Chapter 65: The Watcher From The Crown

Stormfall – The Stoneward Asylum – High Spire

The wind that swept across the upper terraces of the Stoneward Asylum carried the smell of cold iron and old rain. It was the kind of wind that never quite left the lungs clean. The sun should be rising soon, but somehow, it seemed to be hesitating, as if the night and the four moons above did not want to let go of their hold over reality.

Lunareth, Vyrindel, Sylthera, and Zarathos. They all created a breathtaking display of silver, red, blue-green, and golden light that shone over the waking city of millions, and the sounds of the engine of civilization were surely rising all over the city, but the sounds did not reach the Stoneward Asylum, almost as if it was afraid of coming closer to this place, but the most likely reason was that the sound must be afraid of coming closer to… her.

Commander Yseult stood alone at the edge of the open balcony, hands clasped behind her back, silver hair pinned severely against the nape of her neck. Below her, the city sprawled in tiers of black basalt and white marble, lit by the soft bluish glow of Lumina lanterns and the lights of the four moons that never quite reached the lower districts.

Somewhere far beneath those streets, the real Stormfall lived, the one that smelled of blood and coal and desperation. How long had she stood here in this manner and watched the dawn? She sometimes forgets, had it been for nine hundred years or maybe a thousand, was it even more? There was a time in her life when time had become meaningless to her, and only standing watch had given her mind the time to recover.

She had not moved in almost twenty minutes.

A soft chime sounded behind her, the discreet bell of the inner sanctum door.

Yseult did not turn.

“You may enter,” she said, voice flat.

Boots clicked across polished stone. Slow. Deliberate. It was the sound of a man who knew the rhythm that annoyed people, but did it anyway because they were assured of their power, but in this place, this was already stretching the boundary of what was permitted.

Lord-Captain Veyris Kaelthar stepped onto the balcony. He was tall, lean, dressed in the severe midnight-blue of the Crown’s Inner Guard, silver threading at collar and cuffs.

A longsword hung at his hip, ceremonial, but the hilt was worn from real use. His face was handsome in the way statues are handsome: cold, symmetrical, empty of anything that might be mistaken for warmth.

If Elias were here, he would be shocked because the appearance of the Lord-Captain was eerily similar to the statue of Asulon, but this was considered normal for members of the Royal House whose bloodlines were strong. Veyris Kaelthar, with his talent and strong bloodline power, could have pushed for a much higher position, even the position of a Lord for a city like Stormfall, but certain reasons made him decide to become the Lord-Captain of the Royal Guardsmen.

However, only a fool would think his position was a demotion, for while the Lord of Stormfall would be able to command only the Guardmen in this city, Veyris could command the Guardsmen in a thousand cities.

He stopped three paces behind the woman standing on the balcony.

“Commander Yseult,” he said, dipping his head the minimum required by protocol. “The Crown sends its regards.”

“The Crown,” Yseult repeated without turning. “Or the Queen-Regent?”

A small silence.

“You have been far from the matters of the High Courts, and in recent times, the Queen-Regent is… indisposed,” Veyris said. “Lord-Protector Calyx of Stormfall speaks in her name.”

“Of course he does.”

Another silence, which was longer until Yseult finally turned. Her eyes, pale silver, almost white in the morning light, met his without blinking, and it was a testament to the bravery or perhaps stupidity of Veyris that he did not flinch.

“You are here because a portal signature was detected,” she said. It was not a question.

“Yes.”

“And you are here to ’monitor’ the process.”

“Yes.”

“And you are here to ensure I have not ’tampered’ with the candidate’s ascension.”

Veyris inclined his head again, the same shallow bow. A member of the Royal House was not supposed to bow, but there were always special cases, and equally more special people, for whom the rules had to be bent to accommodate.

“And,” Yseult continued, voice still calm, “you are here to determine whether the candidate survives long enough to return… or whether his death can be quietly blamed on my supposed negligence.”

Veyris smiled, and it did not reach his eyes. He always knew that this task would be hard, but he needed to follow orders. Still, he was not a fool, not after what happened to several Lord-Captains who had believed too much in the power of their station.

“The Crown has concerns,” he said softly. “Nothing more.”

Yseult stepped closer, her motions were loose like a dancer, but so incredibly precise that it was just enough to force him to meet her gaze directly.

“Concerns,” she echoed. “Let us speak plainly, Lord-Captain. The Order has not forgotten the last time a Crown observer ’monitored’ an ascension in this Asylum.”

Veyris’s smile thinned; things may be heading in a direction that he did not want, and the right move would be for him to de-escalate the tension before it grew worse.

“That was an unfortunate misunderstanding,” he said. “We were led to believe that the candidate was unstable. The observer acted to protect the city.”

“The observer murdered a sixteen-year-old boy who had opened sixty pools of Lumina because he was afraid of what that would mean for you pitiful crows,” Yseult said. “And then the Crown declared the death a ’natural failure of the process.’”

“The records were reviewed—”

“The records were rewritten.”

Veyris exhaled through his nose, trying to hold back his anger; he was not used to being suppressed, especially when he knew that the Royal House paid a high price that day, and his grandfather died at the hands of this woman. However, none of that thought crossed his eyes as he replied calmly,

“That was six hundred and twenty-three years ago, Commander. A different Lord-Protector.”

“But the same Queen-Regent… the same fear,” Yseult said. “The same terror that one day an Angel might rise inside these walls who does not kneel when the Crown snaps its fingers.”

She let the silence hang, then, quietly:

“You may observe. You may record. You may even report. But if you lay one hand on my candidate, if you so much as breathe too close to the portal when he returns, I will kill you where you stand. And I will make certain the Crown knows exactly why.”

Veyris studied her face for a long moment, then he inclined his head, deeper this time.

“I understand the Crown’s interests are… secondary to your duty here.”

“They are not secondary,” Yseult said. “They are irrelevant.” She turned back to the railing.

“Now leave my balcony, Lord-Captain. You may observe from the lower gallery. You may bring your scribes. You may even bring your witnesses. But if I see your face again before the portal reopens, I will throw you over this railing myself.”

Veyris studied her profile for a long moment, then he bowed, deeper than protocol required.

“As you command, Commander.”

He turned and his boots clicked once, twice, across the stone.

Yseult waited until the echo faded.

Then she spoke, very quietly, to the empty air.

“Come back alive, Elias.”

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