Chapter 77

Amberleigh, Elise, and I spoke for some time after that.

The Archmagus’s questions came measured and deliberate, each one probing a little deeper than the last. For the most part, the conversation circled the Myrddin - its behavior, the way it moved, the sound of it, the way the rift had formed. How we had managed to close it. How we had killed the thing.

Elise proved invaluable. Not only had she been present for every moment of it, she understood the theory behind what we’d faced. Where I gave impressions, she supplied structure, terminology, and context. Together, we formed something like a complete account.

There were questions I declined to answer. I wasn’t ready to release that knowledge to the world yet.

At one point, Elise let slip that I had entered the Interstitium. That wasn’t something I wanted widely known. But I hadn’t told her not to mention it, so that one was on me.

It opened the floodgates to a vast number of questions about what I saw, felt, and experienced there. There wasn’t much I could answer, and there was less that I was willing to answer.

Eventually, Amberleigh’s questions slowed. He was too perceptive not to recognize the boundaries I had drawn. Once his curiosity had been sufficiently sated - and sufficiently denied -he rose and personally escorted us back through the white halls of the palace.

He bid us good night outside our rooms and left us beneath the soft glow of enchanted sconces.

When it was just Elise and me in the corridor, I turned to her.

“Thank you,” I said. “For being there. For answering his questions. I couldn’t have done that without you.”

She nodded, eyes lowered, hands folding neatly before her as if unsure what to do with them. She turned toward her door.

“May I ask one favor?” I said.

She paused and looked back at me, pale eyes meeting mine.

“May I have a hug? I could use one right about now.”

Color bloomed across her cheeks. Her head tilted slightly, uncertainty flickering across her face as her gaze faltered.

Seeing her hesitation, I lifted a hand. “It’s alright. You don’t have to. Good night, Elise.”

I turned toward my door. Before I could take more than a step, she closed the distance and wrapped her arms around me.

It was stiff. Mechanical. Her second hug ever, if memory served. She squeezed with startling intensity, like her intent was to crush me.

I wrapped my arms around her in return, gentler, slower. I rested my cheek against the crown of her head and rubbed her back in steady, reassuring strokes.

Gradually, she relaxed.

Her grip softened from a vice to something warmer. She adjusted her head so she wasn’t pressing her nose awkwardly into my sternum. The tension in her shoulders eased.

We stood there for a long moment, the quiet hall stretching around us.

I pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head and loosened my hold. She maintained her embrace for a few more seconds, unsure of the proper protocol for disengaging. When she finally stepped back, her blush deepened to a vivid crimson.

Without meeting my eyes, she hurried into her room and shut the door behind her.

I couldn’t help the smile that lingered as I entered mine and I settled in for the night.

* * *

I stepped home. It was becoming a ritual - touch base, count heads, share news, steal a few hugs and kisses, affirm what I knew all along. Ashlara’s steady strength. Mirri’s quick, fierce affection. Serah’s calm presence. The kids safe. The walls still standing. For a few precious minutes, everything was as it should be.

Then I stepped back to the palace in Crownreach.

My body was tired. My mind was not.

Sleep hovered just out of reach, close enough to taste, impossible to grasp. Nervous energy threaded through my limbs. It wasn’t the dull, crushing fatigue of true insomnia - just a restless hum that refused to quiet. It was the second night a row - probably not a good sign.

I gave up pretending and took to wandering.

The palace halls were quiet at that hour, footsteps softened by rugs and polished stone. I traced corridors deliberately, building a map in my head - left at the tapestry of the gryphon, right past the narrow window overlooking the lake, straight through the gallery of painted ancestors. I passed the dining hall where Amberleigh had hosted us, found the cavernous entry hall, and left.

No one stopped me.

Outside, the guards watched without interference as I descended the palace steps and made my way to the city proper. Crownreach at night was not asleep - just subdued. The main avenues were wide enough to swallow caravans whole, nearly thirty feet across, built for movement and display both. Enchanted streetlamps stood in steady intervals, their glow soft but thorough, washing the stone in gold and pushing the shadows back to the alleys.

I looked up.

The moon and her children hung pale above the lake, her light dulled by the city’s brilliance. A few scattered clouds drifted lazily. Three lonely stars fought their way through the haze.

It felt strangely like home - like standing outside an office tower at midnight, sky bleached by light pollution, knowing there was more above you that you just couldn’t see.

I walked until the eastern horizon thinned into gray and the first blade of sunlight cut the horizon. Only then did I return to the palace. Different guards stood at the doors now. These ones questioned me, verified my identity - politely, professionally - before allowing me through.

Back in my room, I washed, dressed, and prepared for the day.

Breakfast was lavish - absurdly so. Platters of fruit and roasted nuts. Spiced meats glazed in honey. Sharp cheeses. Dense, coarse bread still warm from the oven. Enough food to feed everyone in Reedwatch.

Elise and I ate together. She hummed softly between bites, cheeks rounded dangerously full as she pushed herself to just shy of capacity. I still watched her like she might **** at any moment, but she was improving - less frantic now, more accustomed to regular meals. It was progress.

We had the morning to ourselves before our audience, so we left the palace to explore.

As we walked, I asked her about enchantment theory - I was fascinated by the horseshoes that let Arvellian mounts run for hours at near-impossible speeds. She slipped easily into explanation, detailing runic matrices, kinetic reinforcement, mana dispersion so the animals wouldn’t burn out their muscles. I listened, rapt.

From there, I broached the subject of the library.

“I don’t want to read anything without your permission,” I told her. “Even if your master is gone.”

She hesitated, fingers worrying at the sleeve of her white dress, then nodded. She gave me access. She also mentioned that Master Edevane had no heirs. Everything he owned passed to her.

“Will you need to return to the tower?” I asked.

“At some point,” she said quietly.

The day itself was crisp and bright. The city thrummed with life. To the south, docks stretched into the lake where ships unloaded goods from rivers that connected the nation. Markets overflowed with stalls draped in bold fabrics - crimson, saffron, cobalt - crowded with buyers and hawkers alike. Shops lined the streets beyond, their white stone walls immaculate, their goods displayed proudly in open windows beneath the ever-present blue roofs.

We didn’t linger long.

The density of people unsettled Elise. She unsettled them. They parted around us - no one came within thirty feet. Conversations died as we passed. A path opened - not from respect, but instinct.

Still, I bought us each a sweet pastry from a vendor brave enough not to flinch. Elise’s eyes lit up as she bit into it, cheeks puffing again, sugar dusting the corner of her mouth. Her smile alone was worth it.

The streets were clean - almost unnaturally so. No refuse. No visible poverty. Either Crownreach managed its poor well… or hid them expertly.

We returned to the palace with time to spare and were led into the audience chamber without fanfare.

The room was vast but not cavernous - designed to impress without overwhelming. White stone walls bore banners and tapestries of historic battles. Tall western windows framed the lake beyond, sunlight spilling through at a high angle that bathed the dais in gold.

The queen sat two steps above us.

Her chair was both throne and statement - gold frame twisted into braided filigree, the back carved into the shape of a gryphon with wings spread wide. Royal purple upholstery softened the severity.

Queen Abigayle Alderbrook looked to be in her late thirties. Her skin was pale from indoor life but healthy, controlled. Blonde hair was expertly coiffed in a style reminiscent of the queen of hearts - curled back into an elegant heart-shaped silhouette. Blue eyes were sharp, calculating. The kind that missed nothing. Her features were elegant enough to be a silver screen beauty.

Her gown was light blue, and princess-like - long-sleeved, puffy shoulders, modest neckline - all trimmed in purple and gold. Regal without being ostentatious. It complemented her form in a way that invited admiration, not desire.

The sun hung low enough behind her to halo her silhouette, high enough not to blind.

To her right stood Dunfield, Lord Marshal, still in mail, hand near the hilt of his flame-guarded sword. To her left, Archmagus Amberleigh leaned on an ivory staff, ruby gleaming at its head. Guards in polished plate occupied each corner, halberds grounded, presence firm but not oppressive.

We approached.

Ten feet from the dais, I dropped to one knee and bowed my head - like I’d seen people do in movies when meeting royalty.

“Rise, Lord Seth Grimm of Northwatch Keep,” she said, her voice clear and steady. “You have traveled far. Arvellia welcomes you.”

I stood.

“And Apprentice Rosecroft of Morentis. You honor our court.”

Elise bowed deeply, arms crossed over her chest.

The queen’s gaze returned to me.

“I have heard many things about you, Lord Grimm. I prefer to judge a man by his own words.” Her eyes locked onto mine. “Tell me - what is it you want?”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Your Majesty, I came at your invitation, so I should ask you the same. But out of respect, I’ll answer first. I want what every man wants - the freedom to live, to care for the people I love, and to live honestly.”

“Freedom is expensive, Lord Grimm,” she replied smoothly. “It must be paid for in strength, coin, or blood. Which are you prepared to spend?”

“I don’t have any money,” I said. “I’d prefer to pay in kindness, though I know that doesn’t buy much. Which of the two do you prefer?”

A faint smirk ghosted her lips before she mastered it.

“I find strength to be the finest currency. Also the most difficult to acquire. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Whole heartedly,” I said. “If I were to rank them, I would prefer strength, coin, then blood.”

She studied me.

“You have slain dragons. Defeated a god-killer. Walked through a rift that should have destroyed you.” Her voice sharpened. “That makes you extraordinary. Extraordinary men reshape kingdoms - intentionally or not.”

“You forgot saved Northgate and rescued orphans,” I said lightly. “But I can’t claim most of the credit for those feats. I surround myself with people who are brilliant and competent."

I smiled faintly.

“My companions killed the dragons. The Myrddin killed Brand. I killed the Myrddin, sure - but that wasn’t even on your list. The only thing I did was enter the rift, and that wasn’t by choice.”

Her eyes didn’t leave mine.

“Am I extraordinary? Maybe. But I’m only that way because of the people around me.” I glanced at Elise. “They motivate me. Support me. Do the real work. And in exchange for that, I will do everything I can to make sure they’re safe and have everything they need.”

I looked back to the queen.

“I’m not here to reshape kingdoms. I’m here to provide for my family - even if that family isn’t bound by blood.” I let the words settle. “I’m not a threat to you, Your Majesty. But I’m not a pushover either. If those under my protection are threatened, I’ll spend strength. I’ll spend blood. Without hesitation.”

I held her gaze evenly.

“Not for me. For them. Because they deserve it.”