Page 26

Elindir

T he eastern horizon held just the faintest hint of dawn as we approached the Redrock compound. Unlike the elegant wooden structures of D'thallanar's inner rings or the vibrant diversity of the Craiggybottom merchant quarter, House Redrock's territory resembled something transported from another world entirely. Rich terracotta walls rose against the lightening sky, intricately patterned with geometric designs inlaid with colored tiles that caught the first rays of morning light. Arched doorways and latticed windows spoke of a culture formed in desert heat and coastal winds rather than the forested mountains that dominated most elven lands.

"The only southern clan never fully integrated into northern culture," Aryn murmured as we paused in the shadow of a building across from the compound's main entrance. "While other houses adopted Deepfrost aesthetics and traditions, the Redrocks maintained their ancient ways, drawing from their unique position straddling riverlands, coast, and high desert."

I studied the compound with growing curiosity. Two guards stood at an arched gateway framed with intricate tilework, their armor unlike anything I'd seen elsewhere in D'thallanar. Where other houses favored elaborate ceremonial breastplates of silver or gold, these warriors wore light, flexible armor of overlapping leather scales dyed the deep red of their namesake, reinforced with slim plates of copper and bronze that caught the growing light. At their hips hung curved blades with distinctive swept hilts.

"How do we get inside?" I whispered. "They're unlikely to welcome a pair of disguised clerks seeking an audience before dawn."

Aryn's lips quirked in the ghost of a smile. "House Redrock values two things above all else: honor and directness. Their dueling traditions demand an honest declaration of intent before blades are drawn." He adjusted his cloak, letting his silver hair show more prominently. "We approach openly, state our purpose, and request audience with their representative. No subterfuge."

"That seems... risky," I said, thinking of the Primarch's guards searching the city for us.

"Less risky than being caught in a lie by people whose cultural foundation rests on personal honor." Aryn straightened his posture, ice-blue eyes harder than usual. "Follow my lead. Speak only when addressed directly. And whatever happens, show no fear."

He stepped into the open street without further explanation, moving with such confidence that I scrambled to follow. The guards at the entrance immediately straightened, hands moving to their weapons as we approached.

"Halt," commanded the taller of the two, a male warrior whose intricate facial tattoos in blue ink suggested high rank. "State your business with House Redrock."

Aryn stopped at a respectful distance, offering neither bow nor formal salute, but meeting his gaze directly. "I am Aryn, brother to King Ruith Starfall, representative of House Duskfell in the Assembly. I seek audience with Lady Sariel of House Redrock on a matter of mutual interest."

The guard's eyes narrowed as he studied Aryn's silver hair, the distinctive features that marked him as Tarathiel's blood, despite his rejection of the Primarch's house. His gaze shifted to me, assessing with professional detachment.

"And the human?" he asked, the question holding neither disgust nor particular interest.

"Elindir of Ostovan, consort to King Ruith Starfall," Aryn replied before I could speak. "He comes as a royal representative in matters concerning today's Assembly vote."

I expected surprise, perhaps even hostility at this reveal of my identity. Instead, the guard simply nodded once, as if confirming something he had already suspected. He turned to his companion and spoke in the distinctive dialect of the southern territories, the words too quick for me to follow despite my study of elvish tongues.

After a brief exchange, he faced us again. "House Redrock does not receive visitors before the river prayer." His tone softened marginally. "However, given the circumstances, I will inform Lady Sariel of your arrival. You will wait here."

He disappeared through the arched gateway, leaving us under the watchful eye of his companion. The remaining guard's expression revealed nothing, but his gaze remained fixed on us with unnerving intensity, particularly on me.

"Is it true?" he asked suddenly, breaking the tense silence.

"Is what true?" I replied cautiously.

"That the rebel king took a death sleep for you. Traded part of his life essence to restore yours." The guard's tone held no judgment, only curiosity.

I nodded once, surprised by the question. "He did."

Something flickered in the guard's eyes. "Such a sacrifice is rare in these times. The old magics demand much." He touched a small blue stone that hung from a cord around his neck. "Our house remembers such traditions."

Before I could respond, the ornate gateway opened again, revealing a different warrior. Unlike the guards with their simple red-scaled armor, this man wore flowing robes of deep indigo over lighter armor, with an elaborate copper circlet around his head. Intricate patterns had been shaved into the sides of his otherwise long dark hair, creating geometric designs that complemented the tattoos visible on his hands and face.

"Captain Malek," Aryn greeted him with a respectful nod, though still no bow.

"Shikami," the captain replied, using Aryn's former title rather than his name. "Lady Sariel will see you." His gaze shifted to me, assessing rather than hostile. "Both of you."

He turned and led us into the compound without waiting for acknowledgment. The contrast between House Redrock's exterior and interior was striking, yet harmonious. Where the outer walls had been impressive, the inner courtyard was breathtaking—a perfect fusion of practical beauty and cultural distinction. Open-air corridors surrounded a central garden where a system of channels directed water from a central fountain to nourish plants I'd never seen before—desert flowers in vibrant reds and oranges, spiky blue-green succulents, and aromatic herbs that perfumed the morning air.

The walkways were paved with clay tiles in every shade of red imaginable, from pale terracotta to deep crimson, arranged in intricate geometric patterns. Archways adorned with delicate latticework led to shadowed interiors, while open pavilions with domed roofs offered gathering spaces beneath colorful awnings. Everything spoke of a culture adapted to heat and light, to the meeting of desert and river and sea.

The captain guided us toward the largest pavilion, its dome tiled in a mesmerizing pattern of blue and gold that seemed to shift with the strengthening morning light. The pavilion's interior opened to reveal a circular space centered around a pool of still water that perfectly reflected the dome above. The floor surrounding this pool was not stone or wood but packed clay of a deep red color, polished to a soft sheen.

At the far side of this clay circle stood a woman who could only be Lady Sariel, her body flowing through a series of precise movements that resembled both dance and combat forms.

Her hands traced patterns in the air, fingers extended like water flowing, then shifted to tight fists that struck invisible opponents with controlled power. Each position flowed seamlessly into the next as she pivoted on bare feet, her shadow dancing across the water's surface as she followed the sun's path. With each movement, the copper bangles at her wrists chimed softly, creating a rhythm that seemed to match her controlled breathing. As she completed the ritual, she drew both hands toward her heart, then extended them toward the eastern light filtering through the latticed dome, palms upturned in offering.

Lady Sariel of House Redrock stood perhaps two inches taller than me, her athletic frame carrying the lean muscle of a lifelong duelist rather than a battlefield warrior. Her skin was the warm brown of fired clay, with subtle gold undertones that caught the morning light. Unlike the ornate robes favored by other clan representatives, she wore lightweight clothing of layered silk in deep reds and blues, with subtle armor visible at the shoulders and forearms. Her hair, styled in dozens of thin braids adorned with copper beads and blue stones, fell past her shoulders in a controlled cascade that framed a face of striking angles and planes.

High cheekbones and a strong jawline gave her features a regal quality, while her eyes—a deep amber ringed with copper—projected an intelligence that missed nothing. Intricate blue tattoos flowed from her temples down her cheeks in flowing patterns reminiscent of river currents, far more elaborate than those I had noticed on the guards, marking her high status within the clan. The patterns continued down her neck and disappeared beneath her clothing, suggesting a comprehensive body art that told the story of her accomplishments and lineage.

"The rebel king's human consort comes to my house before the river prayer," she observed, her voice carrying the melodious accent of the southern territories. "Either very brave or very desperate."

Aryn stepped forward. "Lady Sariel, we come seeking—"

She raised a hand, cutting him off. "I did not address you, Shikami." Her gaze remained fixed on me. "I know why you've come. You seek my vote in today's Assembly."

"Yes," I replied, meeting her eyes directly. "Ruith Starfall's life hangs on that vote."

"Many lives hang in many balances," she replied, her fingers tracing patterns in the air that matched some of the designs adorning the pavilion. "Why should House Redrock concern itself with the fate of one rebel?"

"Because that one rebel represents the future," I said. "A future where humans and elves build something better together, where ancient hatreds give way to cooperation and shared prosperity."

Lady Sariel's expression remained composed, but something shifted in her dark eyes. She moved away from her position with a grace that spoke of years of disciplined training, each step deliberate yet fluid as water.

"House Redrock has little interest in political idealism." She circled me slowly, assessing. "We value honor. Conviction. The courage to stand behind one's beliefs regardless of consequence." She stopped before me, close enough that I could smell the subtle fragrance of exotic oils in her braided hair.

"And what has Tarathiel offered in exchange for your vote?" I asked.

Her movement stopped abruptly. For a moment, I feared I had overstepped. Then something like approval flickered across her features. "Direct. Good." She resumed her position near the water pool. "The Primarch offers exclusive trading rights with the northern territories. Access to timber reserves our desert lands lack. A significant concession."

"And what do you care for Northern resources?" I countered. "House Redrock has always maintained its independence from northern politics."

"Resources are resources," she said with a slight shrug. "Our lands are rich in clay and river minerals, yes, but we lack the forests needed for shipbuilding. Our coastal territories could expand trade routes if we had the vessels to sail them."

I considered her words carefully. The Redrock clan had built their power on their control of the only rivers in elven lands that carried mineral-rich clay, perfect for crafting everything from simple pottery to the elaborate tilework that adorned their compound. Their position controlling both river lands and coast gave them unique trading opportunities, but without timber for ships, their reach remained limited.

"And what if we could offer alternatives?" I suggested. "Trade agreements with human lands, yes, but also direct access to the Yeutish forests of the far north. Ruith has forged an alliance with Kudai. The northern timber you seek can flow down your rivers without Tarathiel as gatekeeper. Peace with the Yeutlands means new trade routes that bypass the northern houses entirely."

Lady Sariel's expression revealed nothing. "You speak of resources you do not control, human. Your brother Michail leads a holy war against our kind. Why would we trust human promises?"

"Michail does not speak for all humans, just as Tarathiel does not speak for all elves." I held her gaze steadily. "I've seen how your people live, Lady Sariel. How different your culture is from the northern houses. The diversity within elven society itself. Humans are no different. We contain multitudes, just as you do."

"Yet you come to me as a representative of the rebel king, seeking political advantage." She tilted her head slightly. "Why should I believe your promises carry more weight than the Primarch's?"

I straightened, meeting her penetrating gaze directly. "Because I stand before you not just as Ruith's consort, but as someone who has seen both sides of this conflict. I've worn a slave collar and I've sat at the king's right hand. I've known both cruelty and kindness from elven hands. And I believe—no, I know—that the future Ruith fights for offers more to all our peoples than Tarathiel's vision of eternal subjugation."

Lady Sariel studied me for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then she smiled.

"You offer much, human consort," she said, her amber eyes evaluating me with new interest. "But House Redrock does not make decisions based on promises or political maneuvering. We adhere to the old ways, ways that predate even the northern conquest."

She moved to the edge of the water pool, her reflection rippling slightly as she disturbed the surface with her fingertips. "Do you know of our dueling tradition? The Trial of Flowing Waters?"

Aryn tensed beside me. "The sacred combat test," he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.

Lady Sariel nodded, acknowledging his recognition. "For generations immemorial, House Redrock has tested conviction through combat. Words may deceive, but the body in motion reveals true intention." She straightened, fixing me with her copper-ringed gaze. "I would know your conviction, Elindir of Ostovan, not just hear your promises."

"You wish me to face one of your champions?" I asked, suddenly understanding where this was leading.

"No." Her lips curved slightly. "I would test your conviction myself. As the Lady of House Redrock, it is both my right and duty to ensure that only worthy allies receive our support."

She gestured, and Captain Malek stepped forward. "The Trial requires equal weapons and a fair contest. It is not a battle to the death, but to first blood or surrender." She studied me carefully. "You would be familiar with spear and shield, yes? These are weapons of honor in our tradition."

I nodded slowly. The spear had indeed been my preferred weapon during my years commanding the palace guard, though I'd trained with many others.

"The rules are simple," Lady Sariel continued. "We face each other within the sand circle. Water witnesses our truth. The first to draw blood or force their opponent beyond the boundary claims victory." Her eyes held mine, unflinching. "Would you risk this trial for your king's freedom, human? Would you put your conviction to the test of steel rather than merely words?"

I hesitated. This wasn't what I had expected. Political negotiation, yes. Even threats or coercion. But ritual combat against the head of House Redrock herself? If I refused, we would lose any chance of securing her vote. If I accepted and lost, I risked not just failure but the complete collapse of our chances in the Assembly.

"Lady Sariel," Aryn interjected carefully, "as representative of House Duskfell, I could stand as champion—"

"No." Her voice cut through his offer like a blade. "The human comes seeking our support for his vision of the future. His conviction, his skill must stand the test." Her eyes never left mine. "What say you, Elindir of Ostovan? Will you fight for your king's life? For this future of equality you claim to believe in?"

I thought of Ruith, chained in a cell below the Assembly Hall. Of Leif and Torsten waiting at Calibarra, hoping for our return. Of the future we had dared to imagine, where humans and elves might stand as equals rather than master and slave. If I refused this challenge, all of that died with Ruith at sunset.

"I accept your challenge, Lady Sariel," I said, my voice steady despite my racing heart. "I will face you in the Trial of Flowing Waters."

Something like approval flickered in her eyes. "Well answered." She turned to Captain Malek. "Bring the dueling sands and the matched spears. House Redrock will witness this trial."

As servants rushed to carry out her orders, Lady Sariel approached me directly. "Few outsiders have participated in our sacred trial," she said. "None human, to my knowledge."

"I am honored by the opportunity," I replied, the formal words feeling strange on my tongue.

"Honor is exactly what this concerns," she confirmed. "I test your conviction because your words speak of a world I have read about only in our oldest records. A time before slavery, before northern dominance. When our peoples met as equals."

Her words surprised me. "You believe such a world could exist again?"

"I believe nothing without proof," she replied. "Words are wind. Combat reveals truth." She glanced at the servants preparing the dueling circle, then back to me. "Fight with honor, human consort. Show me the conviction behind your vision."

With that cryptic statement, she turned and walked to where Captain Malek waited with the ceremonial spears. Aryn moved to my side immediately, his expression tight with concern.

"This is unexpected," he murmured. "And potentially dangerous."

"How dangerous?" I asked quietly. "Will she kill me if I lose?"

"Death is rare in the Redrock duel, but not unheard of." His ice-blue eyes tracked Lady Sariel's movements. "However, the greater risk is political. If you are defeated easily, it will confirm her belief that humans are inferior. That our vision of equality is merely idealistic fantasy rather than practical possibility."

I swallowed hard. "And if I win?"

"That would be... unprecedented." Aryn's voice held a mixture of doubt and hope. "But Lady Sariel values honor above all else. A strong showing, win or lose, might sway her more than any diplomatic argument could."

Servants had transformed the space before us. The clay circle around the water pool had been covered with a thin layer of red sand, creating a perfect dueling ground perhaps twenty feet in diameter. Copper braziers had been placed at cardinal points, their flames burning with unusual blue-tinged light that cast dancing shadows across the pavilion walls. House Redrock members had silently entered the space, arranging themselves around the perimeter to witness the duel.

Captain Malek approached with two servants. They carried matching spears of polished copper-clad wood and lightweight shields decorated with flowing wave patterns in blue and gold.

"The ritual cleansing begins our preparation," Captain Malek explained, offering a small copper bowl filled with water scented with unfamiliar herbs. "It marks you as a participant in the sacred trial."

He dipped his fingers into the bowl and drew a symbol on my forehead, a curved line that resembled flowing water. The scented liquid felt cool against my skin, its subtle fragrance clearing my mind and sharpening my senses.

"What does this symbol mean?" I asked, as he completed the marking.

"The flow of life," he replied simply. "As water finds its path around all obstacles, so must a true duelist adapt to any challenge." He gestured to the weapons. "Choose your spear and shield. They are perfectly matched in weight and balance, crafted by our finest artisans."

I tested each spear briefly, selecting the one that felt most natural in my grip. The shield was lighter than those I had trained with in Ostovan, designed for quick movement and deflection rather than brute force blocking. The entire kit felt perfectly balanced for a dueling style that would emphasize agility and precision over power.

"The sand marks the boundaries," Captain Malek continued. "Step beyond it, by accident or design, and you forfeit the trial. The water pool at the center is sacred ground. Neither combatant may cross it, though you may circle around."

Lady Sariel had emerged from a side chamber in a fitted dueling outfit of deep red silk with lightweight armor at vital points. She moved to the edge of the sand circle, her own forehead marked with the flowing water symbol, her hands testing the balance of her selected spear with practiced familiarity.

"The Trial of Flowing Waters has three possible outcomes," she explained as she took her position. "First blood, boundary crossing, or surrender. No fatal strikes are permitted, but injuries will not be prevented." Her amber eyes held mine. "Are you prepared, human consort?"

I nodded, stepping onto the sand with more confidence than I truly felt. The fine red grains shifted slightly beneath my boots, requiring subtle adjustments in balance. I positioned the shield on my left arm, feeling its perfect weight distribution, and took the spear in my right hand.

"May water witness our truth," Lady Sariel intoned formally. "May sand record our steps. May copper sing our conviction."

A soft tone sounded from a struck copper bowl resonating through the pavilion. The Trial of Flowing Waters had begun.

Lady Sariel moved as if gravity had suddenly released her. She glided across the sand with fluid grace, her spear held at a perfect angle to initiate either attack or defense. I adjusted my stance, shield raised to protect my center while my spear extended in a guard position I had practiced countless times on Ostovan's training grounds.

Her first thrust came with remarkable speed, testing my defenses rather than committing fully. I deflected it with my shield, the impact lighter than expected as she instantly withdrew to a ready position. We circled each other warily, each movement leaving delicate patterns in the red sand beneath our feet.

"You favor a defensive posture," she observed, her breathing controlled and even. "Unusual for a warrior of your experience."

"In Ostovan, we're taught to assess before committing," I replied, watching her footwork carefully. The way she distributed her weight revealed much about her likely next move.

"Wise," she acknowledged, "yet sometimes hesitation costs more than action."

As if demonstrating her point, she suddenly advanced with a combination of thrust and sweep that forced me to retreat. Her spear moved like an extension of her arm, each motion flowing into the next with seamless precision. I blocked two strikes with my shield and parried a third with my own spear, the copper-clad weapons meeting with a musical chime that resonated through the pavilion.

We separated again, circling the water pool at the center. Lady Sariel moved with the confidence of someone who had never tasted defeat in this circle, her amber eyes evaluating my technique with professional interest.

I knew I couldn't match her technical mastery—not on her native ground, not with a lifetime of training in this specific style. But I had spent years adapting to larger, stronger opponents. I trained with Andrej, who was twice my size and often defeated him handily. The spearmaster who taught me was from Qet, and it was said Qet’s warriors were born with spears in their hands. Those lessons, combined with what I'd learned since meeting Ruith, had taught me to adapt where I couldn't overpower.

Instead of waiting for her next attack, I launched my own. My spear darted forward in quick succession, forcing Lady Sariel to defend rather than attack.

Surprise flickered across her face as she parried my strikes. "Interesting technique," she commented, retreating a half-step. "Neither human nor elven, from what I can tell."

"Something new," I confirmed, maintaining pressure. "Like the world we're trying to build."

She smiled widely. "Well articulated through both word and weapon."

The duel intensified, each of us seeking advantage while respecting the ritualistic nature of the combat. Lady Sariel's technique was flawless, every movement economical and precise. My own style was more adaptive, incorporating elements from multiple traditions as needed. We circled the sacred pool, our shadows dancing across its reflective surface as we tested each other's skill and resolve.

The watching crowd had fallen completely silent, their attention fixed on the unprecedented spectacle of a human dueling their clan leader in the sacred trial. Each exchange of blows drew subtle reactions. A collective intake of breath at a particularly close thrust, a murmur of appreciation for an elegant parry.

Time seemed to stretch and compress simultaneously. My world narrowed to the circle of sand, to the rhythmic patterns of attack and defense, to the constant adjustments required to counter Lady Sariel's fluid style. Sweat dampened my clothing despite the morning coolness, the water symbol on my forehead threatening to run with each exertion.

Then came the opening I had been watching for. Lady Sariel executed a perfect thrust, but in her confidence, extended slightly further than necessary. I pivoted rather than retreating, letting her spear pass within inches of my ribs while simultaneously sweeping my own weapon toward her extended arm.

She recognized her vulnerability an instant too late. Though she attempted to withdraw, my spear's tip grazed her forearm, drawing a thin line of crimson against her copper skin.

First blood.

We both froze, my spear still extended, her position now defensive. For a heartbeat, the entire pavilion seemed suspended in silence, the implications of what had just occurred settling over the assembled witnesses.

Then Lady Sariel straightened, lowering her weapon. "Water has witnessed," she announced, her voice carrying to every corner of the pavilion. "The Trial is concluded."

The copper bowl sounded again, its resonant tone marking the end of the combat. Lady Sariel approached, extending her arm where the thin cut was already beginning to close. "House Redrock acknowledges your victory," she said formally.

Captain Malek stepped forward with the copper bowl of scented water. Lady Sariel dipped her fingers into it and traced a new symbol beside the first on my forehead, a circular pattern that represented flowing water returning to its source.

"You have earned the mark of honored victor," she explained, her voice carrying to the assembled witnesses. "House Redrock has not seen an outsider triumph in the Trial of Flowing Waters for nine generations."

The clan members murmured among themselves, many looking at me with open curiosity and something that might have been respect. Whatever Lady Sariel had just done held significant cultural meaning beyond mere recognition of combat prowess.

"The Assembly gathers within the hour," she continued. "House Redrock will cast its vote according to the wisdom revealed in the sacred trial." Her amber eyes held mine. "Your conviction has proven stronger than I anticipated, human consort. Our oldest records may not be mere legend after all."

"Does this mean...?" I left the question unfinished, hardly daring to hope.

"It means House Redrock acknowledges honor where it exists, regardless of its source." Her expression remained composed, but something in her tone had changed subtly. "We respond to action rather than words, to demonstrated conviction rather than political promises."

She turned to Captain Malek. "Prepare my Assembly robes. And bring the Rivers Circlet."

"The Rivers Circlet has not been worn in the Assembly for generations," he replied, surprise evident in his tone.

"Today it will be." Lady Sariel's amber eyes found mine once more. "Our oldest records speak of a time when our peoples stood as equals, trading knowledge and culture rather than dominance and submission. Perhaps such days might come again, if those with sufficient conviction lead the way."

She gestured to attendants who immediately approached with bowls of scented water and soft cloths. "Clean yourself, human consort. The Assembly will not wait, and you have earned the right to witness what follows."

As servants helped me wash away sweat and sand, Aryn approached, his ice-blue eyes wide with something that might have been awe. "That was... unexpected," he murmured, helping me don fresh clothing provided by Redrock attendants.

"Did I win?" I asked quietly, still not entirely certain what had just occurred.

"You did more than win a duel," he replied. "You've earned cultural recognition from one of the most traditional houses in the Assembly. The mark she placed on you is a symbol only given to those House Redrock considers worthy of alliance."

Hope bloomed in my chest. "Then she'll vote for Ruith's freedom?"

"I believe so, though representatives never explicitly state their intentions before the formal vote." His expression grew serious. "But we must hurry. The Assembly gathers soon, and Tarathiel will have his own strategies in motion."

As we prepared to depart for the Assembly Hall, Lady Sariel reappeared, now dressed in formal robes of deep red and blue interwoven with threads of copper and gold. Upon her brow rested what must be the Rivers Circlet she had mentioned, a delicate band of copper inlaid with blue stones that formed flowing patterns reminiscent of water.

"House Redrock marches to the Assembly," she announced. "The human consort and Duskfell representative will accompany us under our protection."

The significance of this declaration was not lost on me. Walking with House Redrock's formal procession meant we would pass through D'thallanar's streets openly, safely, despite the Primarch's search for us. It was both practical protection and public statement.

As we formed into ordered ranks, Lady Sariel moved to walk beside me. "The duel revealed interesting truths, Elindir of Ostovan," she said. "You fight like someone who has learned to adapt to circumstances beyond your control. Like someone who has endured rather than merely existed."

"I've had practice," I replied simply.

"So I see." Her dark eyes studied my face. "The rebel king sees potential for more than just alliance between our peoples, doesn't he? He envisions a true partnership. Equality."

"He does." I met her gaze directly. "As do I."

"A dangerous vision," she observed. "One that threatens the very foundations of current elven society."

"Sometimes foundations must be rebuilt if the structure above is to survive," I countered.

Something like amusement flickered in her expression. "Well said, human consort." She looked ahead to where the Assembly dome was visible against the morning sky. "Let us see if your king's vision can survive the Assembly's judgment."

The massive gates of the Redrock compound swung open, revealing streets already filled with representatives from other houses making their way toward the Assembly Hall. Many turned to stare as our unusual procession emerged. The traditionally isolated House Redrock marched in formal array, accompanied by a human and the silver-haired son of Tarathiel, who had rejected his father's house.

Ahead lay the Assembly Hall, where Ruith would soon stand in judgment before the gathered clans. We had secured House Redrock's support through unexpected means, bringing us closer to the majority needed to save his life. Yet, as Lady Sariel had warned, Tarathiel would have his own strategies in motion.

The final battle would be fought not with curved blades or dueling sands, but with politics and calculated votes. As we approached the towering bronze doors of the Assembly Hall, I touched the water symbols on my forehead for reassurance. I had proven my conviction in House Redrock's dueling circle.

Now I had to hope it would be enough to save the man I loved from his father's judgment.