August DWC 2025
Day One – Calculate
Stone read the message twice before sending it. He didn’t waste words or explain more than was necessary. - Keltariel wants answers. His mother’s death. Can you look into it? -
He hesitated only a moment longer, thumb hovering. The truth was he’d wanted to do this for years ever since the details of Velluria’s death had been delivered to him too neatly, too quickly, wrapped in the sort of silence that only money and fear could buy. But there had always been other battles, louder needs with Sivandris at the time that kept him from having the time to look into it.
Now, Keltariel himself had asked. Which meant now it mattered more than anything. The message blinked away, delivered. He leaned back in the comfort of that wooden chair that had somehow become his chair in these passing months, already turning over contingencies. Jacques would know how to move, he always had. In this, he could trust.
The stepfather, Erux Tenall and some lesser lord once upon a time within Suramar. Jacques had started where he always did, with people who once warmed Erux’s bed. Lovers never forgot, and the bitter ones talked more than they realized.
Tonight it was a shal'dorei woman who’d grown out of the gilded haze of her youth but still carried its perfume. She liked attention, needed it really, and Jacques was more than happy to oblige. A crooked smile here, a subtle brush of fingers against the back of her hand as he poured her wine. He let her feel seen, radiant, as though she was the only star in the tavern.
“You know,” Jacques murmured, leaning close enough that his breath ghosted her ear, “I’ve always admired your taste. But him? Lord Tenall? You can’t tell me that was anything but boredom.”
She laughed, bright and pleased, covering her lips with her hand. “Boredom pays well,” she teased, eyes flashing.
Hook, line and sinker Jacques thought keeping his smile lazy. “Ah'yeah, but men like him don’t just pay with coin, do they? They pay with words. Complaints. Little truths they can’t keep down when the wine is warm and the bed warmer.”
Her expression flickered. For a moment, Jacques thought she might shut down, but she tilted her chin instead as pride won out. “He did complain now and then a long while back,” she said, almost coyly. “About that boy… Always sneering. Couldn’t stand the sight of him. Said he was a reminder of what was owed to him and denied.”
Jacques feigned ignorance, widening his eyes just enough. “Denied? Surely a man like Erux never lacked anything.”
“He lacked an heir,” she corrected, voice dropping as if the shadows were listening. “He said as much more than once. That Velluria made a fool of him. That her boy was no blood of his, and she would pay for that insult.” Her words were bitter, spite tangled with memory. Jacques didn’t need to push further. He only tipped his glass to her, eyes half-lidded in admiration. “See? I knew you had better taste than him mon chérie. You remember the details.” She blushed at that, laughter spilling, the truth already his.
The second source was less glamorous. A former servant from Erux’s household, now a bitter man with dirt under his nails and a chip on his shoulder. He was easier and Jacques knew greed when he saw it, and the jingle of coin loosened his tongue far faster than flirtation.
“You didn’t hear it from me,” the shal'dorei muttered, eyes darting around the darkened alley where Jacques had cornered him. “But he was always raging before she died. Even after she died I heard talk of getting what they deserved. And he poured money into the Queen’s schemes too once she passed, kept her fat with gold even when she starved the rest of us.” Jacques tilted his head, studying him like a cat might study a mouse. “And now?”
“Now?” The shal'dorei spat. “He rots in his manor. Doesn’t leave, not once. Hires mercs, good ones too, pays ‘em enough to keep their mouths shut and their blades sharp. Even if Suramar's free and changed he knows he’s got enemies and debts waiting to be called. That's why I left as soon as I could.”
Jacques smiled faintly. “Debts have a way of catching up, don’t they?”
The servant paled at the tone, clearly eager to be dismissed. Jacques pressed a coin into his palm and sent him scurrying.
Later, when the city quieted and the moon hung high, Jacques left the taverns and alleys behind. The Tenall estate loomed on the distant edge of Suramar, half-buried in shadow. He didn’t go near the gates though as he wasn’t that foolish. Instead, he climbed to the rocky rise overlooking the valley, settled in the grass, and let his rifle rest steady against his shoulder.
Through the scope, the picture sharpened. Lanterns patrolling the walls. Men armored, armed, and far too disciplined to be local guard rabble. A rotation every twenty minutes. The gates themselves fortified with reinforced metal keeping eyes from peering inside.
Jacques hummed softly under his breath, the sound lost to the wind. Mercenaries indeed, good ones too. Bought loyalty was always temporary, but temporary could last a very long time with enough coin. Erux had planned well, he’d give him that. The man wasn’t just hiding, he was digging in. Jacques lowered the scope, stretching his shoulders before he packed the rifle away again. His smirk was small but certain. Safe behind your walls, hm? Safe for now.
The next day, Jacques leaned back in the chair of a low tavern, the weight of his findings circling like hawks. He twirled his glass idly between his fingers, lips curved with a cigarette low hanging from the corner of them. Erux, bitter and holed up, wrapped in mercenaries no innocent man or elf would keep on payroll. An elf who thought coin could still buy him safety. But Jacques had heard enough. The puzzle wasn’t complete, but the outline was clear. Clear enough to bleed him when the time came. If they wanted answers they'd have to get to the source. Damn Velluria for keeping her secrets so close to her heart.
He flicked open his communicator, thumbs gliding over the surface with practiced ease. -I’ve got something. Best if we meet.-
The glass clinked softly against wood as he set it down. No wall, no mercenary, no coin purse would hold forever. And Jacques knew just where to start tugging to get them inside.
@daily-writing-challenge @the-grave-keeper
