Sylva opened his mouth, then shut it again, unsure how to argue with that.
Arietta sauntered in, followed by a lumbering Vorrik carrying a crate of festival games.
“We bring Kraggmar traditions,” she announced. “Stone-lifting competition. Tug-of-war. Wrestling pit.”
“And one event where you chase a greased boar,” Vorrik added enthusiastically.
“That’s aVorrik-specificcreation,” Arietta sighed.
“No,” Esther said.
He looked offended. “But it’s good for community.”
“I am drawing the line at greased livestock,” she said. “We compromised on the goat.”
Lucy perked up. “There’s a goat?”
“Later,” Esther said quickly.
Basil sat in a corner with four ledgers and six ink pots, muttering to himself as he calculated supply lists.
“We require… twelve additional grain shipments. Expanded soup cauldrons. Reinforced tables. And seven extra healers if we allow arm wrestling near sharp objects.”
“We’re not allowing sharp objects,” Esther said.
Basil flipped a page. “Then four extra healers.”
The Baroness glided in like she was arriving at a ball instead of a logistics meeting. She no longer wore the extravagant silks she had once been so proud of—her garments were more practical now, though still brightly colored.
“I have spoken to half the noble houses already,” she said. “Most of them are tripping over themselves to be seen as generous. The rest will follow when they realize jewelry donations are going out of fashion and philanthropy is the new trend.”
“That was fast,” Esther said.
The Baroness smiled. “Fear and fashion are powerful tools, dear. You simply gave me both.”
Esther looked around the room.
Her people.
Her chaos.
Her impossible, miraculous second chance to do something real.
For the first time, her magic felt… steady. Heavy in her bones, but not like a burden. Like fuel.
“This isn’t just about one festival,” she said quietly.
Everyone fell silent.
Esther’s gaze dropped to the map. “This is our first promise—that as long as the crown stands, no one in Valedara will be forgotten. Harvest is not just for those who already have plenty. It’s for those who almost lost everything.”
“Refugees, orphans, the outer villages,” Lucy said softly.
Esther nodded. “If the nobles want to stand beside the throne, they stand besidethem.”
Sylva’s voice was low. “And if they don’t?”
“Then they can enjoy their harvest from far, far away,” Esther said. “Without our protection. Or our name.”
