Clause 4: Dependency and Material Support

Titus was reading when Poppy let herself into his rooms at the Marianus estate later that night. It still felt strange, that easy access; like she’d been handed a key she wasn’t sure she deserved.

He looked up from his book, eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise. “Hey. I thought you were having dinner with your mother and her friends tonight.”

“I was. It ended.” Poppy closed the door behind her and locked it. “We need to talk.”

His expression shifted immediately, going from surprise to concern. He set the book aside. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I just—” She crossed to where he sat, then changed her mind and started pacing. “I want to talk about the engagement party.”

“Okay.” He waited, patient as always.

You’re stalling, Echo observed.

I’m not stalling, I’m organizing my thoughts.

You’ve had your thoughts organized since you talked to Lynn and Lucas. You’re just scared he’ll say no.

“My siblings and I are planning something,” Poppy said, the words coming out in that halting way they always did when she tried to trust him with something real. “Lynn has been tracking Grandfather’s supply chains from the Freelands side. She knows which senators are buying contraband, who’s skimming, who’s dirty. Lucas has access to the internal contracts—he knows where Grandfather has leverage, which families are desperate, who owes what.”

Titus’ expression didn’t change, but she saw his posture shift.

“And I control the guest list,” Poppy continued. “The seating chart. I can put people next to each other strategically. I can create opportunities for conversations. I can—” She stopped pacing, turned to face him. “We’re going to use the engagement party to start building leverage against Grandfather. To start undermining his network.”

He’s going to think you’re using him, Echo said quietly.

He won’t—

His first wife used him. Nobody in town talks to him unless they need something. Everyone uses the consul. Why would you be different?

The silence stretched.

“…Please say something,” Poppy said finally.

“I’m thinking.” Titus leaned back in his chair, fingers laced. “You’re planning to use our engagement party to start staging a coup. A quiet one, but still.”

“Yes.”

“To undermine your grandfather’s influence by—what? Repositioning his network to answer to you and your siblings instead?”

“Essentially.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “We put the right people next to each other. Let them see that the next generation of Katullins has different priorities. That Grandfather’s grip might not be as tight as they think. That there are other options.”

“Social maneuvering,” Titus said slowly. “Using the party to shift allegiances before they’re cemented.” He paused. “And the information Lynn and Lucas have—the dirt on who’s buying what, who owes whom. What are you planning to do with that?”

“Nothing,” Poppy said. “Not yet. Right now we’re just gathering it. Making sure people know we have it without saying we have it. Showing them that we’re paying attention.”

“Building leverage without using it.”

“Exactly.” She met his eyes. “We’re not forcing anyone. We’re showing them there are options. That the next generation might be more flexible, more reasonable—”

“More willing to renegotiate,” Titus said.

“Exactly.”

He was quiet for a moment, considering. “It’s still using people.”

“It’s politics,” Poppy countered. “It’s what everyone in this godsforsaken country does every day. We’re just doing it better than my grandfather.”

Titus studied her face for a long moment. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it’s your engagement party too. You have a right to know what’s happening at it.” She paused. “And because I could just ask you to handle it. You have the connections in Civen, the senatorial relationships. You could probably solve this with a few well-placed conversations.”

“But you’re not asking me to do that.”

“No.” She met his eyes. “I need to do this myself. All three of us do. It’s our family. Our mess. And if we’re going to break free of Grandfather, we can’t do it by hiding behind your reputation or your father’s Senate seat. We have to build our own power base.”

“And you’re telling me because—”

“Because I don’t want to lie to you. Not about this.”

Something in his expression softened. He stood up and reached out, pulling her closer. “Not about this,” he repeated quietly. “What about other things?”

Poppy’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Tell me the plan. All of it.”

So she did. The seating chart that would put creditors next to debtors, smugglers next to the Guild representatives they’d been bribing. The strategic introductions she could make as the bride, putting Lynn’s Freelands contacts in front of Senators like Vane who thought their contraband purchases were secret. The way Lucas could identify which families were desperate, hemorrhaging money on contracts they couldn’t fulfill, and Lynn could quietly mention alternative routes. Supply chains that didn’t require Grandfather’s approval. Trade agreements that didn’t come with his strings attached.

Titus listened without interrupting. When she finished, he was quiet for a long moment.

“You’ve thought this through,” he said finally.

“Lucas did most of the strategy. Lynn has the intelligence network. I’m just—”

“You’re the social engineer,” Titus corrected. “The bride above suspicion. The one who can move pieces without anyone questioning why.” He tilted her chin up to look at him. “This is dangerous, Poppy.”

“I know.”

“If your grandfather realizes what you’re doing—”

“He won’t. He thinks this wedding is his victory. He’s not looking for betrayal from me.” She swallowed. “Not yet.”

Not until it’s too late, Echo added. You hope.

Titus was quiet again, and she could practically see him working through scenarios, weighing risks, calculating outcomes. The part of his brain that never fully shut off.

She swallowed. “If you want me to cancel it, I will. I’ll tell Lynn and Lucas it’s off.”

You won’t though, Echo scoffed. You need this. They need this. You’re just hoping he says yes so you don’t have to choose.

Poppy held her breath, waiting.

“Alright,” he said finally.

Poppy stifled a sigh of relief. “Alright?”

“Alright. I’m in.” He pulled her closer. “But we do this carefully. No improvisation. No taking unnecessary risks. And if at any point I think this is going to blow back in a way you can’t handle, I’m calling it off.”

“Jason—”

“Those are my terms,” he said firmly. “You want my support? That’s what it costs. I’m not watching you sacrifice yourself to take down your grandfather.”

Poppy leaned into him, breathing in the scent of soap and old books and safety. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” His arms tightened around her. “We’re about to turn our engagement party into a political chessboard. Save the gratitude for when we actually pull this off without starting a blood feud.”

She laughed despite herself, the sound muffled against his chest.

“Stay tonight?” he asked quietly.

“Helena will have opinions.”

“Helena always has opinions. It’s her hobby. Stay anyway.”

So she did.

Later, curled against him in the dark, Poppy felt the familiar ache starting in her temples. She hadn’t gotten a chance to dose before bed. She had a vial in her dress pocket, discarded somewhere on his floor. But Titus’ breathing had already evened out into sleep, his arm heavy and warm across her waist, and she couldn’t bring herself to risk waking him up by sliding out from under it.

You told him about the crimes, Echo said quietly into the darkness. About using his reputation. His family. His position. But not about this.

She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the crawling sensation under her skin.

He said ‘not about this’ when you said you didn’t want to lie. He heard it too. The implication.

Stop.

I’m just saying what you already know.

She pressed closer to Titus’ warmth and didn’t answer.

⊱⊰

The wine cellar she had chosen to hide in over a week later was one of many beneath the estate—a large network of tunnels and storage rooms she’d mapped in her childhood, when exploring smuggling routes felt like adventure instead of necessity.

She sat on the bottom step with her knees pulled to her chest, a heavy wool shawl wrapped around her nightgown, cold stone pressing against her shoulder blade. The air smelled of damp earth and oak and old money, and the magically fueled torches cast soft orange light across the curved ceiling. Her breath had finally evened out, the desperate clawing presence at her chest finally smoothed away. She could feel the wool texture against her fingertips, the chill seeping through her nightgown, the steady thrum of her own heartbeat.

She hadn’t felt like this in weeks.

The heavy door creaked open at the top of the stairs and boots began to descend the stone steps, slow and deliberate. Poppy didn’t look up; she knew the tread. She felt Nikolas stop three steps above her, his shadow stretching long across the floor in the torchlight.

“Our inventory was off on the last resupply.”

Poppy stopped herself from putting her hand in the pocket of her nightgown out of reflex. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?” Niko stepped down, moving past her into the cellar proper.

He walked along the wine racks slowly, running his hand over the dusty bottles. “It explains some things, doesn’t it? The shaking. The fevers. You weren’t stressed, Penelope. Your supply is running low.”

Poppy didn’t answer.

“Two nights ago you were screaming in Sylvan. Last night, Andaranian. Seems the more you try to ration, the louder you become.”

“Go fuck yourself, Nikolas.”

“Charming as always, I see.” He pulled out a bottle. Examined the label. Set it aside.

“Inventory discrepancies started about a month ago. Small amounts. A vial here, a vial there.” He pulled out another bottle, examined it. “I thought one of my men was stealing off the top. Disciplined two of them for it, actually.”

He put the bottle down. Started on the next one. “Then I realized the timing. It started four weeks after you came home.”

Poppy’s stomach sank.

“You always loved these tunnels. Showed me every hiding spot down here, back when we would need to find somewhere private.” He moved to the second rack now, his movements more purposeful. “So when I asked myself where our dear Penelope would stash contraband in her childhood home, the answer became quite obvious.”

“You’re wasting your time.”

“Am I?” He reached behind a row of bottles near the back. Paused. His hand came back holding a vial of Blightfyre Tonic, the red liquid swirling inside like something alive.

He held it up to the torchlight, eyebrow raised. “So which vintage pairs best with distilled skybeast? Mother’s Disappointment? Or are you still partial to a rosé?”

He pocketed the vial, then kept searching. Found two more. “How many are you going through now? Two a day? Three?”

“Give those back.”

“Why? So you can keep pretending this is under control?” He turned to look at her. “I noticed you’ve been coming down here every night this week.”

“That’s not your business.”

“Everything about you is my business. It’s literally in the job description.” He grabbed a bottle of wine from the rack, pulled the cork with his teeth, spat it onto the floor. Took a swig, then held it out to her.

The fact that he’d been keeping track made her throat tight. She took the bottle and drank. The wine was rich and heavy, coating her throat, masking the burn from the dose she’d taken an hour ago.

“I can’t sleep,” she admitted, handing it back.

“Obviously.” Niko took another long swig. “The nightmares getting worse?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

“Thought so.” He leaned against a wine barrel, studying her. “So what’s the plan? Keep dosing yourself in secret? Hope it gets better on its own?”

“I’ll handle it.”

“Will you?” His voice was flat. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re going through vials faster than when you were actually infected.”

Poppy looked away. The anger tried to spark—that hot, immediate rage that came when Niko was being too observant.

“Why are you here, Nikolas?”

“Making sure Abraxus’ investment doesn’t overdose before the wedding.” He said it matter-of-factly. “Imagine the scandal. ‘Marianus Bride Found Dead in Wine Cellar.’ Your mother would never get over the social embarrassment.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“I’m just full of compassion.” He pushed off the barrel, moved toward her. Crouched down in front of her, close enough that she could smell leather and smoke and wine. “You’re running low.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” He pulled the vials from his pocket, set them on the step between them. “But we can’t have you going into withdrawal at one of Helena’s tea parties, can we?”

She stared at the vials. Hated that she was already calculating how long they’d last, when she’d need the next batch, whether she should ration or maintain her current dose.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said quietly.

“Don’t I?” Niko’s voice dropped lower. “Who else is going to? Your perfect consul? Does he even know you still need it?”

“Titus thinks I’m fine.”

“Because that’s what you let him see.” He said it with certainty. “All those gifts he sends—the books, the tea, those peacock quills from the shop near the consulate.” His smile was cruel. “Very sweet. Very thoughtful. And completely fucking useless when you’re sitting in a freezing wine cellar at three in the morning because you can’t sleep.”

Poppy’s hands curled into fists. “I’m handling it.”

“You’re not.” He leaned back against the wine rack. “You’re just maintaining your market value. You let me see the mess because I’m just part of the furniture. But him? You’re terrified he’ll see the paint chipping.”

“I’m protecting him,” Poppy said, hating how defensive she sounded.

“You’re protecting yourself.” He tilted the wine bottle back, taking another long drink. “I get the reality for free, Penelope. He’s paying a fortune for a forgery.”

She grabbed the bottle from his hand hard enough that some of the contents splashed out. “Get out.”

He brushed a few stray droplets off of his shirt. “You should finish that wine,” he said, already heading for the stairs. “It pairs well with denial.”

His boots were heavy on the stone steps. At the top, he paused, silhouetted in the doorway.

“And Penelope? Don’t die before the wedding. I’ve got money on you lasting through the honeymoon.” His voice was conversational. “The consul’s track record with wives isn’t great, but I’m an optimist at heart.”

The door clanged shut behind him, leaving Poppy alone in the dark with expensive wine and stolen poison.

⊱⊰

The tunnel meetings had become routine over the past two weeks. Every few nights, after the household settled, the siblings would slip down separately to compare notes and adjust the plan.

Tonight Poppy was late.

The tunnel was colder than she remembered from childhood. Lucas and Lynn were already there, maps and lists spread across an old crate that served as their makeshift table. A single lantern cast flickering light across their work.

“Finally,” Lynn said, not looking up from the guest list she was marking. “We thought Grandfather caught you.”

“Mother.” Poppy pulled her shawl tighter. “She wanted to go over the final seating arrangements for the Marianus side. Helena sent revisions.”

“Of course she did,” Lucas muttered. He gestured to the papers. “We’ve been working through the Volkov family. Their shipping contracts are—” He stopped, looking at her properly. “Are you alright? You look—”

“I’m fine.” She crossed to the crate, focusing on the maps. Her hands wanted to shake. She pressed them flat against the wood. “What did you find out about the Volkovs?”

Lucas exchanged a glance with Lynn but continued. “They’re three months behind on elven steel deliveries. The contract has penalty clauses that will bankrupt them if they can’t fulfill it by spring.”

“And Grandfather knows this,” Lynn added, tracing a route on the map. “He’s been offering to ‘restructure’ their debt. Which means owning them.”

“We could seat them near—” Poppy stopped, the name slipping away.

Lynn’s contacts. The silver merchants near Evenandra. Echo filled in.

“—Lynn’s contacts. The silver merchants.”

“Exactly.” Lynn marked something on the manifest. “I’ll play the returned prodigal granddaughter. Make small talk about how well the Freelands elven steel trade is doing in the north. Let them connect the dots.”

Lucas pulled out another sheet. “Then there’s Senator Vane. Lynn has logs showing he’s been buying restricted Varganien alchemicals through Grandfather’s channels.”

“Alchemicals? Like Blight?” Poppy blinked. “I thought—which family is he again?”

“Vane,” Lucas repeated, slower. “We talked about him two nights ago. The one with the wife who collects—”

The rare jewels that Terrans bring over to Paragon. She’s the one that had that flashy jewel that your mother made a comment about. Echo swooped in again.

“Right. Yes. Vane.” She rubbed her temples. “Sorry. Long day.”

Lynn was watching her now too. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine. Just wedding stress.” Poppy forced herself to focus on the papers. “So we seat Vane near a Guild representative?”

“Near Castellan,” Lucas confirmed. “Just to let Vane see that someone’s paying attention to shipping irregularities. Plant the idea that maybe Grandfather’s network isn’t as discreet as he thinks.”

“And the Promblys,” Lynn said. “They sent that ceremonial dagger. Expensive gift for a family that just lost their primary trade route.”

“Desperate,” Lucas agreed. “They’re too proud to ask Grandfather for help directly, but they’re drowning. There have been rumors some of their plebians have been asking other families to buy out their contracts.”

Poppy tried to focus on the seating chart. The names were swimming together. “We could… put them near…”

She trailed off. Who were they talking about? The Promblys or the Volkovs?

The Karelian delegation, Echo offered helpfully.

“The Karelians.” She picked up a quill, trying to make notes. Her handwriting looked shaky even to her. “Promblys near Karelians. Volkovs near Lynn’s contacts. Vane near Castellan.” She paused.

House Marlowe. The Kressids. They both have different debt amounts on the ledger you were looking at the other day.

“And House Marlowe,” she added. “We should put them near the Kressids.”

“Yes, absolutely,” Lynn said. “This is the most important one.”

Lucas leaned forward. “If we seat House Marlowe next to the Kressids, Marlowe will realize Grandfather’s been telling them both different stories about the same debt. He’s playing them against each other.”

“That could backfire,” Poppy said. The words felt thick in her mouth. “If Marlowe confronts Grandfather—”

“He won’t,” Lucas said. “Not publicly. Not at your engagement feast. But it plants doubt. Makes them both wonder what else Grandfather’s been lying about.”

“And then you make your rounds,” Lynn added. “Innocent questions about their businesses, their families, getting to know everyone. Information gathering that looks like social courtesy.”

Poppy nodded. It made sense. She just needed to focus.

“We need to talk about timing,” Lucas continued, pulling out a schedule. “Plant the seeds early, when you and Titus are greeting people at the door. Let people drink and think through dinner. Then Poppy makes strategic introductions during the dancing—” he looked up at her. “Do you think you can manage the Nermels on your own?”

Poppy blinked. “The Nermels?” Echo? Help?

Silence.

Echo?

I’m sorry. I don’t remember them.

Her chest tightened.

“Sorry, it’s a lot of names.” Poppy rubbed her temples.

“It’s the same names we’ve been working with for two weeks,” Lynn said, concern creeping into her voice. “Poppy, are you—”

“I said I’m fine.” She snapped it sharper than she meant to. “I’m just tired. Mother’s been impossible about the wedding details, Helena keeps changing things, and I barely slept last night.”

The siblings exchanged another look.

“Maybe we should take a break,” Lucas suggested carefully. “We can reconvene tomorrow—”

“No.” Poppy straightened. “No, we’re doing this now. The feast is in less than a week. We don’t have time for breaks.”

She forced herself to focus on the seating chart, on the names, on the plan. She could do this. She just needed to concentrate.

You need to dose, Echo said quietly.

I can’t. I’m rationing.

You’re barely holding this together.

“The Volkovs,” Poppy said aloud, forcing the words to be steady. “We seat them near Lynn’s silver contacts. Senator Vane near Castellan. House Marlowe next to the Kressids. Promblys and Karelians together.” She looked up at her siblings. “I’ve got it. What else?”

Lynn hesitated, then picked up another paper. “We need to talk about what happens if Grandfather notices what we’re doing.”

⊱⊰

Poppy’s hands shook as she finished the letter, staring at the words she’d written. The empty vial was on the desk next to her, another one already in her pocket for later. She read through it again, each line worse than the last.

I can’t stop.

I’m scared.

Her vision blurred. She blinked hard, forcing herself to focus on the page.

She couldn’t tell anyone. Not Titus, who still believed she was better. Not her sister, who was struggling with her own infection. Not Evilynn or Lorelei, who would worry.

But Lapis had been there, had talked to It, had the dreams, understood what the infection did to you.

You’re scared, Echo observed. It wasn’t a question.

I’m fine.

You wrote “I’m scared” three times in the letter.

She couldn’t send this letter. Because writing it down and sending it made it real in a way she couldn’t take back.

The miller’s daughter promised her firstborn child, Echo reflected quietly. She needed to survive the night. The little man wanted payment, and she had nothing left to give. So she promised something that didn’t exist yet. A future problem. She’d deal with the consequences later.

That’s different.

Is it?

She picked up the letter and held it to the candle flame on her desk.

She didn’t think about it, Echo continued. Not while she was spinning. Not while she married the king. Not while she was safe. She thought maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe he wouldn’t come back. Maybe she could keep putting it off forever.

The paper caught quickly, edges curling black. She watched the words disappear—I’m using too much, I can’t sleep, I’m scared. The heat crept closer to her fingers but she held on until the last possible second, until only a corner remained. Then she dropped it into an empty tea saucer and watched it finish burning, pulling out fresh paper and picking her quill back up.

Poppy kept writing, her hand steadying and her breath slowing as the distance from truth grew.

But he came back. Echo’s voice was certain. The consequences always come back.

⊱⊰