The Grand Cathedral, for Elias Vance, had become a gilded cage of whispers and watchful eyes. For Deacon Averey, it had transformed into a hunting ground. His initial ambition, stoked by Elias's potential rise to the Sacred Conclave, had curdled into something darker, sharper: a gnawing, obsessive suspicion centered on the Cardinal-elect's inexplicable connection to the Holy Knight Commander.
The Pontiff's veiled warning to Elias about "unnecessary drains" had been music to Averey's ears. It confirmed his instincts: there was something irregular, something unseemly, about Vance's interactions with Blackwood. And where there was irregularity, especially involving one destined for the Conclave, there was opportunity. For advancement. For leverage. For removing an obstacle.
Averey's pursuit became meticulous, patient, and utterly clandestine. He moved through the cathedral's vastness like a shadow given purpose, his dark eyes missing nothing. He wasn't hunting demons or heretics; he was hunting whispers, coincidences, and the subtle language of forbidden attention.
He began with patterns. Elias Vance was a creature of habit: the infirmary, the library, his private chambers, specific prayer times. Theron Blackwood was less predictable, his movements dictated by duty, training, and the ever-present threat of demonic incursions. Yet, patterns did emerge under Averey's relentless scrutiny.
The Training Field Vigil: Averey had noted Elias's unusual presence near the eastern cloister walk several times. He found the perfect observation post – a narrow, disused staircase leading to a choir balcony overlooking the training grounds. Hidden behind crumbling stone fretwork, he became a silent spectator. He saw Elias leaning against a pillar, partially concealed, his gaze fixed not on the drills or the sergeants, but intensely, unmistakably, on Commander Blackwood. He noted the Cardinal-elect's stillness, the slight parting of his lips, the faint flush that crept up his neck even from a distance. He saw the exact moment Blackwood's gaze snapped towards the cloister, the electric stillness that passed between them before Elias fled. Averey's thin lips curved into a satisfied smirk. He meticulously recorded the date, time, and duration in a small, leather-bound notebook he kept hidden beneath his robes.
"Observed CV observing CB training. Duration: approx. 15 mins. Intense focus. Subject CV exhibited visible agitation/flush upon CB notice. Departed hastily."
The Library Rendezvous: The Great Library was trickier. Its vastness and silence made overt observation risky. But Averey was resourceful. He positioned himself in the Theology section, ostensibly researching penitential rites, a section with sightlines down several aisles, including the approach to Elias's favored Ancient History nook. He saw Commander Blackwood enter, a rare occurrence in itself. He watched, his pulse quickening, as Blackwood bypassed the military history section he would logically visit and headed deep into the obscure chronicles near Vance's desk. He noted the ostentatiously chosen volume – Valerius the Unbroken, a ludicrous choice for a pragmatic soldier. He observed Blackwood's deliberate positioning at the nearby table, angled away but undeniably close. He saw Elias freeze at his desk, the quill trembling in his hand. The charged silence, even from his vantage point, felt palpable. Averey didn't need to hear words; the proximity, the chosen location, the body language screamed collusion. Another entry in the notebook:
"CB entered Library, proceeded directly to CV's usual vicinity. Selected improbable text (Valerius Annals). Seated himself within close proximity (approx. 10 yds) to CV's desk. No direct interaction observed, but prolonged co-presence in secluded area. CV appeared visibly affected (ceased writing, posture rigid)."
The Failed Eavesdropping: Emboldened, Averey attempted bolder tactics. Learning that Commander Blackwood had scheduled a private consultation with Elias regarding the lingering effects of his old demon wound (a legitimate pretext Averey couldn't dismiss outright), he saw his chance. He knew the infirmary's layout – a small, adjacent storage closet shared a thin wall with Elias's private examination room. He slipped in moments before the appointment, holding his breath amidst the scent of dried herbs and linen bandages, pressing his ear against the cool plaster.
He heard muffled voices: Elias's calm, professional tone inquiring about pain levels, Theron's low, curt responses. Frustratingly mundane. Then, a shift. A longer pause. Elias's voice, softer, almost hesitant: "The Moonbloom... it is... effective. Thank you." Another pause, heavier. Theron's voice, deeper, rougher, stripped of its usual command: "Good. Use it." The raw intimacy in those two simple words, even through the wall, made Averey's skin prickle. He strained, desperate for more – a confession, an endearment, anything damning. But then came the scrape of a chair, the rustle of fabric. The consultation was ending. Averey barely had time to melt back into the deeper shadows of the closet before the door to the examination room opened. He caught a fleeting glimpse of Blackwood's imposing frame leaving, his expression unreadable, and Elias standing in the doorway, watching him go, a look of profound, conflicted weariness on his face before he closed the door. The notebook entry was sparse but venomous:
"Attempted auditory surveillance re: CB's medical consult w/ CV. Conversation initially professional. CV thanked CB for unspecified item ('Moonbloom'? Rare analgesic?). CB response ('Good. Use it.') carried undue familiarity/intimacy. No further actionable intel obtained." The failure rankled, but the implication of the gift – a rare, expensive item passed privately – was fuel enough.
Averey's notebook became a testament to his obsession. Pages filled with times, dates, locations, observations:
"CV lingered near Knights' barracks post-Vespers. CB not present."
"CB observed entering Archives (unusual). CV not present at time."
"CV declined invitation to review new hymnals with Dcn. Marcus, citing fatigue. Later observed in Library appearing alert."
"Shared glance in Refectory during High Meal. Brief but intense. No verbal interaction."
Each entry was a tiny stitch, sewing together a tapestry of circumstantial evidence. Averey saw what others dismissed: the frequency of their paths crossing, the electric tension in shared spaces, the subtle ways their awareness of each other disrupted the cathedral's ordered rhythm. He saw Elias's exhaustion warring with a strange, illicit vitality when Blackwood was near. He saw the Commander's usual icy control thaw into a focused, protective intensity solely directed at the Cardinal-elect.
Jealousy, cold and corrosive, festered within Averey. Jealousy of Elias's effortless grace, his Resonant Light, his seemingly guaranteed ascent to the Conclave. Jealousy of the Commander's unwavering, dangerous attention – a loyalty and intensity Averey craved for himself but knew he could never command. Why should Vance, burdened by weakness and hidden vices, receive such devotion? Why should he stand on the precipice of ultimate power?
This jealousy intertwined seamlessly with his ambition. Elias Vance wasn't just a rival; he was a fraud. A man whose pure Light was shadowed by an impure attachment. A future Cardinal whose judgment was compromised by a forbidden fascination with a man harboring volatile, ancient power. This weakness, this hypocrisy, was Averey's key. Exposing it wouldn't just remove Vance from the path to the Conclave; it would catapult Averey himself into the spotlight as the vigilant defender of the Church's purity. He imagined presenting his meticulously kept notebook to Brother Markus, to the Pontiff himself. He imagined Vance's pallor, his stammered denials crumbling under the weight of circumstantial proof. He imagined Blackwood's fury, impotent against the machinery of the Church.
Averey stood in a deserted side chapel, the only light coming from a single guttering candle before a stern-faced saint. He traced the embossed cover of his hidden notebook with a thin finger. The silence here wasn't peaceful like the library's; it was expectant, heavy with malice. A slow, unpleasant smile spread across his face, devoid of warmth, illuminated only by the candle's flickering, judgmental flame.
The game was no longer just observation. The pieces were moving. Vance's weakness was evident. Blackwood's protectiveness was a vulnerability. And Deacon Averey, the ever-watchful shadow, was ready to strike. His prying eyes had seen enough. It was time to turn suspicion into accusation, whispers into condemnation. The hunter in the wings was preparing to step onto the stage. The notebook snapped shut with a soft, decisive click, echoing in the empty chapel like the cocking of a pistol.