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“With garrisons at every gate. Three walled rings between us and their command. You would send our people into that, with no element of surprise?” I hike one eyebrow, and wait.

No one answers. They don’t need to.

“If we strike now, we hand them a public victory. One they’ll dress in banners and hang from the Spire. They’ll parade it through every city they control as proof that even with my return, the Veinwardens are broken.”

Damen’s throat works around the words he doesn’t speak. His hands tense where they grip the edge of the table. He nods, sharp and reluctant, jaw clenched tight as if holding back whatever fire still wants to rise.

Understanding reluctantly dawns in his expression. “Then what do we do?”

“First we gather information. Current Authority structure, their vulnerabilities. Then we rebuild. Use the knots that still hold. We re-establish communication through safe lines. No messengers unlesswe have no other choice. After that, we strike where it will do the most damage.”

Damen subsides, not entirely convinced but unable to argue with my logic. His reaction confirms what I already suspected. Too many years surviving with no end in sight has left them desperate. They want decisive action, no matter the cost.

A young woman enters, and hurries over to Varam.

“My Lord. Patrol patterns have changed again. Additional guards have been posted at the western gate. They’re stopping everyone going in and out. Anyone without the correct documentation is being detained.”

The mood in the room changes. Not panic, these are people long accustomed to danger, but a narrowing of focus.

“When?”

“Within the last hour. No notice. They simply appeared.”

Isara looks up from the map. “It’s too closely timed. This is because of you.”

Ferrin’s voice is quieter. “It’s possible they’ve learned about the tower.”

Varam’s expression darkens. “They could have found the remains of it, at the very least. With no body inside its ruins, it will raise questions. It depends how much the lower ranks know about what it was holding.”

Galern exhales. “If they suspect the Vareth’el has returned?—”

“They’ll do what they’re doing now,” Varam cuts in. “Increase their guard, limit movement, test the edges of their control. But they won’t commit their full strength. Not until they know for certain.”

“Which gives us a narrow window.” I turn to Mira. “Take Ellie. Let her see the sky, and bring back what you see on the streets.”

Mira nods and disappears into the adjoining room. A second later, Ellie follows her out.

When the door closes behind them, I turn back to the table. “We need more than maps and movement patterns. Who leads them now? I want names, habits, weak points.”

There’s a pause before Galern answers. “High Commander Sereven. He holds everything.”

I go still.

Varam looks at me. I shake my head once, and tap one finger against the table top.

Continue.

“He rose fast,” Galern says, voice low. “One moment he was advising the High Commander. The next, he was standing in his place. Just a sudden …vacancy, and Sereven filling it.”

Of course he did.

“He plans every move. Never acts without making sure he’s looked at all options. But once he does, he doesn’t leave room for reversal.”

I say nothing. But I feel the room tilt. The map before me, the names and lines inked in orderly formations, they mean nothing beside that name.

Sereven.

“His second is Commander Drayeth,” Galern says. “He handles all military operations. Former field officer. Led the campaigns that crushed the northern bloodline sanctuaries.”