Chapter 212

It was sometime after midnight.

Iolite had only just returned and given her report.

She called it a failure. I called it a success.

No, we still didn't have a clear picture of the Covenant's leadership. We didn’t have an org chart. We couldn't point to a single person and say that's who runs it.

But we knew more than we had before. We understood a little better how information flowed. The kinds of people involved. The way messages traveled.

And perhaps most importantly, we knew that very few people - if any - had the whole picture.

The Covenant was a machine built from small pieces. Each cog turned the next. No one cog seemed to know what the entire machine was doing.

We'd also filled Iolite in on what happened with Aurelion.

The little elemental had gone utterly still during the telling. Her fists clenched. Her jaw tightened. The clay and stone that made up her body seemed to creak with tension.

She didn't say a word. Didn't threaten anyone. Didn't make a joke.

She simply crossed the room and wrapped Ashlara in a long, fierce hug.

The warrior hugged her back.

“Miralis came to speak with me last night,” Elise said.

We sat together in the common room. Mirri, Elise, and Serah occupied nearby chairs. Ashlara sat curled against me. Iolite sat on the floor at my feet, leaning against my leg.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth.

“She attempted to convince me that the High Witan was better suited to containing Nyssira,” Elise continued. “She claimed you were unstable. Fracturing. Unreliable.”

“What'd you tell her?” Mirri asked.

“That her points were conjecture and not based on evidence, but fear.” A faint smile touched Elise's lips. “I do not believe she enjoyed our conversation.”

A snort escaped me.

“I had a similar visit,” Mirri said quietly. “Elthira. She said sometimes you make bad decisions and people get hurt.”

My chest tightened. That was all too true.

“She said trouble follows you. That things get worse when you're involved.”

I looked away.

That one hurt too - because there was truth there as well. I'd been in Annwn for five years.

Five years.

And in that time the world had changed dramatically. Gods had died. Others had been born. The entire landscape of Faith had shifted.

Nations had gone to war. The Iron Nation. Arvellia. Iilvarion. Morentis. The Myrddin.

The dragons were still struggling after Serah overthrew her father and shattered their old hierarchy.

Arvellia stood on the brink of civil war. Dumrath Kol-Varn had only recently clawed its way out of one.

The Covenant was spreading its roots everywhere.

Everywhere I looked, tensions seemed to be rising. And there was no guarantee any of it would stop.

“And then she asked what would happen if you died.” Mirri's voice was soft.

The words hit like an arrow.

“Would Nyssira escape if your Faith wasn't there to hold her? Would she come after us?”

The room went quiet.

“What'd you tell her?” Ashlara asked.

Mirri smiled. It was a small thing. Tight. Humorless. “I told her to suck a cock.”

A few people laughed.

Not because it was funny, but because it broke the tension. Because we needed it.

I could tell Elthira's words had landed.

Not because they'd planted doubt. The doubt was already there. Elthira had simply watered it.

Mirri knew I wasn't perfect. She knew I'd made mistakes. She knew I could be impulsive. Emotional. Stubborn. She knew I was changing. She knew simplification was real.

And after the Mercy Engine, she no longer trusted her own judgment as much as she once had.

None of us did.

The Shepherd had been good at what he did.

Too good. He'd found our insecurities. Our fears. The little cracks we tried not to look at.

We understood why he'd done it. We understood he wanted to hurt us. Manipulate us. Break us. But understanding that didn't make his words disappear.

Every good lie wrapped itself around a truth. And we were still trying to figure out which parts were which.

Silence settled over the room.

The fire popped softly. Outside, the wind rattled the windows.

“What about you two?” I finally asked. My voice was quiet, but it sounded harsh in the stillness.

Serah shook her head. “No one has approached me.”

“No.” Iolite's answer came immediately. Firm. Certain.

I nodded. “Someone probably will.”

The room turned toward me.

“It made sense to approach us quickly while we were separated. They wanted individual conversations. Individual pressure.”

I rubbed my jaw. “But they know we'll compare notes. They know we'll talk.”

My eyes moved from face to face. “They've tried the direct approach. If they're serious about this, they'll change tactics.”

* * *

“Finally earning a place at Mirri's fire?” Grams asked with a chuckle. “You know, it's usually the woman who offers that.”

I laughed. “When have we ever done anything traditionally?”

“You got me there.” Her grin widened. “So what do you want to know?”

“All of it. Or at least the important parts.”

I poured us each a cup of tea.

We sat in the living room of her house in Reedwatch. The place felt lived in. Loved.

Pictures covered the walls - Mirri's childhood drawings hanging beside artwork from dozens of other children across the six villages. Bundles of herbs dangled from the rafters to dry. A fire crackled softly in the hearth. Shelves overflowed with knickknacks, souvenirs, and little treasures gathered over a lifetime.

Nothing matched. Everything belonged.

Grams sat across from me, topless - as goblin custom dictated - though she had a blanket draped around her shoulders against the lingering chill. Her white hair was pulled back into a messy bun.

She was tall for a goblin, which wasn't surprising given her human father, but the resemblance ended there. Wide hips. Enormous breasts. Gray skin weathered by sixty-six years of life. Wrinkled, but vibrant. Her green eyes - Mirri's eyes - were bright, sharp, and entirely too amused by whatever was happening inside my head.

“I've seen weddings,” I said. “I know about the vows, the cord, the stew, and the party.”

Several weddings, actually.

Between Mirri's position as shaman and the fact that goblin weddings lasted multiple days and invited every relative, cousin, friend, acquaintance, and random person who happened to wander through town at the wrong moment, I'd attended more than I could easily count.

They were less ceremonies and more natural disasters with food.

“Then what're you asking me for?” Grams asked.

“I guess engagement stuff.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“On Earth, the guy buys a ridiculously expensive ring, gets down on one knee, and formally asks the girl to marry him.”

Grams snorted loudly enough to make the tea ripple.

“I'm serious.”

“That's the stupidest thing I've heard all week.”

“It gets worse. Sometimes people spend months planning it.”

She stared at me. “Planning what?”

“The whole asking thing. They want the right time. The right place. They want a plane to write it in the sky. Or ask it on the jumbotron at a basketball game. I don’t know. People do all sorts of strange things.”

“Why?”

I put my head in my hands. “I don’t know. Because it’s supposed to be right. Magical. Perfect.”

She laughed so hard she nearly spilled her tea. “It’s love, kid. It’s already magical and perfect.”

I sighed. “I've never actually seen a goblin engagement. What am I supposed to do? Or I guess... what is Mirri supposed to do?”

Grams shook her head.

“That's the difference between humans and goblins. You lot make everything formal. Everything's got rules and ceremonies and somebody standing around telling people what they're allowed to do.”

“Goblins are practical.” She took a sip of tea. “Usually the woman decides she wants a family with somebody. Then she starts courting him.”

“And courting means...?”

“Usually sex.”

I rubbed my face. “Of course it does.”

“Sometimes lots of sex.”

“Grams.”

“What? You're asking.”

I groaned.

She laughed.

“Most goblins don't bother with the traditional stuff anymore. They start seeing each other, spend time together, maybe have a child or two, then eventually decide they should probably get married.”

“A child or two before the engagement?”

“Sometimes six.”

I stared at her.

She stared back. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Humans are weird. You buy jewelry and kneel on the ground.”

“Yes.”

She nodded as if that settled the matter. “If you want to do it traditionally,” she continued, “the woman makes the man a gift.”

“What kind of gift?”

“Anything useful. Blanket. Jewelry. Knife. Doesn't matter. Should be homemade.” Her tone softened slightly. “It takes effort. Time. Thought. Commitment.”

She shrugged. “It's her way of saying she chose him.”

I nodded slowly.

That made sense. More sense than expensive rocks, at least.

“If he accepts then they're engaged. If he doesn’t…” Grams barked out a laugh. “...You probably keep having sex while everybody figures out why he said no.”

I nearly choked on my tea.

She ignored me. “There might be hurt feelings. Maybe some bad blood if he ends up choosing someone else. But people usually get over it.”

“That seems... really easy.”

Grams looked genuinely confused. “Of course it is.” She gestured with her cup. “It's love.”

Her smile softened. “Why make it complicated?”

* * *

I gave Amberleigh my report.

All of it.

The chest of doctored documents. Hawke's involvement. Why he'd done it. How he'd done it. How he'd helped me. The fact that I hadn't told Fenwick.

Not yet. Eventually I was going to have to tell her something, I just hadn't figured out what.

I told him about the dead drops. The coded signals. The message routes. The people they used.

Annora.

The archmagus listened without interruption, his one sharp eye fixed on me the entire time.

When I finished, he sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

He looked awful. Paler than usual. The skin beneath his eye had darkened, and there was a faint wheeze in his breathing that hadn't been there before. He looked like a man fighting off an illness and losing ground one inch at a time.

I couldn't blame him. The queen was gone. The kingdom was wobbling. And Amberleigh was carrying far too much of its weight on his shoulders.

“So I'd like to see if you can spare someone to keep an eye on Hawke,” I said.

“Why?”

“Because they know he leaked.” I rubbed my jaw. “He's done helping them. If they decide to make an example out of him...”

Amberleigh shook his head. “Unlikely.”

A wet, rattling cough interrupted him. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief and waited for it to pass. “They'll cut contact. Pretend he doesn't exist.”

“He remembers things.”

“So?” he said and cleared his throat.

“He remembers people. Names. Faces. Patterns. He kept records. Investigated them himself.”

“And despite all of that, he still knows almost nothing.” His tone wasn't dismissive. Just practical. “Just like us.”

He chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. “Look, I understand why you're worried. But killing him would cost the Covenant more than it gains. It draws attention. Especially now.”

He leaned forward. “If Hawke turns up dead, Fenwick investigates. Kingsward becomes hostile territory. Every route they've cultivated there becomes harder to use.”

His eyes narrowed. “Organizations like this survive by avoiding unnecessary attention. Unless he's withholding information from you, he simply isn't worth the expense.”

I didn't like it. But I couldn't find a flaw in the logic.

Amberleigh tapped a finger against the desk. “The one who concerns me is Annora.”

That surprised me. “Why?”

“Because she warned you.” He picked up one of the letters from the chest and skimmed it. “She told you others were asking questions. That suggests uncertainty.” His gaze lifted. “Possibly dissent.”

I frowned. “You think she's in danger?”

“I think she's more likely to be in danger than Hawke.” He set the letter down. “If someone inside the Covenant views her as a potential leak, they may decide she's a liability.”

“And the other people asking questions?”

“Could be internal.”

“Or?”

“External.” His expression darkened. “If the Covenant is concerned about someone, then we should be concerned as well.”

I leaned back and dragged a hand down my face. “Great.” My voice came out flatter than intended. “Now I might've gotten her killed too.”

Amberleigh cleared his throat again. “She knows what she's involved in. Maybe not when she started.” His voice softened slightly. “But she does now.”

He folded his hands together. “She could have walked away years ago if she wanted. Hawke could have as well.”

I didn't respond. Because part of me knew he was right. Didn't mean I had to like it.

The room fell quiet.

Finally, I asked the question that had been nagging at me since I arrived. “Any word on the queen?”

“No.” Amberleigh gathered several documents and returned them to the chest.

The answer came too quickly. Too cleanly. I knew him too well for that. There were things he couldn't tell me. There always had been. But he was rarely that terse.

“No word?” I asked. “Or no update?”

He sighed. A tired, worn sound. Then he looked up and met my eyes. “The situation remains unresolved.”

I rolled my eyes. “That's a politician's answer. The queen's safety is important.”

His thick white eyebrows drew together. “If Her Majesty wished certain matters known,” he said carefully, “they would be known.”

There it was. He'd said it without saying it. The queen wasn't missing.

Missing queens didn't make decisions. Dead queens didn't make decisions. Captive queens didn't make decisions.

Queens in hiding did.

I nodded slowly. That was enough. For now.

My attention shifted back to him. “Are you alright?”

“At my age?” he asked dryly. “Not particularly.”

My voice softened. “That's not an answer.”

“It's the only answer I've had for thirty years.”

I wasn't amused.

He saw it immediately. His shoulders sagged. “The healers say my heart is weakening.”

I swallowed. “Can they fix it?”

“No.” There was no fear in his voice. No bitterness. Just acceptance. “I'm one hundred and sixty-seven years old, Seth. At some point the body simply wears out.”

The look on my face must have betrayed my thoughts.

“Don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you're considering wrestling Lady Death on my behalf.”

I couldn't help smiling. “I could, you know.”

“You absolutely could.” He laughed. The laugh turned into another coughing fit. A deep one. Painful.

When it finally passed, he dabbed at his mouth with the handkerchief and shook his head. “And that is precisely why I'm telling you not to.”

A smaller cough escaped him. Then he settled back into his chair, suddenly looking every one of his years. “The queen is not the thing you should be worrying about.”

“No?”

His gaze scanned the bookshelves across the room without actually seeing them. “A queen can hide.”

His voice was quiet. “Kingdoms can't.”