Harmonia Calendar 715, Chelon 2 - Ashspire Estate, Elandor
Evening - Anton's Study
The lightstones in Father's study burned bright, casting their glow across the maps nailed to the walls.
The desk was a wreck, with contracts and ledgers scattered across it.
Father leaned over it, hands braced on the wood. He wore a black tunic
adorned with gold stitching. His red eyes looked over the papers without pause, cold and unhurried.
I stood opposite him, one hand resting on the back of a chair, watching the way his gaze moved from paper to paper.
A single paper lay face-up between us. A newspaper.
Written on its front page, the headline.
[Noble's Bastard Son Condemned.]
Adonis's name filled the second line. Now the whole Empire knew.
Father pressed his palm against the paper, then slid it aside. His voice was low.
"Three guilds have cut ties with us. Two trade partners demand new terms. Our alliance with the Vallis County is gone."
He pushed a folded contract toward me.
"This is what one scandal costs."
I read the lines before speaking.
"A mining deal with Lord Halvors."
His voice came back cold.
"Declined."
My lips curved faintly.
"So they fear losing their buyers if they let Ashspire touch their mines."
His gaze lifted to me.
"They fear weakness."
I didn't flinch. I met his stare, let the silence stretch until—
Knock.
Father spoke.
"Enter."
The door opened.
A servant entered, holding a bundle of letters bound in thread. Ink stains marked his fingers. He bowed quickly and stepped forward, laying one letter on the desk.
"A letter from Lionsgate, my lords."
Father broke the wax seal with a knife. He read it, his face unreadable, save for the twitch of his jaw. Then he slid the parchment across the desk.
[All major houses. All border lords. Are summoned to attend the council in Lionsgate to discuss the rising tensions within the Holy Union.]
I read it twice, then looked up. Our eyes met. We had the same thought.
'Opportunity.'
Father told the servant.
"You may leave."
Another bow. The door closed behind him.
Father spoke first.
"The court will be filled with enemies tomorrow. They will strike while we are down."
I added.
"And we will use it to remind them. We are Ashspires. We are not weak."
He gave a single nod.
"Favian. Rest. Tomorrow decides the fate of our house."
I inclined my head, masking the smile that pressed at my lips.
"Then until tomorrow, Father."
I left the study.
***
Noon - Carriage
The carriage rattled through Lionsgate, its wheels beating a rhythm over cobblestone streets.
Beyond the windows, the capital appeared, decorated in banners of crimson and gold. Lions of metal glared down from marble towers. Houses rose between them, painted in bright colors, and crowds gathered in the streets.
Father sat opposite me, dressed in a black suit with a dark red cloak fastened at the shoulder by the Ashspire crest. His posture was straight, his silence unbroken.
I sat across from him, my thoughts circling the meeting ahead.
'An opportunity.'
'To show them that the Ashspires are not weak. To remind them, we still stand strong. Stronger than ever. To put them back in their place.'
The carriage slowed. My gaze shifted to the window, catching my reflection in the glass.
I straightened my collar, buttoned my white vest, smoothed my trousers, adjusted the crimson mantle, and combed my hair back.
At last, my practiced smile came, charming as always.
I gave my reflection a nod.
'Perfect.'
My eyes returned to Father.
'No failures today. Everything must be perfect.'
Click.
The door swung open. Knights bowed as Father descended first. I drew a deep breath before stepping out behind him.
The council hall stood ahead.
White marble stairs led up to a vast circular building. Columns rose around the hall, tall and imposing. A dome of crimson bricks crowned the roof. Banners adorned the columns, crimson and gold hung proudly.
Father climbed the stairs first, boots striking stone in measured rhythm. I followed one step behind.
Nobles already crowded the entrance, flowing toward the doors. Their heads turned as they caught sight of the Ashspire crest.
The whispers came at once.
"The Ashspires..."
"They were on the rise."
"They fell after the tribunal."
"All because of a bastard. What a disgrace."
"They couldn't even control their own children."
"I heard a marquisate will soon be free."
"Could the Ashspires fall?"
Their words drifted through the air. I heard them all. But gave no reaction.
'Not yet. But I would remember.'
Father's steps cut sharp as he strode past them. His eyes were cold. The nobles parted.
The great double doors stood open. We entered the hall.
The dome stretched above, and paintings of the victories from the Age of Conquest decorated it. Chandeliers hung
low, their light filling the hall.
Rows of benches curved around the hall. At the center stood a vast circular table draped in crimson cloth, adorned with golden threads. The marble floor leading to it was covered with a carpet in the same color.
Columns lined the walls, each decorated with lions. Between them stood stained-glass windows. Sunlight shone through them, casting a golden glow on the marble.
The seats near the high table were already filled. Only the highest nobles and border lords had been summoned today.
'The important ones.'
Father walked down the crimson carpet, unhurried. I followed close behind, my eyes scanning the nobles.
Some dipped their chins in greeting as we passed. Others turned away with disdain.
'Good. Show me your contempt openly. Make it easier for me. I will remember every face that nodded…and every face that sneered. And when the time comes, I will repay them all.'
Father reached the first row behind the central table and took his seat. The seat behind Grand Duke Valmontis. The Ashspire marquisate lies within his territory.
I sat beside him, hands clasped in my lap, gaze sweeping the chamber.
This was the stage.
This was the beginning of our rise.
***
Late Noon - Council Hall
All nobles who had received the summons were present.
Only the center table and the first rows around it were filled. Few had been invited.
Time pressed forward. The meeting will soon begin.
I glanced at Father. He sat like a statue, no twitch in hand or face, red eyes fixed not on the hall but on the center table where words would carry weight.
"Let us begin."
The voice rolled deep across the hall. My head turned toward it.
At the center table, a man in silver-grey robes rose. A quill was stitched into the fabric of his mantle. His hair was white, his back straight, and his voice carried authority.
Grand Duke Silverquill.
His eyes swept the hall once before he spoke.
"Reports from the west."
He set a bundle of sealed papers on the table.
"The Holy Union fractures further. Aviel blames Elos for the destruction of their Spire. Elos calls Aviel fanatics staging their own martyrdom. Nerivane claims neutrality while doubling its tariffs. Riots in Marinthal grow worse."
'The Holy Union. The other human power on Aldaria, besides the Empire Elandor. Three factions under one banner. Aviel which worships the Goddess of Life. Elos, clinging to the God of Death. Nerivane, the Free Folk, which put more importance on trade than religion. Together, they hold Aldaria's only access to the sea. Every port on the western coast lies under their rule.'
Murmurs rippled through the rows.
I watched their faces. Nobles bent toward one another, whispering like crows on a branch. I pressed my lips thin to hide the smile. Fear made them predictable.
My gaze returned to Silverquill.
'Grand Duke Silverquill. Cousin to the Emperor. The crown's closest adviser. His family holds the strongest hand in politics. A man you cannot trust. He will sacrifice anything for an advantage.'
I smiled to myself.
'I like him.'
Silverquill raised a hand. The hall stilled.
"The Union is our lifeline to the sea. They hold the western ports. Their tariffs have already cut our supply of imports. Should war break out, trade will collapse. The markets will follow. We can't look away."
He turned his head toward Grand Duke Valmontis and gave the smallest of nods.
Valmontis did not rise at once. He waited, letting the murmurs circle, fingers tapping lightly on the table. At last, his white mantle stirred as he stood. The noise died.
With a single motion, he brushed his suit straight, and then he spoke, voice calm.
"When ports falter, trade halts. That is its nature. But when one route closes, another can be opened. Those who act swiftly seize it first. The Union's squabbles are tragic, yes. But sentiment won't keep an Empire alive. Either we prevent war, or we prepare new lines of commerce. Trade adapts or it dies."
Valmontis sat down again, as if the words he spoke were already enough for the matter.
'Grand Duke Valmontis. The richest man in the Empire. His methods of trade are taught at the Imperial Academy. His sister married the Emperor. Wealth, influence, reach, yet never unjust. He never cuts deals that ruin others, yet never accepts a loss.'
Across the table, Duke Cornvale leaned forward after Valmontis spoke.
His broad frame filled a plain brown vest. Brown hair and beard gave him a younger look, though his heavy hands told of work done. He gripped the table and pushed himself upright.
"If tension rises and war approaches, their citizens won't vanish. They will come to us as refugees. They come hungry, desperate, and begging for shelter."
Valmontis cut in.
"Distribution won't be the problem. Supply will. Do we have reserves for our armies? Enough for refugees on top of that?"
Cornvale didn't flinch at the interruption. He sat back down, eyes fixed on Valmontis.
"For our citizens alone, reserves last five years. Add war and marching armies, and we have at most two years. That isn't enough to feed both the Empire and the refugees. We need more supplies."
I watched the way Cornvale turned the question back.
'Duke Cornvale. His family rules the fields. They feed half the Empire. A man who still walks his farms, dirt on his hands despite his title. He fears famine because he has seen hunger twist men. And he is right.'
Valmontis tapped a finger against the table, counting.
"I will handle the trade and buy food before war inflates the price."
Silverquill nodded faintly, his quill already scratching down notes. The scribble of ink was the only sound until another person moved.
Duke Ironbright shifted in his chair. He tugged his gloves tight, then spoke in a firm tone.
"Our mines already strain to fill the Imperial stores. If tension rises, borders and ports will close, and no foreign metal comes through. Our weapons will cost double. No war waits for empty hands."
He leaned back again, his grey suit wrinkled at the edges. His dark hair was bound in a man's bun.
'Duke Ironbright. Their mines are the Empire's veins. Nearly endless, yet never enough in times of war. A proud man, steadfast. He wears his duty like a medal.'
Then rose Duke Magleos. His robe shimmered faintly, runes laced into the threads. He tapped his staff once against the floor. The sound was soft, yet the hall turned quiet.
He spoke, his voice almost scholarly.
"I have received word. It concerns the Celestial Influence."