Chapter 29 - Ghosts of the High Council
The Drowned Belltower jutted from the black surf like a broken tooth. A century ago, a coastal earthquake had swallowed half of the ancient monastery, leaving only the stone tower standing against the violent tides. At low tide, a slippery sandbar connected it to the cliffs; at midnight, the Atlantic tide would begin its treacherous ascent.
Mist coiled around the wet basalt rocks as Sofia and Victor crept through the jagged tidal pools. The wind was howling now, drowning the sound of their footsteps. High above, inside the arched belfry of the half-submerged ruin, a single yellow lantern swayed in the gale.
"One sniper at the western arch," Victor whispered into Sofia's ear, his breath warm against the freezing sea spray. "I saw the glint of an iron sight. Two on the ground level guarding the entrance."
"And the leader is inside," Sofia whispered back. "The one who knows about my mother's debt."
"I'll take the perimeter," Victor said, loading a bolt into his crossbow with practiced silence. "Give me three minutes to circle the eastern seawall. When the lantern swings twice, move."
Before he could turn, Sofia caught his sleeve. In the dim moonlight, her features were etched with unspoken fears. "Victor. Be careful."
He paused, his fingers wrapping around hers for a fleeting, electric second. "Always."
Victor melted into the darkness, moving like a wraith across the slick stones. Sofia counted the agonizing seconds in her mind. *One... sixty... one hundred and twenty...*
High in the belfry, the lantern rocked violently—not from the wind, but from a deliberate jerk of a rope. Once. Twice.
A muffled thud echoed from the eastern wall, followed by the splash of a body plunging into the foaming surf.
Sofia drew her breath, pulled the hood of her wool cloak over her dark hair, and stepped out onto the open sandbar, walking directly toward the yawning archway of the tower.
"Halt!" a rough voice barked from the shadows. A man in black leather armor stepped into the moonlight, an iron broadsword drawn. "Unarm yourself, girl."
Sofia stopped five paces away, her hands held high in the freezing air. "I came for the debt. Take me to whoever wrote the letter."
The guard sneered, stepping closer—and suddenly froze. A thin, black-fletched bolt sprouted from the center of his throat. He collapsed to his knees with a choked gasp, toppling into the wet sand.
Victor stepped out from the shadows of the doorway, resetting the lever of his crossbow without a word. "Clear inside. But the tide is coming up fast."
They crossed the threshold into the belly of the tower. The floor was flooded with ankle-deep water that sloshed against the decaying stone pillars. At the center of the rotunda, seated on a makeshift wooden crate beside a blazing iron brazier, was a man draped in the silver-lined black mantle of the High Council.
As he turned toward the light, Sofia’s breath hitched in her throat.
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It was Chancellor Vance—the man who had supposedly been sentenced to life in the Northern Mines for high treason after Sofia exposed the crystal's secret.
***
