call them out, but proof or not, this has Dorian's stink all over it."

Raymond carefully eased himself off the table and onto his feet. His legs were steady, but every movement of his torso reminded him of the knife wound along his ribs and the bruises blossoming across his back. He let out a slow breath, steadying himself. "Dorian would never admit to orchestrating an assassination," Raymond said. His voice remained measured, but there was an undertone of disgust. "He'll smile in public and claim innocence even as the blood drips from his coins that paid these killers."

Ethan stepped forward instinctively when he saw Raymond sway ever so slightly, but Raymond raised a hand to stop him. "I'm all right," Raymond insisted quietly. He straightened to his full height, squaring his shoulders. Even in the dim light, with his face lined with fatigue and pain, there was a dignity in his stance. He would not let House Valner see any weakness.

Ethan sighed and gave a reluctant nod. "We should inform Captain Armand to double the guard tonight. If one of those bastards got away, he might report back to Valner." He hesitated, then added, "And they might try something else before dawn."

Raymond considered that. The thought that another attempt could come was sobering. House Valner had already shown they were willing to break all codes of honor. "Do it," he agreed. "And discreetly. I don't want panic among the household." If their supporters or servants learned assassins had slipped in, morale could plummet on the eve of a confrontation.

Ethan moved to the door to relay the orders to a guard outside, leaving Raymond alone with his thoughts for a moment. Raymond rested a hand on the back of a chair to steady himself, looking down at the dark red stain seeping through the cloth over his wound. He felt a surge of anger well up, momentarily breaking his composed veneer. Valner. The name pulsed in his mind with each throb of pain in his side. House Valner wanted him dead—tonight by a knife in the shadows, and if not, then tomorrow by a blade in the open.

"One way or another," Raymond murmured to himself, "they want me gone." Saying it aloud made it feel all the more true. The rivalry with House Valner had moved beyond politics and pride; it was now a fight for survival.

Ethan returned quickly, closing the door behind him. "The guards are on alert," he reported. His eyes scanned Raymond, checking on him. "You should rest now, if you can. Dawn will come soon."

Raymond managed a faint, wry smile. Rest would be difficult with the knowledge of what nearly happened – and what was yet to come. But he nodded and allowed Ethan to help him shrug out of his torn, blood-slicked tunic. As he moved, a fiery jolt shot through his ribcage. He inhaled sharply, and Ethan's grip tightened to support him.

"Easy," Ethan cautioned. He guided Raymond to an armchair by the hearth. Raymond sank into it with a controlled exhale, unwilling to show just how much relief he felt to be off his feet. The warmth of the fire was soothing, even as his mind raced.

For a few moments, neither man spoke. Ethan threw another log onto the fire, the flames leaping up with a crackle. Outside, the winter wind howled faintly beyond the thick stone walls of the estate. The silence between them was heavy but companionable; they had been through too many trials together to need constant words, even if they havent been allies for long.