The Great Temple of Oakhaven was a monument to divine greed. Its spires were tipped with solid gold that caught the moonlight, casting long, jagged shadows over the silent city. To the commoners, it was a place of prayer. To me, it was just another high-security vault that needed a "Compliance Review."
"You're going in alone?" Bastian hissed, his hand gripping my shoulder as we stood in the darkness of the temple's outer gardens. He was wearing his dark training leathers, his sword at his hip, looking ready to storm the gates.
"Bastian, in my world, when you want to catch a crooked CFO, you don't send a SWAT team. You send an Accountant," I whispered, adjusting the hood of my dark grey cloak. "If you're caught here, it's a religious war. If I'm caught, I'm just a 'lost maid' looking for a place to pray. Stay at the perimeter. If the signal flare goes up, you have five minutes to get me out."
"Elara—"
"Trust the process, Bastian," I said, giving his hand a quick, firm squeeze before slipping into the shadows. "I've survived three internal audits at a Fortune 500 company. A bunch of priests in silk robes aren't going to stop me."
The Temple was guarded not by soldiers, but by "The Silent Brothers"—monks who had taken a vow of silence and apparently a vow of "standing perfectly still in the dark." I used every trick I'd learned from monitoring corporate security feeds. I timed their patrols, moving only when the wind rustled the cypress trees.
I reached the High Priest's private study through a service vent meant for laundry. The room smelled of expensive frankincense and the stale, cold scent of old paper. It was a beautiful office, but I wasn't here for the decor.
I headed straight for the "Altar of Tithes"—a massive oak desk where the Temple's official records were kept. I flipped through the first ledger. It was perfect. Too perfect. Every copper was accounted for, every donation recorded with surgical precision.
"Amateur," I muttered, tossing the book aside. "Nobody's books are this clean unless they're hiding a second set."
I began to "Audit" the room physically. I looked for the signs of frequent use: wear on the carpet, oil stains on the wood, or a drawer that sat slightly crooked. My fingers traced the edge of a massive statue of the Sun God. Behind the statue's base, I felt it—a small, hidden catch.
Click.
A narrow drawer slid open from the wall. Inside sat a small, black-bound book.
I opened it, and my eyes widened. This wasn't just a record of tithes; it was a record of "Political Investments." The High Priest had been taking the "Poor Man's Copper" and using it to buy land in the Southern Provinces—the same land the Crown Prince had been "clearing" for his private estates. It was a massive, cross-departmental money-laundering scheme.
"Got you," I whispered, tucked the book into my bodice.
But as I turned to leave, the heavy oak door creaked open.
"The Sun God sees all, even in the dark," a raspy, cold voice said.
I froze. Standing in the doorway was the High Priest himself. He was a tall, skeletal man with eyes that looked like clouded glass. He wasn't carrying a weapon; he was carrying a small, silver bowl of the "Liquid Silver" Sarah had warned me about.
"The Empress said you were a clever little rat," the Priest said, stepping into the room. The liquid in the bowl shimmered with a sickly, supernatural light. "She said you were the one who broke her son's 'destiny.' I didn't believe her until I saw you standing here, defiling this holy place."
"I'm not defiling it, Your Holiness," I said, my voice steady even as my heart hammered against my ribs. "I'm conducting a 'Due Diligence' review. And I have to say, your diversification strategy is impressive. Buying Southern farmland with Temple tithes? That's a bold move. Very risky."
The Priest's face didn't change, but his grip on the bowl tightened. "You think you can threaten me with a book? I am the voice of the Gods. I can have you burned in the town square for heresy before the sun rises."
"You could," I agreed, slowly reaching for the small flint-lock flare Bastian had given me. "But then the King would have to ask why a maid was in your office. And he might start wondering why his High Priest owns three villas in the South that aren't on the official registry. If I die, my 'partner' delivers this book to Lord Varick. And Varick... well, he's never been a very religious man when it comes to missing gold."
The Priest hesitated. For a split second, the "Holy Man" vanished, replaced by a terrified bureaucrat who had been caught with his hand in the jar.
"What do you want?" he hissed.
"A 'Regulatory Stay,'" I said, stepping toward the window. "The 'Purification Ceremony' for Prince Bastian? It's canceled. You are going to tell the Empress that the Sun God has 'revealed' that the Prince is pure and chosen. You are going to declare him the 'Rightful Heir of the Trials.' And in exchange, I might 'lose' this book in a very deep well."
"She will kill me," the Priest whispered.
"She might," I shrugged. "But I will destroy you. Choose your exit strategy, Your Holiness."
I didn't wait for his answer. I pulled the pin on the flare and hurled it out the window.
A brilliant purple light erupted in the night sky.
Before the Priest could move, the balcony doors shattered inward. Bastian was there in a heartbeat, his sword drawn, his eyes burning with a protective fury that made the Priest scramble backward.
"Elara! Are you hurt?" Bastian barked, stepping between me and the Priest.
"I'm fine, Bastian. I just finished the negotiations," I said, patting the black book against my chest. "His Holiness has decided to sponsor your campaign. Isn't that right, Father?"
The High Priest looked at the sword, then at me. He bowed his head, his hands shaking. "The... the Sun God's will is clear. The Prince is... chosen."
"Good choice," I smirked. "Now, let's go. I have a very early meeting with a Queen who's about to have a very bad day."