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“By royal karasu. The cipher and seal are authentic.”
“When?”
“Moments ago.”
“Written message?”
“No details beyond the command. His Majesty requires your presence at court by the sixth evening from today.”
The royal capital appears when I touch the southern edge of the table. Orthani rises from the plain in dark walls, towers, and the clustered markers of the great Khuzuth houses.
House Varrus burns crimson near the king’s district.
“Convenient,” I say.
Sarveth’s indigo eyes follow mine. “You believe Lord Varrus arranged it.”
“Arranged is too strong. Encouraged is accurate.”
“The report from Orthani concerned his speech?”
“Yes.”
“And now the king wishes to see you.”
“Varrus has spent months presenting fortification as fear, trade policy as surrender, and my lack of an heir as evidence of Morwen’thir decline. He would prefer the king to ask the question publicly.”
“Will he?”
“Rython does nothing without purpose. If he summons me over Varrus’s accusations, he has already decided the issue deserves attention.”
Sarveth moves to the table. Her gaze settles upon the routes pressured by Varrus-aligned toll stations.
“King Rython may wish to prevent conflict between two powerful houses.”
“He may wish to determine which house offers him greater advantage.”
“Those ambitions are not mutually exclusive.”
“No.”
She studies Vesper’s Peak, which remains a small grey cluster beneath the stronghold.
“The winter accounts are ready,” she says. “The human settlement will request relief.”
“They request relief every winter.”
“This winter, they may require it.”
“Require is not the same as receive.”
“Of course.”
Her tone carries neither approval nor criticism. Sarveth speaks for the preservation of the house. Human suffering matters to her when it threatens order, labor, or reputation.
In that, we agree.
I dismiss Vesper’s Peak and enlarge Orthani.
