Page 33 of The Last Rose of Ashwood

The courier swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

Seren stared at the folded dispatch. Morvek was a patient man. Too patient. The sort of politician who never raised his voice because he had learned other people would raise theirs first and reveal far more than they intended. He had survived the revolution by joining it late enough to avoid danger and early enough to claim conviction. Seren had never trusted him. That was not unusual. She trusted very few people who enjoyed committees.

“Was there anything else?” she asked.

The courier shook his head. “No, General.”

“Any verbal instruction?”

Another hesitation. Seren waited. The rider looked as though he wished very much to disappear into his saddle.

“Only that any findings relating to pre-Coalition magical infrastructure are to be secured and transferred to Council custody when feasible.”

Roran swore quietly beside her.

Seren folded the letter slowly. There it was. Magical infrastructure. Another polished phrase dragged from whatever dark cabinet housed Council language. Not villages. Not lives. Not the ugly little doll or the cold cup of tea or the abandoned bread. Infrastructure, apparently, was the problem. As if the roots beneath the temple were a collapsed bridge to be surveyed and claimed.

“Tell Chancellor Morvek,” Seren said, “that I will secure what I deem necessary to protect the northern settlements. If he wishes to debate jurisdiction, he may do so in person.”

The courier looked miserable. “Yes, General.”

“And tell him to send physicians, evacuation wagons, food stores, and engineers who understand old stone, not archivists with clean boots and empty hands.”

The man nodded quickly. Roran looked pleased despite himself.

Seren was not finished. “Also, tell him there were people in that village.”

The courier’s expression faltered.

“Use those words,” she commanded. “Exactly.”

“Yes, General.”

She dismissed him with a nod, then watched as he turned his horse back toward the south, carrying discomfort toward men who had earned far more of it than one messenger should have to bear alone.

Roran remained beside her. “That will not make Morvek like you more.”

“Tragic.”

“He may retaliate by sending more paperwork.”

“I have survived worse.”

“Have you?”

“No.”

That earned a brief laugh from him, but his expression sobered quickly. “They know something.”

“Yes.”

“How much?” Roran asked.

“Enough to ask the wrong questions.”

Roran looked north, toward the mountains. “And not enough to answer the right ones.”

Seren tucked the letter inside her coat. “That is becoming a familiar problem.”