Chapter 7: The Lodge That Shouldn’t Exist

Ariella didn't sleep.

The map to the hunting lodge lay unrolled on her desk, its ink slightly faded with time. There were no markings for the lodge on any official palace record, yet the structure was unmistakably real. Her family had once owned it—before the fire, before the betrayal. And now it was the only place that might hold answers.

At first light, she dressed in a muted riding cloak and soft boots—nothing that would catch attention. She braided her hair down her back and tucked the key from the scroll inside her boot lining. It had never felt heavier.

Thalia appeared at her side with a leather satchel and her usual air of protective suspicion.

"You're sure about this?" she asked, eyeing the cloak. "No more letters, no more ghost chases. Just straight into a building no one's touched in over a decade."

"That's exactly why we need to go," Ariella said. "If no one's touched it, the truth might still be inside."

"And if someone has touched it?"

"Then we find out who."

Thalia's lips pressed into a line. She didn't argue further, just fastened the strap across her chest. "Cassian's already waiting in the courtyard. I saw his horse. He's bringing two men, former soldiers. They'll ride at a distance."

"Spies?"

"More like shields."

Ariella gave a tight nod. "Let's not waste time."

They slipped out through the kitchen corridor, avoiding the main routes where morning court had begun. Ariella passed a group of servants whispering over bread baskets and boiling kettles—none of them looked twice at the cloaked noble with her head down.

By the time they reached the courtyard, Cassian was tightening the reins on his horse. His jaw clenched as he watched Ariella approach.

"You're late."

"I was making sure we wouldn't be followed."

His eyes scanned the windows above them. "We're being followed anyway. Let's move."

They rode fast—past the northern gate, through the outer villages still waking with smoke curling from thatched rooftops. Fields gave way to forests, then the roads grew quieter, the trees thicker.

No one spoke much.

Cassian's men—Brann and Eddric—kept pace behind them. Both were former royal guards, discharged after the war for refusing to swear loyalty to the High Chancellor. Ariella noticed how they never let their hands stray far from their blades.

Thalia broke the silence first.

"So what exactly are we looking for in this lodge?"

Cassian kept his eyes on the road. "If the Valenharts had enemies, they'd have kept evidence there. A place no one could reach easily."

"What kind of evidence?" Ariella asked.

Cassian hesitated.

"Names," he said. "Accounts. Codes tied to the Chancellor's oldest funders. Your father was building something bigger than just a rebellion, Ariella. He was building leverage."

They reached the foot of the ridge by midday. Trees towered around them like old sentinels, and the air smelled of pine and damp stone.

Cassian dismounted and approached a wall of brush. With a swift motion, he pulled back the undergrowth to reveal a crumbling iron gate.

The lodge stood beyond.

It was massive, two stories tall, with a sagging roof and shuttered windows. Vines choked the outer walls. Moss covered the stone. It looked abandoned.

But it didn't feel abandoned.

Brann stepped forward and tested the gate. It groaned but opened.

They passed through slowly.

Inside, the air was colder. Staler. Ariella felt it first—a sudden weight in her chest, as though something unseen had stirred.

The foyer still bore the Valenhart crest on the wall: a phoenix over a sword. Dust blanketed the floor, and the furniture sat draped under old sheets.

Cassian walked ahead, checking every corner. "No signs of recent entry. No footprints."

Thalia frowned. "Maybe they came and left long ago."

"Or they never needed to come inside at all," Ariella murmured.

Cassian looked over his shoulder. "The vault should be behind the main study. If it still exists."

They moved down a hallway lined with decaying portraits. Ariella's gaze locked on one—the last painting of her parents together. Her father looked proud. Her mother, tired.

At the end of the hall, Cassian stopped at a wooden door.

He ran his hand along the edge. "There's a gap here. Narrow, but deliberate."

Thalia pressed her ear to the wood. "I hear wind. There's space behind it."

Ariella stepped forward and knelt. Her fingers found a notch—barely visible. She reached into her boot, pulled out the old key, and fit it into the slot.

With a click, the wall creaked open.

Beyond it, stairs descended into shadow.

They lit a torch from the hearth and descended in silence.

The air changed again—colder, metallic. The steps ended at a stone corridor lined with rusted sconces.

Cassian took the lead now, torch in one hand, the other on his blade.

They found the vault at the far end—an iron door reinforced with three lock plates. Cassian stepped back. "This part's yours."

Ariella inserted the key again. It fit the first plate perfectly.

Thalia checked the hinges, murmuring, "No dust in the cracks. Someone's opened this in the last year."

The key turned.

The door groaned and opened.

Inside was a room filled with ledgers, maps, weapons... and bones.

Ariella gasped.

A body lay slumped in the corner—half-decomposed, dressed in once-fine clothing. A chain still hung from its wrist, attached to a bolt in the wall.

Cassian moved fast, checking the corpse.

"No identification. Likely kept here to die."

Thalia stepped over old bloodstains and examined the shelves.

"Some of these logs date before your father died," she said. "But this one…"

She pulled out a thick book and handed it to Ariella.

On the cover was the Valenhart crest, burned into the leather.

Ariella opened it slowly.

The first page read:

"Asset Inventory: Sable Network – Verified Eyes Inside the Throne."

Her stomach twisted. "Sable Network?"

Cassian paled. "That's not possible. That was a myth. A ghost operation used by the royal family during the first border war."

"It wasn't a myth," Ariella whispered. "It was my father's. And he wasn't just collecting leverage—he was planting spies."

Thalia flipped a few pages. "Here. Look at this—names. Dozens of them. Look—'Maeven Roth,' 'High Chancellor Severin,' and..."

She froze.

Ariella took the page and read aloud.

"'Cassian Vale—Recruit, status unknown. Potential risk: High. Emotional interference likely.'"

Cassian's eyes darkened.

He took the book and flipped to another page.

His name appeared again—next to a date.

The night of the fire.

Ariella looked up slowly. "You were there."

Cassian's jaw clenched. "I didn't start it."

"But you were there."

Thalia's hand went to her blade, slowly.

"I need you to tell me the truth," Ariella said, her voice low. "Right now."

Before Cassian could speak, Brann's voice echoed down the stairwell.

"Someone's outside!"

Cassian turned instantly. "We're not alone."

Footsteps pounded above them.

Then a voice—cold, unfamiliar, and unmistakably amused—rang through the lodge.

"Isn't this nostalgic?"

Cassian froze. "No... it can't be."

Thalia pulled Ariella behind her.

A shadow stepped into the torchlight at the top of the stairwell, cloaked and smiling.

"You should've let the past stay buried, Cassian. But now that you've opened the door…"

He drew a blade.

"…I might as well walk through it."