Page 37 of Severe Husband Warning

I’ve watched nobles admire gowns embroidered with the rare fabric often enough to recognize its unmistakable shimmer. Every strand is worth a fortune, prized by the great houses for its beauty and the remarkable properties that make it so difficult to produce.

Old Man Theron could never have owned something like this.

My grip tightens around the shuttle as everything I’ve heard these past weeks begins to crowd together in my thoughts. Families vanish without warning. Homes are left behind with tools still waiting where their owners last used them. Now, an old weaver who should never have laid hands on storm-moth silk disappears, leaving behind the smallest trace of it hidden beneath his loom.

A chill works its way through me despite the afternoon warmth filtering in through the open door.

I wrap the shuttle carefully inside my shawl before leaving the cottage behind.

Whatever has been happening in the human quarter has become far too deliberate to dismiss as rumor, and I can only hope there is some explanation waiting beyond these scattered clues that is less terrible than the one beginning to take shape in my mind.

18

ROTHGAR

The lower spires of Ti’lith stretch across the great planning table in the strategy hall, their lightning conduits etched in silver ink across layered blueprints that cover nearly every available surface. Around me, Stromgarde engineers debate conductor placements while several master lightning-workers compare storm-current projections against last season’s records.

“The western grid will tolerate another year,” one engineer insists.

“It will tolerate it,” I reply, studying the fracture marked along the foundation conduit, “But I have no interest in discovering precisely when it ceases to.”

The room falls thoughtfully quiet.

I shift another schematic into place, tracing the route storm current will take once the southern expansion is completed. The calculations are familiar enough that I should lose myself in them.

Instead, my thoughts drift elsewhere.

I remember waking before dawn to find Calla asleep beside me, her wheat-blond hair scattered across the ark silk pillows. She hadn't stirred when I rose, only shifted a little closer to the warmth I had left behind. I had considered waking her, if only to steal another few moments together before duty reclaimed the day, but the temptation passed almost as quickly as it came.

Leaving the silver-leafed plant behind had seemed the kinder choice.

“My lord?”

Vhoros’s voice pulls me back to the present.

The commander stands near the doorway, waiting until the discussion around the table begins again before approaching.

“The revisions are complete,” he says quietly. “The engineers are ready for your approval.”

I look once more across the assembled plans before addressing the room.

“Proceed with the southern reinforcement as drafted. Increase conductor spacing beneath the western residential quarter while you are already excavating the foundations. I would rather solve tomorrow’s failures today.”

Several engineers nod before gathering their drawings and filing quietly from the strategy hall, their discussion continuing in low voices until the doors close behind them.

Vhoros makes no move to follow.

He waits until the room has emptied before stepping closer to the planning table, his gaze remaining on the schematics rather than me. It is a habit he has developed over centuries of service whenever the matter he carries deserves privacy.

“There is another matter, my lord,” he says at last. “Lady Calla left the spire several hours ago.”

I turn my full attention to him.

“Was she accompanied?”

He shakes his head, his voice as even as ever. “She declined the escort offered by the gate captain.”

I say nothing.