Reborn as the Psycho Villainess Who Ate Her Slave Beasts' Contracts-Chapter 246 --

"The other four mothers," Elara said. "The ones who were recruited after you provided the list. Do you know who they are."

A pause.

"I know one," the sixth consort said. "The second consort. She — we are close. She told me six weeks ago that she’d been approached. She didn’t tell me the details but she was frightened." She paused. "She’s been frightened for six weeks."

"Is she someone who would speak to me," Elara said.

"If she knew it was safe," the sixth consort said. "If she knew she wouldn’t lose her son."

Elara picked up a clean sheet.

Wrote a single line on it in the regent’s formal hand.

*The bearer of this document speaks under the regent’s protection. No harm, no penalty, no consequence for honest account.*

Signed it. Stamped it with the regent’s seal.

Held it out.

"Give her this," Elara said. "Tell her to come tomorrow. First bell, same as the others." She paused. "And tell her to bring anyone else she knows of."

The sixth consort took the document with both hands.

Looked at it.

Looked at Elara.

"You’re collecting everyone," she said.

"I’m giving everyone the same option," Elara said. "Come forward, speak honestly, receive protection. Don’t come forward—" She paused. "The documentation I already have will tell its own story, and the people in it who didn’t choose to speak for themselves will be subject to whatever the evidence says about them." She paused again. "I would rather have people than evidence. Evidence doesn’t tell me what I need to know about how the network actually functioned."

The sixth consort stood.

She looked, Elara thought, different than she had when she’d walked in. Not lighter exactly. More — present. As if the thing she’d been carrying had been set down in a specific place rather than just dropped, which was different from the unburdening the Third Consort had described yesterday.

Deliberate. Chosen.

"First bell," the sixth consort said.

"First bell," Elara confirmed.

She left.

The door closed.

Elara sat in the quiet room for a moment.

Then she turned to the side.

"How many do you think there are," Mahir said from his position by the window. He had been there since the sixth consort arrived and had not moved and had not spoken until now.

"More than four," Elara said. "The network was running for at least eighteen months. The targeted approach — identify vulnerability, provide a demonstration, request information — that’s replicable and scalable." She paused. "I think by tomorrow morning I’ll have a clearer number."

"And the secretary," Mahir said.

"I want her observed from this evening," Elara said. "Not detained. Observed. If she runs, that’s information. If she reports to the Empress Dowager, that’s also information — I want to know what she says." She paused. "Who do you have that can run surveillance without being made."

Mahir considered. "The horn-eared knight from team one. Liam. He was good in the lower city."

"Use him," Elara said. "No uniform. Civilian clothes, civilian behaviour. I want to know everywhere she goes from this evening until tomorrow morning."

Mahir nodded and moved toward the door.

Stopped.

Turned back.

"The collar function," he said. "The memory extraction."

His voice was exactly even. Completely controlled. The way it was when something had landed somewhere significant and was being managed rather than shown.

Elara looked at him.

"I know," she said.

He looked at her for a moment. Something moved in his expression that was not quite any one thing.

"I’ll arrange the surveillance," he said.

"Mahir."

He paused.

She looked at him steadily.

"The collar review starts tomorrow," she said. "Before anything else. Before the formal proceedings, before the removal order is executed, before any of the other items on the list." She paused. "That is the first thing."

He looked at her.

The something in his expression settled into something quieter.

"Yes, Your Highness," he said.

He left.

Elara turned back to the desk.

Added three items to her working list.

Looked at the complete stack of documents — everything assembled, everything verified, growing daily as more pieces arrived and more people chose to speak.

She thought about the Empress Dowager sleeping in her rooms in the north wing. Thirty-one years of construction. A network that had been running quietly through the nervous systems of people who hadn’t known what was in it. Through mothers who loved their children. Through a physician who had kept a vial of proof for two years waiting for someone to ask. Through a Third Consort who had spent seventeen years holding one secret intact.

Through beast knights who had been standing at their posts with extraction devices around their necks.

She thought about Richard.

About the twelve years she had worked inside his structure without knowing what she was inside.

About the elevator chiming. The syringe on the desk. The darkness coming in at the edges.

She thought about waking up in this body in this palace with nothing except the ability to look carefully at what was in front of her and build from there.

She picked up her pen.

Wrote another line.

The lamp burned steady.

Outside, in the north wing, the Empress Dowager’s maps were already wrong.

She just didn’t know it yet.

By tomorrow she would.

Elara wrote another line.

Kept working.

.

.

’’Location:’’ Elara’s Office, Late Evening — After the Sixth Consort Left

’’’

The lamp burned low by the time Elara set her pen down.

Not because the work was finished — the work was never finished. But because her hand had developed a fine tremor somewhere around the fourteenth document, and she’d learned enough about her body’s signals in recent weeks to recognize the difference between ’can push through’ and ’pushing through will cost something tomorrow that you can’t afford.’

She set the pen down.

Flexed her fingers.

Looked at the working list.

Seventeen items. Six with notation beside them indicating completion or progress. Eleven still open. Three had been added in the last two hours based on what the sixth consort had said — the second consort, the secretary’s surveillance, the collar review.

The collar review.

She looked at that line for a moment.

Then looked at Mahir, who had returned from arranging Liam’s surveillance and was back at his post by the window, arms folded, watching the courtyard below with the patient, scanning attention of someone who had been trained to watch things. His profile in the low lamplight was — composed. Still.

He always looked still. She had noted that early on. Some knights carried their tension visibly — in the shoulders, in the jaw, in the way they stood slightly too straight, slightly too prepared. Mahir carried nothing. He was simply present, fully and without excess.

She had catalogued that as useful.

She was aware, now, that it was more than useful.

"Sit down," she said.

Mahir turned.

"You’ve been standing for six hours," she said. "Sit."

He crossed to the chair across from her desk — the one the sixth consort had occupied — and sat with the particular careful movement she’d been noticing since morning. The slight adjustment of angle, the deliberate way he lowered himself.

Still sore.

She filed that.

"The collar review," she said. "I want you to understand what I mean by that before tomorrow."