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Chapter 89 - The Great Houses

Marvik's hall smelled of wine and old smoke, not steel.

The hearth blazed bright enough to chase the winter chill from the stone chamber, but no warmth lingered in the air.

Instead, the gathered lords of men sat in their high-backed chairs as if they perched on stakes, each one staring at the envoy's scrolls as though they were snakes about to strike.

"They call him lord of Dawnhaven now," Lord Caltrisse spat, a cousin of the House's Lady and head. his heavy jowls trembling with indignation. "Lord of the Ashlands. What next? Will he crown himself Emperor? And we're expected to kneel?"

"He said nothing of crowns," muttered Lord Serevant, long and lean as a weasel. "Only that we stand aside. That we give him silence."

"Silence," Caltrisse scoffed. "And how long before silence becomes tribute? Tribute becomes oaths? Oaths become chains? I know the taste of conquest when I smell it."

At the head of the council table, High Lord Marvik raised a hand.

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