Gossip was an instrument.
It only took one whisper to shatter alliances, turn a friend against a friend, and topple even the greatest of houses.
Aric sat in his dimmed room, tracing the rim of a goblet of dark wine. At the far end of the room, Varholt stood, his expression empty—a puppet controlled by Sovereign's Brand.
"You know your task?" Aric inquired.
"Yes, my lord," Varholt said flatly.
Aric rested his elbows on his knees. "Good. Now let us start with the first blow."
The Duke's court was a sinkhole of intrigue and rumor—but even the greatest nobles had a vulnerability.
And Aric knew precisely where to strike the first blow.
House Margrave.
A wealthy house who dominated the trade, second only to the Duke in riches.
But they had a notorious flaw: Lord Cedric, heir to the title, was a gambler.
"Spread word that Lord Cedric owes a great debt… one even the Duke cannot cover." Aric instructed.
Varholt nodded. "I will make sure the right ears hear it."
A minor rumor.
But it would create doubt.
And doubt… led to fear.
The next target was Viscount Renald, a key advisor to the Duke.
Renald was untouchable through power alone—but Aric didn't need power. He only needed to plant an idea.
"Imply that Renald has been secretly meeting with foreign ambassadors."
"Make it sound treasonous."
Varholt nodded. "By tomorrow afternoon, the court will be abuzz with rumor."
Aric sneered.
One rumor was nothing.
But two?
Two would ignite the court.
The effects had already started by nightfall.
At the great feast in the Duke's hall, Aric sat on the edge and watched as the nobles whispered to each other.
Lord Cedric turned white, his hands trembling as he sipped his wine.
Viscount Renald had become visibly tense, his normally confident demeanor wavering under the attack of suspicious looks.
Even the Duke had noticed, his quick eyes flicking between the two men.
Aric held his smile behind his goblet.
"Then they'll fight one another."
And when they did…