The hooded figure shuffled forward, the slight limp more pronounced under the weight of every gaze in the room. Sir Lucas reached up and pulled back the hood, revealing a gaunt, desperate face, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and the dull haze of potent alchemy. A collective gasp, almost silent, escaped Turan. Liam recognized him instantly – not just a Shadow Viper, but the one who had fled into the woods that night, the one whose escape he hadn't had the energy to prevent.
"Bard," Turan breathed, his voice cracking, all pretense of composure gone. "Brother…"
Lord Baren's eyes, hard as flint, fixed on the captured Viper. "Bard, is it? So, the family reunion is complete." He gestured towards a small, empty vial on a nearby table. "You've been administered a rather potent draught, Bard. The Elixir of Truth. It tends to loosen the tongue considerably. Now, answer my questions. Do you know this man?" Baren pointed a commanding finger at the trembling Turan.
Bard's head lolled slightly, his eyes unfocused as he stared at his brother. "Yes…" The response was slow, slurred, yet undeniably clear. "He is… my brother… Turan."
Vorian watched, his face a mask of stone, but Liam saw the minute tightening of his jaw, the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.
"And have you seen your brother Turan recently, Bard?" Baren continued, his voice a calm, inexorable force.
"Yes… I did," Bard mumbled, the words dragged from him by the elixir's magic.
"Did you receive a mission from him? From Turan?"
A longer pause, as if Bard fought a losing battle against the potion's influence. "Yes… I did."
The air in the study grew colder, heavier. Liam could feel the suppressed rage radiating from his father.
"What was your mission, Bard?" Baren pressed.
"To kill… the Vangoria family… Lord Gareth… Lady Narine…"
Maria, had she been present, would have gasped in horror. Liam felt a chill despite his foreknowledge. To hear it confirmed so baldly was still shocking.
"And did your brother, Turan, tell you why he wanted them dead?" Baren's voice was deceptively soft.
Bard shook his head slowly, a flicker of the Viper's mercenary creed showing through the haze. "No… we don't ask questions. The pay… the pay was good."
"The pay," Baren repeated, his tone laced with contempt. He then gestured towards his own brother. "And do you know this man? Lord Vorian Lithian?"
Bard's clouded gaze shifted to Vorian. "Yes… I know of him. Lord Vorian."
This was the critical point. Liam held his breath.
"Was Lord Vorian the one who gave the order to your brother Turan?" Baren's voice was sharp, demanding.
Bard seemed to struggle, his brow furrowing. "I… I don't know. Turan gave us the order. We… the Vipers… we don't ask about the source beyond our direct contact."
A frustrated sigh escaped Baren. Not the direct link he had hoped for, but the implication was damning enough. Turan, Vorian's man, ordering the hit.
Suddenly, before anyone could react, Vorian exploded. It wasn't just mana this time; it was a blur of motion, a flash of steel. With a roar of what seemed like uncontrollable fury, he drew a hidden dagger from his boot. In two lightning-fast, brutal movements, his blade slashed across Turan's throat, then plunged deep into Bard's chest.
"Traitors! Vipers in my own household! How dare you bring such shame upon House Lithia!" Vorian bellowed, his face contorted in a mask of rage, blood splattering his fine tunic. Turan gurgled, clutching his neck as he collapsed, his eyes wide with disbelief and betrayal. Bard crumpled without a sound, the Elixir of Truth ensuring his last moments were unresisting.
Sir Lucas lunged forward, his sword half-drawn, but it was too late. Baren raised a hand, his expression a complex mixture of fury, resignation, and cold calculation. He had expected something like this, a violent silencing. Vorian was too cunning to let loose ends dangle.
Liam watched, his heart a block of ice. His uncle's ruthlessness was absolute. The feigned rage was a performance, designed to sever any further questioning, to paint himself as a victim of his servant's treachery.
"Vorian!" Baren's voice thundered, cutting through his brother's feigned hysterics. The sheer force of his will, backed by his Grandmaster-level mana, slammed into Vorian, forcing him back a step, the bloody dagger clattering from his suddenly nerveless fingers. "Enough!"
Vorian panted, his chest heaving, slowly letting the facade of uncontrolled rage fall away, replaced by a look of grim, righteous satisfaction. "They confessed their treason, brother! They implicated themselves and sought to drag my name, our House's name, through the mud! I merely… expedited justice."
Baren stared at his brother, a long, hard look that conveyed volumes. "Indeed. You've certainly silenced them." He knew. He knew Vorian was deeply involved, that this was a desperate, brutal cover-up. But direct proof, the kind that could openly condemn a high-ranking noble of his own house without causing catastrophic internal damage, was now gone with the dying breaths of Turan and Bard. The kingdom was unstable, the royal succession uncertain. An open feud within House Lithia now, accusing his own brother of high treason and attempted murder of allied nobles, would be disastrous. It would signal weakness, invite jackals to tear at their holdings. Vorian had counted on that.
Liam understood his father's difficult position. Baren would not, could not, tear the family apart publicly at this critical juncture. He would keep Vorian on a leash, watch him, and deal with him when the time was right, when the external political landscape was more stable. But Liam also saw the depth of his uncle's greed and ambition, a festering wound that would only grow if left unchecked. His own resolve to act, when the moment came, hardened.
Lord Baren Lithian took a deep, steadying breath, his composure absolute, though his eyes were glacial. "Vorian," he said, his voice low and fierce, resonating with barely suppressed power. "You will clean up this mess. Personally." He gestured to the corpses. "And heed my words carefully. Choose your men more wisely in the future. And choose your decisions… even more so. This family will not tolerate such… errors… again."
The threat was unmistakable, hanging heavy and cold in the blood-stained air. Vorian met his brother's gaze, a flicker of defiance warring with the ingrained respect for superior power. He offered a curt, almost insolent nod. "As you say, brother."
He turned and stalked from the room, leaving behind the scent of blood and betrayal. The game had been played, a bloody, brutal round. And though Vorian had been forced to reveal a sliver of his hand, he had, for now, escaped definitive condemnation. But the seeds of his downfall had been well and truly sown in the mind of Lord Baren Lithian. And Liam, the silent observer, was meticulously tending to their growth.