Two months after the attack had passed in strange silence.

  Lelya had been waiting for a continuation—new threats, surveillance, another envelope with a typed line. Nothing. Work went on as usual: letters, drafts, minor negotiations. As if someone had pressed pause.

  This worried her more than an open threat would have.

  She sat in her office—now a proper room with a window, not the temporary cubicle—rereading an intelligence report. Svarog had sent it that morning marked “for information.” Three pages of dry facts: the mercenaries who had attacked her and Radimir had been hired through a chain of intermediaries. The trail went cold in the Citadel, but no evidence of their Alnar’s involvement was found. The case was closed as an “incident with unidentified persons.”

  Too clean, Lelya thought. Too neat.

  A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.

  “Radimir wants to see you,” Miroslav said, peering into the office. “Urgently.”

  The minister’s office looked different than usual. Papers on the desk were gathered into neat stacks, monitors switched off. Radimir stood by the window—his favorite position for serious conversations.

  But he wasn’t alone.

  Varvara the Northern sat in the visitor’s chair.

  Lelya froze in the doorway. In the two months since their first meeting, she had only seen the Chief Mage from a distance—at meetings, in corridors. Varvara watched, as she had promised, but didn’t interfere. Until today.

  “Sit down,” Varvara said. The same calm voice without a hint of command, yet one that still made you want to obey immediately.

  Lelya sat.

  “Did you read Svarog’s report?” Radimir asked without turning around.

  “Yes. The trail went cold.”

  “The trail didn’t go cold.” Varvara folded her hands on her knees. “It was cut. Deliberately.”

  Lelya felt a chill run down her spine.

  “Do you know who’s behind the attack?”

  “We know that someone is very carefully covering their tracks.” Varvara tilted her head slightly. “And that means this isn’t about you. And it’s not about fishing quotas.”

  Radimir finally turned around. His face was serious—without his usual gentle smile.

  “I’ve analyzed the incidents over the past year. Not just your attack.” He walked to his desk and picked up a folder. “Look: the failed negotiations in March—remember when our representative suddenly had ‘compromising documents’ surface? The information leak on the northern contract in May. The illness of three of our senior diplomats in July—all three at the same time.”

  He opened the folder and placed several sheets with dates and notes before Lelya.

  “Separately—coincidences. Together—a pattern. Someone is systematically weakening the ministry.”

  Varvara nodded—briefly, confirming.

  “Exactly. The question is—why.” She stood and walked around the office. “In three months, the World Council will convene. On the agenda—the question of the northwestern territories.”

  Lelya knew about these territories. A disputed strip of land along the border of Monolith and the Citadel—formally neutral but rich in mineral deposits. Fifty years ago, a joint use treaty had been signed, but in recent years, the Citadel had been increasingly pushing its people into the local administration.

  “They want to take the territories for themselves,” Radimir said. “And if our ministry is incapacitated by then...”

  He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

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  “What can I do?” Lelya asked.

  Varvara stopped and looked at her—with that same evaluating gaze Lelya remembered from their first meeting.

  “Radimir has recommended you for the position of First Deputy Minister. I’ve approved it.”

  The words fell into the silence like stones into water.

  “First Deputy,” Lelya repeated slowly. “I’m two years old. I’ve been in the ministry for less than a year.”

  “And in that time, you’ve shown more than some have in centuries.” Varvara returned to her chair but didn’t sit. “But it’s not just about your abilities. It’s that the enemy doesn’t know you. They’ve studied Radimir, studied our senior diplomats. Their rhetoric, their weaknesses, their methods. But you—you’re a new variable. Unaccounted for.”

  Lelya was silent. Thoughts spun in her head—too many, too fast.

  First Deputy Minister. This meant access to all negotiations, all information. It meant a voice at the Supreme Council of Monolith. It meant responsibility that just yesterday had seemed as distant as the moon.

  And it meant she was becoming an even more visible target.

  “Can I think about it?” she asked.

  “You can.” Varvara headed for the door. “Until tomorrow.”

  She left, and the office immediately felt larger, as if the Chief Mage had occupied space with her mere presence.

  Radimir sighed and sank into his chair.

  “I should have warned you in advance,” he said. “But Varvara wanted to see your reaction.”

  “Was that a test?”

  “Everything is a test.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Welcome to big-league politics.”

  Lelya stood, feeling a strange emptiness inside. Not fear—more like understanding that the point of no return was already behind her. She had passed it somewhere between the attack and this conversation without even noticing.

  At the door, she turned.

  “Radimir. Those three diplomats who fell ill in July. Were they all working on the northwestern question?”

  “Yes.” All three.

  Lelya nodded and left.

  The corridor was empty and quiet. Somewhere below, voices hummed, footsteps echoed, the ordinary life of Alnar continued. But here, on the upper floors—only silence and shadows.

  She had until tomorrow to think.

  Lelya didn’t sleep all night, but not from anxiety.

  She thought about what Radimir had said. About the pattern he had seen. March, May, July, September—incidents scattered across the calendar like random dots. But Radimir was a strategist. He saw connections where others saw chaos.

  By four in the morning, she had made her decision.

  In the morning, she came to Radimir.

  “I agree,” she said from the doorway. “But I need to understand the full picture. Tell me everything you see.”

  Radimir leaned back in his chair and looked at her for a long moment.

  “Sit down,” he said finally. “This will take a while.”

  He stood, went to the cabinet, and pulled out a thick folder—not the one he had shown yesterday, but another, heavier one.

  “I started noticing patterns about a year ago. At first, I thought it was paranoia. Then I started keeping notes.” He opened the folder. “Look: February—a meeting with a representative from House of All Winds falls through. Officially—‘technical reasons.’ In March—compromising documents surface on our man who was leading negotiations with the Freeport League. In April—a delay in documents for a trade agreement with the Coastal Union.”

  Lelya looked at the dates, the names, the notes. Radimir continued:

  “All three cases—these are our connections with potential allies. Those who could support us against the Citadel at the Council.”

  “They want to leave us without support,” Lelya said.

  “Exactly.” Radimir nodded. “They’re preparing the ground. When the question of the territories comes up at the Council, Monolith shouldn’t have anyone to stand up for us. Not House of All Winds, not the Freeport League, not the Coastal Union.” He paused.

  “The killing of the border guards, Borimir, by the takenaks. I don’t know how yet, but that’s connected to the overall picture too,” Lelya added.

  Radimir nodded.

  “I thought so too. And the attack on you—that wasn’t just a signal. It was a test.”

  “A test of what?”

  “Our reaction. They wanted to see how quickly we would respond, what resources we would deploy, who would lead the investigation.” Radimir pulled another sheet from the folder—a copy of Svarog’s report. “And now they know our security system from the inside.”

  Lelya was silent for a long time, looking at the spread-out documents. Outside the window, dawn was breaking—a pale winter sun crawling from behind the rooftops.

  “If you’re right,” she said finally, “then we’re in a worse position than I thought.”

  “We’re in a very bad position.” Radimir gathered the papers back into the folder. “But we have three months to change that.”

  “How?”

  “That’s where I need you.” He looked her in the eyes. “I see the system. I understand what they’re doing and why. But I can’t persuade.”

  “And I can.”

  “You can.” Radimir smiled slightly. “I’ve seen how you work. In negotiations, in meetings. You feel words the way I feel strategy. That’s why I need you to restore our connections. Talk to those we’ve lost. Convince them to come back.”

  “House of All Winds, the Freeport League, the Coastal Union?”

  “For starters.” He stood. “I’ll give you all the materials. Contacts, relationship history, pressure points. The rest is your territory.”

  Lelya took the folder. It was heavy—not just physically.

  “Radimir. Are you sure this will work?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure of anything. But it’s the best plan we have.”

  He pushed another document toward her—one with the official seal of Alnar.

  “Your appointment. Sign here.”

  Lelya picked up the pen. She hesitated for a second, looking at the line for her signature.

  Then she signed.

  “Welcome to your new position,” Radimir said. There was something like relief in his voice—and at the same time, worry. “First Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs of Monolith.”

  Lelya looked at her signature. The ink hadn’t dried yet.

  She had a lot of work to do.