Chapter 68: Cold War
The letter arrived at dawn.
Dominic found it on the entry hall table, propped against a vase of fresh-cut flowers the staff had replaced before sunrise. The seal was Harwick green, the wax still faintly warm. Someone had paid for express delivery. Someone wanted him to know they’d moved quickly.
He broke the seal without sitting down.
The letter was short. Hector Harwick’s handwriting was precise, elegant, and utterly without warmth. It informed Dominic Kane that House Harwick had filed a formal challenge with the Royal Auction House regarding the provenance of Lot 23—the SSS+ mana core from the Caldmore dungeon, floor ten. The challenge asserted that the core was obtained using Harwick resources and personnel, specifically during a dungeon expedition in which Harwick-affiliated adventurers had participated. As such, House Harwick claimed a thirty percent stake in the proceeds of the sale, pending investigation by the capital’s Commerce Tribunal.
Dominic read it twice. Then he folded the letter along its crease and set it on the table.
"It’s a stall," he said aloud. "He’s not trying to win. He’s trying to delay the payout and tie up the money in legal bureaucracy. It’s a siege tactic. If I’m poor, I’m not a threat."
Theresa considered this. "The claim is baseless. We were the only ones on that floor. There were no Harwick resources, no Harwick personnel, and no Harwick-affiliated adventurers. He’s lying outright."
Dominic straightened his cuffs. "I needed to visit the auction house anyway. I’ll handle it there."
"Alone?"
"Florence can come. She’d probably die from boredom otherwise."
Theresa returned to her study, and Dominic left the letter where it lay. He’d bring it to the auction house. Let their legal clerks earn their fees.
The Royal Auction House in the morning was a different creature than the cathedral of commerce he’d visited the day before. The enchanted projections were dimmed. The crowds were gone. In their place was a small army of clerks and porters preparing for the evening’s main event. The auction would begin at sundown. The headline lot, his lot—would go last.
Dominic and Florence were met at the side entrance by a young woman in the auction house’s silver-and-grey livery. She was maybe twenty-five, sharp-eyed, with dark hair pulled back in a practical twist and a small ledger tucked under her arm. Her badge read Liaison.
"Lord Kane," she said, and her voice was brisk without being cold. "I’m Claire Summerstone. The auction house has assigned me as your personal liaison for the duration of the sale. If you need anything, information, introductions, a fresh cup of tea, I’m the one who provides it."
"Lord?"
"Consignor of the headline lot. The house extends courtesies." She smiled, brief and professional. "Shall we?"
She led them through the back corridors, past the vault where the core was being prepared for display, past the clerks’ offices where the final bidder registrations were being processed, and into a small private office overlooking the main auction floor. The room was elegant but functional: a polished desk, comfortable chairs, and a wide window that looked down onto the rows of seats and the raised auctioneer’s podium. A privacy ward shimmered faintly at the edges of the glass.
"Your box for the evening," Claire explained. "Privacy wards, enchanted glass, direct sightline to the auctioneer. No one can see in, but you can see everything. The refreshments will be replenished throughout the night."
Dominic handed her the Harwick letter. "Then start with this."
Claire read it. Her expression flickered, not surprise, but something closer to recognition. "House Harwick filed this challenge at eight o’clock last evening. The auction house received a copy."
"And?"
"And it’s already been reviewed and flagged for dismissal." She set the letter down. "By our legal office, before I even arrived this morning. Someone upstairs flagged the Harwick name and preempted the challenge. That doesn’t happen unless the consignor has backing that makes the house take notice."
"Backing?" Dominic repeated.
Claire met his eyes. "Your guild sponsorship was filed under Frank Castle’s seal. Castle is a name that still carries weight in this city, even if the man himself prefers Caldmore. When the core was consigned, Castle sent a separate communiqué to the capital guild office. He informed certain people that a consignor under his protection would be arriving, and that any challenges to the consignment should be examined closely." She paused. "House Harwick’s claim was examined. It failed."
Dominic was quiet for a moment. Frank hadn’t mentioned any communiqué. He’d handed over the consignment papers and wished him luck. Whatever Frank had done behind the scenes, he’d done it quietly, without asking for credit.
"They’re hoping you’re alone," Claire said. "Without allies, without resources, and without anyone watching your back. If that were true, this challenge would have landed differently. It would have tied up your funds for weeks while the Tribunal investigated. The auction house would have had to comply with the hold." She tapped the letter.
"So it was a probe; the challenge was never meant to succeed."
"A very expensive probe, as well. Filing a fraudulent claim with the Commerce Tribunal carries penalties. They knew that. They filed it anyway." Claire slid the letter back across the desk. "They have their answer now. You’re protected. The question is what they do with that information."
Dominic picked up the letter. "They’ll try something else. Something that doesn’t go through official channels."
"Almost certainly." Claire made a note in her ledger. "The auction house will maintain security around your box during the sale. You’ll be safe inside our walls. It’s outside our walls that concerns me."
"Why’s that?"
"The post-auction ball. If House Harwick intends to move against you directly, the ball is where they’ll do it."
Dominic nodded. "Then I’ll be ready."
"Good." Claire made a final note and stood. "Shall we continue?"
She led them through the back corridors of the auction house, onto the main floor. The noise hit first, the murmur of nobility, the clink of glasses, the low hum of enchanted displays cycling through their previews.
"I’ll leave you here," Claire said. "The floor is open to all registered bidders and consignors before the auction begins. Your box will be ready at sundown. If you need me before then, speak to any attendant, they’ll find me."
"Thank you, Claire."
She nodded once and disappeared into the crowd, her silver-and-grey livery vanishing among the silks and velvets of the capital’s elite.
Florence surveyed the room with the flat, assessing gaze of someone mapping exits and threats. "This is a lot of money in one room."
"That’s the point."
Near the far wall, a broad-shouldered man in military dress was examining a display of enchanted armor. Lord Cassian Morne. Dominic could feel the pressure radiating off him, poorly controlled, Morne wasn’t trying to intimidate anyone. He simply couldn’t help it.
And standing near the eastern colonnade, watching the crowd as if waiting for something specific, was Hector Harwick.
He was older than Dominic had expected, carved by decades of careful authority. His hair was silver at the temples, his posture impeccable, his clothing the deep green and black of his house without being ostentatious. Beside him stood a younger man in similar colors, tall, broad-shouldered and watchful. Aldric, the steward. The right hand.
Hector’s eyes found Dominic across the floor.
The space between them seemed to cool by several degrees, the ambient noise fading to a dull hum.
Dominic walked toward him. Florence stayed at his shoulder, a half-step behind and to the right.
"Lord Harwick," Dominic said, stopping at a conversational distance. His voice was calm. Pleasant, even. "I didn’t expect to see you here before the auction. I thought you preferred to work through... intermediaries."
Hector’s smile was a thin, bloodless thing. "Kane. I could say the same. Though I suppose after your performance at the Trials, anonymity is no longer an option for you." He paused. "Congratulations, by the way. Runner-up is quite an achievement for someone of your... starting position."
"I found the competition instructive."
"Did you? I found it revealing. It’s always interesting to see what people are capable of when they’re desperate." Hector’s gaze flicked to Florence, then back to Dominic. "Speaking of capability, your companion. The one who dismantled my son’s team almost single-handedly. She’s not from Caldmore, is she? The accent is wrong. The combat style is wrong. Everything about her is wrong, in the most fascinating way."
Florence smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant expression. "I’ll make sure your compliment reaches her ears."
"I’m sure you will." Hector’s attention returned to Dominic. "You’ve gathered quite the household. A foreign warrior of unknown origin. A mage whose magical signature doesn’t match any registered academy. A merchant’s daughter who fights like a butcher. And, of course, the slime." He let the word hang. "One might wonder where you’re finding them."
"And one might wonder why you’re keeping such close track of my household."
"A concerned citizen always keeps track of unusual developments. The capital thrives on information. Surely you understand that, given how many questions you’ve been asking since you arrived." Hector’s tone was light, almost conversational.
"I’ve simply been admiring the architecture."
"Of course. It’s a very old building. Very sturdy. It’s held up remarkably well, considering how many people have gone in and never come out." The words were delivered with the casual warmth of a man discussing the weather. "Your father was held there, wasn’t he? Before he died? I imagine it must be difficult, walking past the place where he spent his final days. So many memories."
Dominic’s expression didn’t change. "My father’s memory doesn’t need your concern."
"No, I don’t suppose it does. The Kane name has been doing quite well on its own lately, hasn’t it? Black and gold in the stands. Strangers wearing your colors. It must feel like vindication." Hector paused. "It must also feel precarious. Reputations can be so fragile. One unfortunate incident, one misunderstanding, one wrong move, and suddenly all that goodwill evaporates. The capital is very good at forgetting."
"Is that experience talking?"
The slightest flicker crossed Hector’s face, just the briefest acknowledgment that a blow had landed. "Experience is a wonderful teacher. It’s a shame your father didn’t have more of it before he made his mistakes. But then, the Kane family has always struggled with timing."
"And the Harwicks have always struggled with relevance. How is Victor, by the way? Recovering well, I hope. The healers said the psychological damage would take longer than the physical."
Hector’s smile thinned by a fraction. "Victor is resilient. He’ll bounce back. Harwicks always do."
"I’m sure he will. He seemed very resilient when Wobbly was crawling down his throat in front of eighty thousand people. That takes a certain kind of courage, to keep taking it, kneeling, while you know you’re completely at someone else’s mercy."
The silence stretched. Aldric’s jaw had tightened almost imperceptibly. Florence’s stillness had taken on a quality of quiet satisfaction.
"You have a sharp tongue," Hector said finally. "Your father had one too, toward the end. It didn’t save him."
Dominic met his eyes. "You should enjoy the auction, Lord Harwick. You paid enough for the entry fee. It would be a shame to waste it on conversation."
"I rarely waste anything." Hector inclined his head, the smallest possible acknowledgment, the kind a predator gave to prey it had decided wasn’t worth the chase. Not yet. "Aldric. We should find our seats."
He walked past them, Aldric falling into step at his side.
Dominic turned toward the side corridor. Florence fell into step beside him. "So what’s the plan after the auction?"
"we’ll see how many of these nobles are still willing to meet my eyes. And then we find out what Hector’s really planning."
"And if he tries something at the ball?"
Dominic didn’t break stride. "Then we give him what he’s been asking for."