Chapter 79

There was a knock at my door the next morning, just after breakfast.

A servant girl stood outside - dark purple livery trimmed in white, posture stiff with rehearsed composure. “Her Majesty requests your presence,” she said. “Alone. I will return in an hour to escort you.”

Alone.

I nodded and dismissed her gently.

I found Elise in the sitting room and told her where I was going. She tried to hide it, but I could see the strain in her shoulders. After fifteen years of isolation, being surrounded by servants, nobles, soldiers, and strangers was like standing in a storm without shelter. And yet she didn’t want to be away from me either.

In the end, she simply nodded.

What choice did she have?

I stepped into my demesne, washed, conjured fresh clothes - something presentable but not ostentatious - and returned to wait. When the servant came back, I was ready.

I attempted small talk on the walk through the palace corridors, but the servant girl answered only in quiet, clipped phrases. She wasn’t accustomed to speaking to guests, much less ones summoned privately by the queen.

When we reached the door, I thanked her. She dipped into a curtsy and fled like a startled sparrow.

The doors opened onto a walled garden.

White stone rose high around it, ivy trailing down in deliberate cascades. Two soldiers flanked the entrance. I counted two more at opposite corners of the grounds - far enough to grant privacy, close enough to intervene.

The air was cool but carried the promise of spring. Spring was around the corner. The sky was clear save for a scattering of small, bright clouds drifting lazily across blue.

The queen stood at a railing overlooking the inner garden, her back to me.

Stairs curved down on either side into the cultivated heart of the courtyard. Flowers bloomed in careful beds, hedges trimmed into fantastical beasts - gryphons, stags, serpents coiled mid-strike. Stone paths wound through trellises and archways, their routes meandering just enough to create secluded pockets of space.

As I approached, she turned.

“Lord Seth Grimm,” she greeted evenly.

Today she wore deep purple beneath white - linen chemise under a white over-dress laced up the front and trimmed in gold. The chemise sleeves were long; the over-dress ended at her elbows. The contrast of dark and light sharpened the fairness of her skin. Her blonde hair had been styled high, thick curls arranged in an elegant beehive.

I bowed deeply. “Your Majesty. If you keep calling me that, you’ll give me a big head.”

She raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“I apologize,” I said quickly. “It’s a phrase from where I’m from. Means if you flatter me too much, I might start believing it.”

“And where is it that you’re from?” she asked, curiosity threading into her voice.

I exhaled. “Somewhere far away.”

She studied me long enough to make it clear she noticed the evasion. When I didn’t elaborate, she said simply, “Walk with me.”

She descended the stairs to the right and chose one of the winding paths. I fell into step beside her.

We walked in silence for several moments.

“It must be difficult,” I said at last.

“What is?” Her tone was measured.

“Ruling a kingdom this large.” I gestured vaguely. “Where I’m from, we like to pretend men and women are equal in all things. We say it loudly in public. But a lot of people don’t actually believe it.”

I glanced at her.

“For you to sit a throne like this. To have no heirs.” I hesitated. “I imagine there are nobles who see instability in that.”

Her raised eyebrow told me I'd stuck my foot in my mouth. “Not that I’m saying you need children,” I added quickly. “Or a husband. You’re clearly a woman who can take care of herself - who can lead and command respect. Your life is your own. I’m just saying it must be tiring to deal with people who forget that.”

Her sharp gaze studied me.

Heat rushed into my face. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just trying to make small talk.”

The corner of her mouth lifted.

“It can be tiresome,” she admitted. “Most have abandoned the notion publicly. I suspect some are simply waiting. I wonder what machinations they have in play for when I pass.”

“You don’t have a successor in mind?” I asked.

“My sister would be ill suited,” she said. “Most of my nobles are incompetent. There are a few in my retinue capable of taking the mantle.” A faint pause. “Dunfield would make a fine king. Though he is older than I.”

“He seems competent,” I said. “Shrewd. Though I suspect he’d lean heavily on military solutions.”

She gave a small hum of agreement.

“And you?” she asked. “Who succeeds you?”

I laughed. “No one.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I’m not a king,” I said. “You have a nation. A legacy to uphold. I live in the woods. I have a family that I care for, but I don’t lead them. I help out in the nearby town, but I don’t lead them either. When I’m gone, the world will continue on as it always has. Yes, people will mourn me, but I’m not leaving the kind of legacy that requires a successor.”

She smiled - genuinely this time.

“The follies of youth,” she murmured.

“I’m as old as you are,” I casually shot back. Then froze. “Not that you’re old. I just mean - I turn fifty-one in a few days.”

She stopped walking.

“You don’t look it,” she said slowly.

I ran a hand through my hair. “Uh. Thanks. Neither do you.” I winced. “Wow. I am not good at this.”

“Good at what?” she asked, amused.

“I thought I’d gotten decent at talking to pretty women,” I said. “Apparently I can’t talk to one who’s a queen without stumbling over my words and making a fool of myself.”

A faint flush touched her cheeks.

“You are an interesting man, Lord Grimm.”

“Seth,” I corrected. “I’m not a lord.”

“Very well. Seth.” She studied me. “You speak to me as an equal, yet claim my rank unsettles you. You deny leadership, yet gather powerful individuals around you. You claim peace, yet promise blood.” Her gaze sharpened. “Do you know yourself at all?”

I breathed out a soft laugh. “That got real philosophical real fast.”

“In this setting,” I said carefully, “we’re two people walking in a garden. As people, we’re equals. I’m a man, you’re a woman, we’re both human, both trying to live our lives as best as we can. Politically? You outrank me by miles. And in formal halls, I’ll treat you accordingly.”

I paused.

“You’re right - I am a leader. Not by choice, but by default. I lead by example. Small groups respond to that. Large ones… less so. I surround myself with people smarter than me. I rely on them. If I’m wrong, I want to know.”

I looked ahead at the path.

“As for peace, I’m a pragmatist. I want it. For me and my people. But I know there are people who don’t want me to have it. They want what I have. Or they want to make me suffer. They hate me because I’m different. Or because I like someone or something they don’t. I know I’ll need to fight for peace.”

She hummed softly.

“May I ask you something?” I said.

“You may.”

“Yesterday you asked what I wanted. What do you want?”

She laughed - warm and unguarded. “That answer would fill libraries.”

“Fair enough. Let’s narrow it down,” I said. “What do you want from me?”

Her eyes sharpened, her smile lost its natural grace - becoming just a little bit ****.

“Assurances,” she said. “That I can trust you. That you are not a destabilizing ****. That you will not become a problem.”

“My word doesn’t mean much,” I admitted. “But I don’t intend to cause you trouble.”

“What is the old saying? It takes more than good intentions to grow a garden,” she replied. “You may not intend to do so, but that is precisely what you are doing. We stand at the brink of war, regardless of your intentions, Seth”

I stopped walking. “I don’t understand.”

“The Iron Nation gathers at our border,” she said evenly. “They prepare to march on Northwatch Keep.”

My stomach dropped.

“Why would they-” Then it hit me. “Brand. Sonofabitch!”

Her brow arched.

“The god killer. He killed a warlord’s son,” I said. “Framed Ashlara. Provoked an altercation. She defended herself.”

“And the dragon attacks?” the queen asked.

“Staged by Brand. Serah had nothing to do with them.” I told her. “He’s still causing problems even though he’s dead. If Northwatch Keep is in danger, I need to go. Now.”

“Wait. There is time,” she said. “They will not march until spring. We have a few weeks.”

“I’ll find a way to fix this, your majesty. I’ll speak to the warlord,” I said. “Find a solution.”

“Unless you plan to deliver Ashlara’s head,” she said coolly, “he will not listen. Even if you were, I think it’s too late for that. We’re not dealing with a single warlord. The hordes are united.”

“Why would they go to all of this trouble?” I demanded. “**** I understand. But war? Why would the other hordes join him?”

“We were hoping that you had that answer,” she said. “If you do not, then we will need to look for a solution elsewhere.”

She paused. “If you swore fealty,” she said carefully, “you would have our protection.”

“You mean I could hide behind you,” I said. “This is my problem.”

“It is already my problem,” she snapped. “They threaten my lands. You reside on my lands.”

“Goblin lands,” I corrected sharply. “Granted at the end of the War of Blood and Ash. Upon expiration of the Treaty of Briarcreek”

Her eyes flashed.

“I have reviewed that treaty personally. The land was never ceded to the goblins. I don’t know where you got your information, but it has always been an Arvellian territory.”

“So they broker peace between two nations and you reclaim the reward once it’s convenient?” My voice rose despite myself. “Typical.”

I drove Adhaneth into the packed earth of the garden path and stepped into my demesne.

The library rose around me - quiet, patient, infinite. I went straight to the shelf where Elise and I had kept our research and pulled the volume we’d used on the Treaty of Briarcreek. I didn’t feel guilty taking it. I’d read it cover to cover; a copy had formed here the moment I’d finished. Her original remained safe on its shelf on the other side of the room.

I stepped back into the garden.

The queen startled despite herself - just a flicker in her eyes - when I appeared beside her. I flipped through the pages until I found the section we’d studied.

“Here,” I said, pressing the book into her hands.

She regarded me warily, then read. Her expression did not change.

“I see nothing of the goblins,” she said at last, and returned the book.

I took it back and read.

Then read it again.

She was right. No mention of goblin mediation. No sovereign grant. No corridor recognized as inviolate territory. Just borders retracting and land ceded to Arvellia.

My stomach dropped.

I stepped away without explanation, found Elise in her room in the palace, wrapped an arm around her waist, and returned to the garden before she could protest.

She flushed at the sudden contact - then flushed even deeper when she realized she stood before the queen.

“Elise,” I said gently, though my pulse hammered in my ears. “We read this together. The War of Blood and Ash. The Treaty of Briarcreek. Tell me what it said.” I handed her the book.

She ran her fingers over the cover, brow furrowed. “On Oath, Land, and Sovereignty, 1601–1629: A Dumrathi Perspective. By Scribe-Lord Hadrien Kolmar. Page two hundred forty-seven.”

She did not open the book.

‘For three decades the Worldspine shook with iron and thunder. Our holds were besieged, their fields put to the torch. We shattered their legions in the passes; they starved us from the lowlands. The White Horse ran red more than once, and not all of it was dwarven blood.”

“In the end, neither throne could claim victory. We had broken their armies in the mountains, yet could not break their coffers. They had burned our outposts in the valleys, yet could not breach the deep roads of Kol-Varn. Each season of war cost more than the last. Each pyre burned higher.”

“It was the goblins who **** the matter. Not by strength of arms, but by endurance.”

Her gaze unfocused slightly as she pulled the words from memory.

“While dwarf and human bled one another, the goblin clans held the corridor between mountain and river - harried by both sides, taxed by both sides, yet conquered by neither. They brokered parley where none would listen. They bore messages through lands too dangerous for our own envoys. They suffered reprisals from both crowns for daring to speak of peace.”

“When the final negotiations convened at Briarcreek - a modest crossing where briars **** the riverbanks and the earth still bears the scars of siege engines - it was not upon neutral soil. It was goblin soil. Soil soaked by the blood of those who were not signatories.”

Elise continued without hesitation, reciting the treaty’s terms—winter moon, first thaw, exchange of prisoners, borders retracting.

“The terms were thus: “The War of Blood and Ash would formally conclude at the turning of the winter moon. All hostilities would cease upon the first thaw of spring. Prisoners would be exchanged. Borders would retract to pre-war holdings.”

“And the lands between the northern foothills of the Worldspine and the southern banks of the White Horse would be recognized as sovereign goblin territory - inviolate by dwarf or human crown.’”

She fell silent.

The garden seemed very still.

“Elise,” I said quietly. “Open the book. Read what it says now.”

She hesitated, then flipped to the page. Her eyes moved quickly. Then slowed. Her brows drew together.

“This isn’t right,” she whispered.

“I know. Please. Read it.”

She swallowed and began.

The opening lines were the same - the thunder in the mountains, the red river, the cost of war. But when she reached the negotiations, the words had shifted.

“When the final negotiations convened at Briarcreek…” she read, voice faltering.

The terms followed - war’s end, spring ceasefire, prisoner exchange, borders restored.

“And the lands between the northern foothills of the Worldspine and the southern banks of the White Horse would be ceded to the Grand Kingdom of Arvell.”

Silence.

“No,” she breathed. “No, no, no.”

The book trembled in her hands. A heartbeat later she stepped - and vanished.

I stared at the queen for several long seconds, the weight of it settling like lead in my gut.

“What do you make of this, Archmagus?” I asked.

The queen arched a brow, confusion flickering across her face.

My gaze shifted to a cardinal perched on a nearby hedge. Its feathers were bright red - too bright. Too clean.

“What would be capable of altering text in a book no one can access?” I continued calmly. “My guess is it’s not just that copy. Probably every copy. The treaty itself. Every archive.”

The bird cocked its head.

“What would it take to rewrite all written references to an event?” I asked softly. “Or maybe it’s us. Maybe someone altered our memories instead. That might be easier. But without us noticing? Is there a test for that?”

The cardinal’s black eyes fixed on mine.

“Who are you speaking to?” the queen asked, perplexed.

“Your High Council,” I replied, meeting her gaze.

She turned to the bird. “And what makes you think that cardinal is the Archmagus?”

I rolled my eyes despite everything. “There are two other cardinals in this garden. Both have gray in their feathers - they molted about a month ago. This one hasn’t. Either he’s very early, very late… or he’s your wizard.”

I pulled Adhaneth from the earth. The staff hummed faintly in my grip.

“I need to check on a few things, your majesty,” I said, bowing stiffly. “I will take my leave.”

Then I turned and walked out of the garden, the weight of altered history pressing down harder than any blade ever had.