The rider came at dawn.
By the time the gates creaked open, the courtyard was already crowded with guards and servants, all craning their necks to see the man who dared ride unmarked into Vale House.
His horse was black, lean and restless, its tack polished but plain. The rider himself was wrapped in a gray traveling cloak, dust clinging to the hem, but his posture was too clean, too precise to belong to any commoner. He slid from the saddle with practiced ease, boots crunching over the ash-streaked stones.
A smile curved his lips—sharp, practiced, the kind meant to disarm while drawing blood.
"I come without banner," he said, voice carrying clear through the courtyard. "But not without purpose."
Elma watched from the steps, Calista beside her. The shard pulsed faintly in her chest, restless but quiet for now. She kept her shoulders square, though every pair of eyes in the courtyard felt like a weight pressing on her back.
The rider approached, unhurried, and stopped a few paces from them. He swept into a low, mocking bow. "I bring greetings from the city. From those who have heard whispers of your… freedom."
He lingered on the word freedom as if it were a joke.
Calista's voice cut through before Elma could speak. "Whispers travel faster than riders, it seems. And yet you arrive without a name, without a sigil. Curious."
The man straightened, his smile never faltering. "Names carry chains, my lady. Best to leave them behind when walking into ruins."
A murmur rippled through the gathered servants. Elma felt the shard stir, urging her forward, urging her to burn that smile from his face. She forced her hands still.
"You came for a reason," Elma said, her voice low but steady. "Say it."
The emissary's eyes flicked to her, assessing, weighing. He tilted his head, almost as if amused. "Direct. Refreshing."
He clasped his hands behind his back, pacing a slow circle as he spoke. "The Vale thrives on order. When Nitron ruled, cruel though he was, the city knew its lines. Its tribute flowed. Its masters sat content." His gaze slid back to her. "Now the leash has snapped, and the city wonders—what replaces it? Chaos? Or a vessel strong enough to hold the shard's hunger?"
The word vessel struck like a lash. Elma stiffened.
Calista stepped forward smoothly, placing herself half a pace ahead of Elma. "And what does the city wonder of queens?"
The emissary's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "That queens, when not crowned, are vulnerable."
Silence rippled through the courtyard.
Elma felt heat crawl up her arms, the shard pressing harder against her ribs. It wanted violence. It wanted to silence this man in fire.
But Calista's hand brushed against hers—a whisper of grounding—and Elma exhaled.
"If the city is looking for weakness," Elma said slowly, her voice gaining strength with each word, "they'll find ash. If they're looking for chains, they'll find nothing. And if they're looking for me—" she let the pause hang, meeting his gaze without blinking—"then they'd better know I don't kneel."
The servants stirred, whispers rising. A guard struck the butt of his spear to the ground, echoing her words without needing them repeated.
For the first time, the emissary's smile wavered. Only slightly.
He bowed again, shallow this time. "Then the city has its answer."
He turned to leave, his cloak whispering against the stones, but at the gate he paused, looking back. His smile had returned, sharp as ever.
"Freedom draws enemies faster than crowns," he said softly. "Choose carefully who wears it with you."
His eyes flicked to Calista, just for an instant, before he swung into his saddle and rode out.
The gate shut behind him with a heavy thud.
The courtyard buzzed with whispers once he was gone. Some were defiant, others afraid. Elma turned to Calista, her pulse still racing, the shard still restless under her skin.
"He knows too much," Elma muttered.
"They all will," Calista replied, her gaze following the empty road beyond the gates. "That was only the first."
Her hand found Elma's again, steady but firm. "The city won't leave us to ourselves. They'll test us, probe us, tempt us. That man's smile was only the beginning."
Elma swallowed hard. The shard pulsed like a second heartbeat. Rule. Take them. Or be taken.
She squeezed Calista's hand tighter, her voice barely above a whisper. "Then we'd better not break."
Calista turned to her, eyes sharp, lips curving faintly. "We won't."
But Elma couldn't shake the echo of the emissary's smile.
And she couldn't shake the shard's whisper that came with it.