Chapter 68: Chapter 67. The Plan is Set
Ashenhold Tower, Erengard Royal Palace
Gerhard walked toward Ashenhold Tower, its looming shadow stretching across the courtyard like the hand of something ancient and unmerciful. The structure rose against the dull afternoon sky, its ashen stones catching the faintest glint of light, as if mocking the warmth of the sun.
Behind him, two knights followed in measured steps, their armor clinking softly. When they reached the base of the tower, Gerhard stopped and turned, his hand raised in a subtle command.
"Stay here," he said, his tone low but firm.
The younger of the two knights hesitated, exchanging a nervous glance with his companion. "But, Your Grace... His Highness the Emperor ordered us to guard you."
Gerhard exhaled through his nose, weary and irritated. "There are already two guards stationed inside the tower. Your presence will make no difference." His eyes flicked briefly toward the narrow staircase leading up the tower’s entry. "And you can see me from here. If I’m foolish enough to die, you’ll witness it soon enough."
The knights looked uneasy, but the logic in his words left them little room to argue. The older one gave a reluctant nod. "Then... we’ll wait here, Your Grace."
Ashenhold Tower, once built as a symbol of royal vigilance, now stands as a grim monument to the fallen pride of Erengard’s noble bloodlines. Rising from the northern edge of the imperial capital, the tower’s silhouette cuts against the gray skyline like a blade of stone.
Its structure, forged from blackened granite and dark limestone, gives it an almost ashen hue, the reason for its name. Legends say the stones were quarried from a mountain once scorched by dragonfire, giving the walls a faint shimmer of silver under the moonlight.
The tower stands narrow and tall, its four sides reinforced by buttresses that taper upward to sharp spires. Every level has slender arched windows framed in iron, their glass tinted amber to resemble candlelight even when no flame burns within.
"Open the door," Gerhard ordered, his voice steady but sharp.
The guards stiffened immediately at the tone. Without hesitation, Gerhard drew from his coat a small emblem of the imperial crest, etched in gold and black enamel, the sign of the Emperor’s authority.
At the sight of it, both guards straightened to attention, their expressions tightening. "Y–yes, Your Grace!" one of them stammered, fumbling for the massive iron key that hung from his belt.
The lock groaned as it turned, a heavy metallic click echoing through the silent courtyard. The thick oak doors of Ashenhold Tower creaked open, releasing a gust of stale, cold air that smelled faintly of damp stone and old tears.
Inside, the tower is both austere and unnerving. The air is thick with the scent of damp stone and old incense. The spiral staircase runs along the inner wall, narrow and treacherous, lit only by slits of light filtering through the high windows.
At the pinnacle of Ashenhold Tower lay the Silent Chamber. It was where the emperor chose to imprison the Wyndham couple, not for any crime committed, but for what they represented, a threat to the empire’s fragile balance of power, because of their loyalty to the North.
When Gerhard walked through the corridor leading to the chamber, he could hear his own footsteps too clearly. "He holds the Viscount and the Viscountess but doesn’t even know about the heirs," he muttered to himself, his tone edged with disbelief. "They’ve already returned to their estate—with half of their troops."
The faint echo of his words faded into the hollow air. He could feel the disappointment rising in his chest, a bitter weight he couldn’t hide. The emperor had made a grave mistake, one born of pride and fear rather than reason.
Half of the Wyndham knights were locked in the smaller rooms below; two simple stone-framed beds stood near the wall, covered with coarse wool blankets. A small wooden table sat between them, holding a half-melted candle and an untouched jug of water. Gerhard saw it and started counting how many knights were locked up.
"Five rooms," Gerhard muttered under his breath, his voice low and measured as he ascended the winding stairway.
The air grew heavier with each step, thick with the faint scent of wax and stone. In his hand, the black-and-gold emblem of House Borgia caught the flickering candlelight; the Wyndham knights locked inside the smaller cell along the passage straightened immediately. They caught sight of it and gave a subtle nod, understanding without a word.
When he reached the final landing before the Silent Chamber, two guards stood alert by the heavy iron door. Gerhard stopped before them, his tone calm but firm.
"You two should guard the lower cells," he instructed, flashing the emperor’s own emblem this time. "I’ll handle things here. The prisoners below might attempt to break free to rescue their lords, for what I’m going to do."
The guards exchanged a brief, uncertain glance, but the sight of the emperor’s emblem was enough to erase any doubt. They knew exactly who stood before them: the Duke of the South, Chancellor Gerhard de Eisenwald, the man the emperor trusted above all others.
Without hesitation, they bowed slightly and handed him the iron key to the chamber. "As you command, Your Grace," one said before both departed down the stairs, their footsteps fading into the deep stillness of the lower tower.
Now alone, Gerhard turned the key in his hand, the metal cold against his skin. The sound of the lock echoed softly, "As foolish as the emperor." He muttered and got inside the room.
The chamber where the Wyndham couple was looked more like a comfortable room of a high noble than a prison; the walls were made of dark stone, cold and rough to the touch, lit only by a few torches burning weakly along the arches.
Old red carpets covered the floor, their colors faded and edges torn, but still showing traces of the luxury that once filled this place. The scent of wax and dust hung in the air, mixed with the faint smell of damp stone.
A spiraling staircase stood at the far end, leading upward into darkness. Between the pillars is a big bed, with clean sheets that look very comfortable to sleep on. There were no windows, only thin slits near the ceiling where a bit of pale light slipped through, barely touching the floor. The rest of the chamber was lit only by trembling candle flames, making the silence feel almost alive.
Two plain chairs stood side by side in the center of the chamber. Anton rose at once and stepped in front of his wife, posture rigid and protective. "To what honor do we owe the chancellor’s presence in this humble prison?" he asked, voice low and suspicious.
Gerhard closed the heavy door behind him and turned the key until the lock clicked. He said nothing at first, only set the Borgia emblem on the small table between the chairs, the same black-and-gold badge Roxanne had given him in the carriage. He met their eyes with a calm, unreadable expression.
"I need you both to scream," he said at last, his voice steady and almost polite. "Scream as if something is trying to take your soul."