Chapter 80

The cardinal hopped down from the hedge.

Its wings swept up, shielding its head as its red feathers darkened - bleeding into violet, then deep royal purple. Its body swelled, bones lengthening, feathers dissolving into fabric and flesh. In the span of a breath, the small bird was gone.

Archmagus Garrethyn Amberleigh stood in its place, purple robes settling around his stooped frame, white beard spilling over his chest like uncombed snow.

He did not speak.

“What do you make of this, Garrethyn?” the queen asked, her gaze still fixed on the entrance to the garden.

The old wizard chewed the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing as he considered. “I do not know, your majesty,” he admitted at last. “It is possible he has been compromised. That would be the simplest explanation.” He paused. “Though it strains credibility. By all accounts, his assertion regarding goblin sovereignty predates his contact with the Myrddin. If corruption were the cause, the timeline does not favor it.”

The queen’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

“Review the records,” she said. “The treaty. The war. Any documentation of the goblins from that era. I want every archive examined - royal, academic. Alert me to any discrepancy, no matter how minor.”

“Yes, your majesty.” He inclined his head.

He turned to leave, gait uneven but purposeful, staff tapping softly against stone.

“And Garrethyn?”

He paused and looked back.

“Work on your coloration.”

He gave a small nod - half bow, half concession - and hobbled off across the terrace, already muttering to himself as he went.

* * *

Elise was going to be occupied for a while.

If I knew her at all, she’d already be combing through every volume in the library - cross-referencing dates, margins, editions, searching for even the smallest inconsistency. The thought worried me. But it was probably better that she be somewhere controlled. Somewhere safe. And if anyone could untangle a rewritten history, it was her.

I left Adhaneth in my room at the palace and stepped home.

Ashlara, Mirri, and Serah gathered in the common room as I explained what had happened - the altered passage, Elise’s perfect recall, the rewritten text, the possibility that either history or our minds had been changed.

The weight of it settled over us like stormclouds.

No one spoke for a long time.

I asked Mirri to check on Elise after a bit, just to make sure she hadn’t spiraled into obsessive research without eating or sleeping. Mirri nodded, unusually serious.

Then I stepped to Northgate.

It was nearly noon when I arrived. The university halls buzzed with students and apprentices, but Nanders wasn’t in his lab. Nor his office.

I waited.

Impatiently.

The minutes stretched. An hour passed. Another.

It was almost two when I finally saw him shuffling down the corridor, papers tucked under one arm. I intercepted him halfway and steered him - gently but urgently - back to his lab.

Once the door shut, I laid it all out. The remembered text. The missing goblin clause. The altered treaty. The fear that either the world had been rewritten or we had.

Nanders listened without interruption.

Then he began testing.

Sigils flared faintly across my skin. Instruments hummed. Mana resonated against crystalline arrays. He checked for enchantment residue, invasive alterations, foreign threads woven into memory.

Nothing.

No signs of magical tampering.

“I’ll consult colleagues,” he said at last, rubbing his chin. “If this is possible, someone has theorized it.”

That wasn’t comforting.

That evening, I made my way to the Grand Archive. It took patience and more than a little charm to navigate the bureaucracy, but eventually I uncovered reference to a scholar - Theodor Bram. Specialist in the War of Blood and Ash. Resident of Crownreach.

I stepped back to the palace.

The Archmagus was in his study, hunched over scrolls older than the kingdom itself. Wax seals littered the desk like fallen leaves.

I told him about Nanders’ tests. About the absence of magical residue. About Bram.

Garrethyn listened, eyes hooded.

“I will assist,” he said simply.

It wasn’t reassurance. But it was something.

From there, I stepped to the mountain pass.

Yveth appeared shortly after I arrived, winter clinging to her like a second skin.

“Elyndra,” she said when I finished explaining.

I blinked. “What about her?”

“She is the goddess of written truth,” Yveth said, voice mournful but steady. “If any god could alter what was written - erase truth - it would be her.” A pause. “Though this seems out of character.”

“Could anyone else have done it?” I asked.

The goddess took a long moment to consider. “Thamor, the Keeper of Memory,” she said at last. “He might implant a false memory. Convince you that you read words that were never there.” Her brow furrowed. “To alter two minds identically - precisely- that grows more complex. To make the world forget is one thing. To make it misremember in detail… I am not certain he could accomplish that.”

She continued, naming others.

“Calyra - She Who Shares Understanding. Nyssira - the Veil of Secrets. Veredon - the Unbroken Tongue. Moriel - the Seer. This falls outside their domains.”

She studied me for several long moments, conflicting emotions crossing her face. “I must ask you, Seth… where is Elyndra?”

I stared at her in confusion. “How would I know?”

“You spoke with her three days ago,” she said slowly. I nodded. “Not since?”

“No,” I told her. “Why?”

“She is missing.” The wind seemed to still. “Her demesne is empty,” Yveth continued. “Her library swallowed by the sea. The High Witan demands answers.” Her eyes searched mine. “They look to blame you.”

“She’s dead?” I asked.

Yveth shook her head. “Her Faith remains.” There was guilt in her expression - for asking at all.

“Yveth,” I said quietly, taking her hands in mine. Cold against warm. “I’ll take you to my demesne. Show you she’s not there. I don’t know where she is.” I squeezed gently. “I understand why you had to ask. Trust, but verify. I get it.”

Her eyes searched mine. “There are fates worse than destruction for a god,” she said, almost to herself. “Please be careful.”

“I will.”

“I will do what I can,” she promised.

* * *

It was late, but I went to check on Elise anyway.

The library was a storm of activity

Books lifted themselves from shelves in steady currents, drifting through the air like leaves on the wind. They settled in stacks on one table already burdened beneath a growing mountain of tomes. From there, volumes peeled away - some floating to a second table where a much smaller, curated pile had formed, others returning precisely to their places along the shelves.

At the center of it all sat Elise.

Her gaze was locked onto the page before her, so focused it bordered on frightening. A sheaf of notes lay beneath her right hand, ink already covering several pages in tight, meticulous script. A plate of cookies sat untouched at her elbow.

“How’s it coming?” I asked gently.

No response.

“Elise.”

Nothing.

I stepped behind her and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head. “I know you’re upset,” I murmured. “Just… don’t forget to take care of yourself. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

She didn’t so much as blink.

I stood there a moment longer, feeling useless, then stepped back to the palace.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the day’s disaster.

The Iron Nation massing at the border - threatening war with Arvellia over something Brand had orchestrated. Elyndra - rewriting the War of Blood and Ash and erasing the goblins’ contributions. The High Witan circling like vultures, ready to pin Elyndra’s disappearance on me.

Was the Iron Nation truly marching because of Hek’s ****? ****, I understood. Sending assassins. Bounty hunters. Retribution aimed precisely.

But an army?

If dragon attacks were the concern, they’d send dragon hunters. Raising hordes would only guarantee mass casualties. Why would the other warlords support that? What unified them?

There had to be something larger - something worth blood on that scale.

I couldn’t see it.

Elyndra had warned me. Enemies, mortal and divine. War was coming. Destruction left in my wake. Whispers that I was Arthyr returned.

None of that explained why she would rewrite an event that happened twelve hundred years after the Silent War.

Unless it was her plan.

Removing goblin sovereignty weakened my claim to Northwatch. That created friction with Arvellia. If the Iron Nation believed the Keep was goblin territory - or disputed territory - it could justify marching. Alter the past, destabilize the present, spark war.

But why hide afterward?

If she wanted the Witan against me, she could have stayed and lied. Produced “evidence” to frame me. Stirred the divine pot openly.

Vanishing made no sense. Unless she knew she couldn’t fool them. If she knew someone would call her on her lies.

I drifted at some point - sleep claiming me without permission.

A knock tore me back.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d slept. My mind resisted waking. I stumbled to the door and found a young servant waiting, posture stiff.

“My lord, High Council Amberleigh requests your presence at your earliest convenience.”

I nodded, still half in a dream. I left the door open while I pulled on a shirt and boots. I grabbed Adhaneth and followed him through the quiet halls.

We stopped at a large study.

Inside, the queen, the marshal, and the archmagus stood together, speaking in low tones.

“Lord Grimm,” Amberleigh greeted solemnly.

Sir Dunfield’s eyes narrowed at my disheveled state. “Is this how you present yourself before your queen?”

“I was summoned,” I replied evenly. “I came. I was not informed Her Majesty would be present.”

“Do you require a moment, Seth?” the queen asked.

I tucked in my shirt and dragged a hand through my hair. “No, Your Majesty. I apologize. I didn’t sleep well.”

She inclined her head. “Archmagus?”

Garrethyn nodded. “I located Theodor Bram, the scholar you mentioned. His credentials appear legitimate. He waits outside.”

“What about divine interference?” I asked. “Last night Yveth told me Elyndra could alter written truth itself. Is there a way to test for that?”

“You spoke with Yveth?” the archmagus asked sharply.

“Why would Elyndra do such a thing?” the queen pressed.

“Yes,” I answered him. “And I don’t know,” I answered her. “She wasn’t hostile when I saw her last. But she’s missing.”

“The last time you-” Dunfield scoffed. “Are we to believe you converse with gods regularly? This is absurd.”

“Not regularly,” I cut in. “Well. Except Yveth,” I added as an afterthought. “But they’ve sought me out.”

“Sought you?” Dunfield’s voice rose. “Why would gods seek you?”

“That’s a long story-”

“Long story?” he barked.

“Jenson.” The queen’s voice cracked like a whip. Silence fell immediately. “Perhaps we should hear this long story, as Seth calls it.”

I exhaled slowly.

“It’s not one I intended to share,” I said. “But fine.”

I met each of their eyes in turn.

“I’m the god of faith in the absence of proof. I’ve been a god for… about three months now. I’m still trying to wrap my head around this whole thing. It’s hard, because I’m not normal - I’m a mortal from another world. I don’t have answers. There’s no manual for this.”

The frustration I’d been holding in all day finally surfaced.

“The High Witan claim they brought me here, made me, to kill Brand. So far, all they’ve done is lie to me. We’re not exactly on good terms.”

I gestured vaguely with Adhaneth.

“Oh, and just in case it’s relevant, I humiliated Pyraeth when he tried to dick me over and hurt his daughter.” My voice rose despite myself. “Since arriving here, I’ve been beaten to ****, disintegrated by a Bonefire Sphere, incinerated by dragonfire - twice, and torn apart by Myrddin.”

“I’ve fallen in love three times. I have seven incredible kids. And I will burn this world down before I let anyone - god or mortal - take them from me.”

Silence swallowed the room.

I **** myself to breathe.

I looked from the queen to the marshal to the archmagus.

“So,” I said quietly, “where does that leave us?”