“That,” he said, rising with the slow strength of age, “was for you.”
There was a silence between them, thick as velvet. Then he hesitated, drawing his robe more tightly around his frame.
“I’m sorry, my dear. I must go to the lower circles. The Assembly took more last night. We’re gathering to pray for their souls.”
Evelyne inhaled once, sharply, through her nose and forced it down—the rush of helpless fury, the ache of uselessness. She folded her hands instead.
“Will it help?” she asked quietly. “The prayers?”
He paused at the doorway, silhouetted by the flame behind him. “Sometimes help is not in the answer, but in the asking.” Her lips parted, as if to argue. But what was there to say? She watched him return to the hearth, watched the fire catch in the soft folds of his robe and crown him with flickering light.
She stood too, brushing dust from her skirts. He did not bless her. Not formally. But as she turned to leave, his voice stopped her at the threshold.
“Evelyne,” he called.
She looked back.
“You may not believe in gods. That’s all right. But do not stop believing in yourself… especially when others begin to.”
She held his gaze for a heartbeat. Then another.
“I’ll try,” she promised.
Chapter 13
Two hours. Two full hours of Lord Maltrun discussing lumber yield charts as if Evelyne might one day be crowned Queen of Pine Resin. She had nodded politely but by the time he reached his family's ancestral bark extraction techniques, she was wondering, not for the first time, whether boredom could be fatal.
Now, mercifully alone, she slipped into her father’s solar—a chamber usually off-limits, but temporarily permitted for her “royal practical studies.” A generous term for homework, Evelyne supposed, though she was far more content here than enduring one more symposium on tree bark.
The air inside was cool, dust floated lazily through angled sunlight, the faintest whisper of pipe smoke curled in her lungs. The furniture was edrathenian, built for strategy not comfort, but that suited this kingdom just fine.
She crossed the stone floor and settled at the long writing table by the arched window. A dozen scrolls were spread before her. Border reports, supply tallies, trade projections between Edrathen and Varantia, each with margins lined in fine ink.
Evelyne ran her fingertips lightly along the edge of one scroll. The parchment was thick, rough-grained. There was a comfort in it. She hadn’t expected to find anything interesting in the stack of reports. That wasn’t the point. It gave her hands something to do and her mind a boundary to pace within.
She flipped through the pages. Her cousin Hadrian had sent the latest report from Nyvaron. Confirmation of departures, coded notes on Zhareshian behavior, followed by the usual post-wedding debris. All accounted for and inspected by the Grand Marshal’s ever-paranoid eye.
There was also one report from Calveran. That got her interested.
Field Report: Calveran — Current Status
To: Grand Marshal Ravik
Per your request, this is a situational summary of Calveran post-Maroon Slaughter.
Calveran remains under provisional rule following the full elimination of the Dvorenic line. Tsar’s brother returned from Rhuhn’Fjel and assumed interim leadership.
City experiencing widespread unrest. Guard divisions overstretched. Supply lines are functional but under threat from looting and trade disruption. Other states openly questioned Calveran’s neutrality. Southern and western borders show signs of militarized buildup.
The Vaults remain hidden. Publicly confirmed holdings include precious metals, ledgers, and cultural artifacts. Unverified reports persist of classified contents beyond standard inventory.
Recommend limited engagement. Surveillance ongoing. No entry authorized without Assembly sanction. The situation is volatile. Further escalation likely.
End report.
Evelyne set the page down, her fingertips lingering against the parchment a moment longer than necessary. She hadn’t returned to Calveran since the massacre; she had only heard rumors, each one duller and more detached than the truth deserved. The city she had once been meant to call home, the place she had imagined for nearly ten years as her future, was now nothing more than a ledger entry under containment.
She folded the report and set it aside, but the weight of it stayed. To read of Calveran this way, stripped to numbers andlosses, knowing what had led to that ruin—Gods, it made her feel hollow.
