Chapter II
ASH AND AUDIENCE
The chamber reserved for private audiences lay beneath Frostgate's eastern tower, where the stone thickened and the windows narrowed until light entered only by permission. Braziers burned low along the walls, their flames steady and pale, giving warmth without comfort. The air carried the faint scent of resin and old smoke.
Luciel Vaelor stood at the long table's head, his hands resting lightly upon the polished stone. He had arrived before the others. That too was deliberate.
The coffers were brought in one by one. Four men bore each, their movements careful, synchronized. They set them down with a restraint that bordered on reverence. Ashwood drank the firelight, its grain dark and tight, unmarred by ornament. Each lid bore a single seal of red wax, impressed cleanly, unbroken.
The emissary entered last.
He removed his gloves before crossing the threshold. His cloak followed him down his shoulders and was folded neatly over his arm. He did not look at the coffers. He looked at Luciel.
"Lord Vaelor," he said.
Luciel inclined his head slightly.
"You may speak."
The emissary paused, as though measuring the distance between words.
"I am Ser Althric Denor, sworn to the Council of Thorns."
Luciel nodded once.
"A council that has been quiet of late."
Althric's mouth tightened, then smoothed.
"Quiet is not the same as idle."
"No," Luciel said. "It is often worse."
The emissary drew a breath. He did not sit. Neither did Luciel invite him to.
"We come bearing what was owed," Althric said. "And what was delayed."
"Those are rarely the same thing," Luciel replied.
A faint tension passed through the room. The guards at the walls shifted their weight. The braziers crackled softly, then settled again.
Althric gestured toward the coffers without turning.
"They contain the remains of those who fell under banners that were meant to protect them."
Luciel's gaze did not move.
"And yet did not."
"Yes."
"Say that," Luciel said.
Althric hesitated, then inclined his head.
"And yet did not."
Silence held the chamber for a moment longer than was comfortable.
"You have come far to say little," Luciel said. "Why now."
Althric's eyes flicked briefly to the coffers.
"Because the ground has begun to shift."
Luciel allowed himself a small breath through the nose.
"It always does," he said. "The question is who pretends not to feel it."
Althric straightened.
"The Council wishes to make its position known."
Luciel's eyes sharpened.
"Without declaring it."
"Yes."
Luciel stepped away from the table at last, moving slowly, his boots echoing once against the stone before falling silent again.
"You wish to be counted," he said, "without being seen choosing."
Althric said nothing.
Luciel stopped beside the nearest coffer. He did not touch it.
"You bring the dead to soften the living," he said. "You offer apology without confession. And you ask me to listen."
Althric's voice lowered.
"We ask you to remember."
Luciel turned back to him.
"I remember too well to be persuaded by that."
For the first time, the emissary's composure cracked.
"We are running out of time," Althric said. "Others have already chosen. Quietly. Decisively."
"And you did not."
"We waited for certainty."
Luciel's expression hardened.
"Certainty is a luxury afforded only to those who arrive early."
Althric bowed his head.
"What would you have us do."
Luciel studied him for a long moment, weighing not the man, but what stood behind him.
"You have already done it," Luciel said. "You have shown your fear."
Althric looked up.
"And is that unforgivable."
Luciel considered.
"No," he said. "But it is expensive."
The door behind them opened then. Jayden Mournfell entered, his steps measured, his face unreadable. Logan Hardwyck followed, slower, his eyes lingering on the coffers with a familiarity that suggested old losses.
Jayden inclined his head to Luciel.
"They are waiting," he said.
Luciel nodded.
"To wait is their role," he replied. "For now."
Logan spoke, his voice low.
"You should leave these here."
Althric stiffened.
"They are not yours."
"They are not yours either," Logan said.
Luciel raised a hand, and Logan fell silent.
"The coffers will remain," Luciel said. "Unopened."
Althric's shoulders eased, though only slightly.
"And our audience."
"You have had it," Luciel said.
Althric looked between them.
"Then what answer do I carry back."
Luciel returned to the head of the table.
"Tell your council this," he said. "That Frostgate hears you. That the dead are remembered. And that silence has been noted."
Althric swallowed.
"And our place."
Luciel met his eyes.
"Is no longer undecided."
The emissary bowed, deeper this time. When he turned to leave, his steps were quicker than when he had entered.
When the door closed, the chamber seemed colder.
Jayden released a breath he had not known he was holding.
"You gave him nothing," he said.
Luciel watched the door.
"I gave him exactly what he came for."
Logan rested his hand against the nearest coffer, just long enough for the contact to be felt through the wood.
"They won't like it."
Luciel's voice was calm.
"They were never meant to."
The braziers burned on.
The coffers remained sealed.
And above them, Frostgate stood unmoving, its walls thick with history, its silence heavy with choices already made.