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It had been quite some time since Adon Zeenoth had received any correspondence from Beauregard.
Last time he had seen her, she and the Mighty Nein had been utilizing the Cobalt Soul’s teleportation circle network to make their way back to Zadash.
It had really made him uncomfortable knowing that compared to all of their past interactions, he had to address her as an equal.
It was utterly demoralizing, considering how she had treated him.
He had to put up with a lot, all because of that deal he made with her father.
Thoreau Lionett was a generous man, a shrewd man, and from the outside looking in, he was a concerned father who just wanted his daughter to learn respect and discipline.
But he knew that man’s true side. He was desperate to get rid of her, calling her his “misfortune”, and to that end he was willing to pay a generous fee for her indoctrination.
It was utterly off the books, a bribe, but he was hurting for funds to support the archive… as well as his own pockets.
He put up with a lot of her nonsense, but the payment made it worth it.
And he won’t lie that he had felt a sense of pride and superiority at seeing her brought down a peg that one time when she was forced to leave the archive with her companions upon causing untold chaos.
It was a horrid affair, one that the Cobalt Soul couldn’t stand. And he used that incident to further sully her reputation, ensuring his subordinates that she wouldn’t matter much in the long run.
That is, if it weren’t for Dairon.
She had the nerve to elevate Beauregard far above what she deserved. To think that she had seen any iota of potential within her.
What he had seen for the past three years was an uncouth, irredeemable disgrace.
She was never fit to join their ranks, and had only been allowed in by that “generous” donation.
If Zeenoth had his way, she would be cast out of the Soul, thoroughly disowned and stripped of any and all credibility. She was indeed a disgrace. Dairon as well, for being rebellious in their own way, and then stoking that flame of rebellion in her student.
He must continue to do everything in his power to undermine her accomplishments.
And the first thing he should do is continue to take her correspondence and censor it, ensuring it is unreliable to enter into the Soul’s official records and too incredible to take at face value.
He should consider himself lucky that should the need arise, he has an ace up his sleeve to use against her.
He looks in a drawer at his desk, eyeing a handful of torn notebook pages full of her handwriting.
She was careless, thinking she had disposed of such crucial information.
The true name of her compatriot Caleb Widogast, his connection to Archmage Trent Ikithon, the knowledge that he had murdered his parents…
He could use these pages to his advantage, expose him to the Cerberus Assembly, paint a target on the Mighty Nein… or more specifically, those two “traitors” to the crown. He had discovered through his own connections that they had actually stolen back one of the Dynasty’s relics, something that had sparked the war in the first place, and then when they returned it had earned the favor of the Bright Queen.
How would they react upon learning that the Nein would become turncoats at any time? He could definitely spin it that way.
There’s nothing you can ever say, nothing you can ever do to stop this. I will ensure that you have no future of your own making, Lionett. And I will ensure that you will never learn the truth, you mewling cub.
Zeenoth smiles to himself as he closes the drawer, locking it.
He just has to bide his time, prepare himself to make his move when the time allows.
He just has to—
A hard knock on his office door shakes him out of his reverie.
Another knock jostles the locked door. And another.
Zeenoth clears his throat and responds. “Yes? Whoever is there, may I help you? If it’s not urgent, I request to not be disturbed.”
No response. He frowns, wondering what is going on.
Before he can even think of what could be happening, a loud, audible noise sounds out.
The lock is undone and the door is kicked open.
Before he can process what just happened, only barely aware that someone had used the Knock spell to force it open, he is approached by several fellow initiates.
“Is something wrong? Why the sudden intrusion?”
They don’t respond. Zeenoth quickly begins to feel a lot more nervous than before.
This feels… wrong. Very wrong. Why are they here?
He starts to back away from his desk, but he doesn’t get far before he is seized by a Hold Person spell. In spite of his mental fortitude, the shock of the intrusion by his colleagues is enough to let the magic take hold.
The other monks waste no time casting him in irons, binding his feet and then his hands. His mouth is even sealed shut and muzzled.
As he is forced out of his office, there is someone waiting for him.
An elven figure with a lithe and feminine form, bald head and dark skin. Her vestments are that of the Expositors.
And that face… it is the mask of a professional. And he can see that although her mouth isn’t smiling, her eyes are absolutely giddy with pride… and satisfaction.
“Good evening, Archivist Zeenoth. You are hereby under arrest for sedition, corruption, and perversion of our ways within the Cobalt Soul. And most importantly…”
She steps forward to stare him dead in the eyes.
“You are also under arrest for bribery, kidnapping and conspiracy in regards to the illegal indoctrination of Expositor Beauregard Lionett. Your trial date will be determined another time. Now, if you will please follow me…”
Dairon then turns around, and Zeenoth is forced to follow her.
How?
How did this happen?
How did she find out?
“I’ve had your number for a long time, Adon. You must be wondering what tipped me off.”
She then turns to look at him again, and this time a smile does emerge.
A predator who had just caught her prey.
“A little cub had finally let out her roar, and I listened. You were fucked since Trostenwald, and you never knew it.”
As soon as she said that, Zeenoth suddenly knew.
All along, Dairon had suspected him. Ever since the moment they found her in that hamlet.
The countdown to his own self-destruction had already begun, only paused when the war rang out, and it eventually ticked down to today.
He was finished. And soon enough, his benefactor would be too.
He lost this game.
That bitch of a lioness had finally won.
It’s not until later that he learns his approximate trial date.
The month of Fessuran, less than two months from now.
And he had also learned of even worse news.
Beauregard was still alive. And that she was heading out to finish uncertain affairs up north in Eiselcross.
His only hope now is that wherever she goes up there, something will finally finish her off. But even that hope is slim. He already knows it.
A woman that stubborn had survived worse odds, survived everything the world threw at her to keep her down.
And she still clawed her way out every time.
There’s no way around it.
No matter what, he’s done.