The gray northern afternoon bled through the high windows, filling the keep with a quiet, expectant light. In the study, Elias sat behind a desk littered with parchment and maps, a thin curl of steam rising from a mug forgotten at his elbow. His sword belt hung across the back of his chair. Though the aches in his side lingered, there was a lightness to his chest he had not felt in years.
He'd risen early—earlier than usual—restless with a purpose he could not quite name. Even the weight of duties seemed easier to bear when they began to look back at the dark haired girl splayed across his pillow. It had been four days, and without a word the Madam and Simon had moved her things into his room, and she stayed there with him now. He no longer wished to separate their spaces now that he had begun to feel at home again. More than that, he'd begun to imagine a future beyond survival. Perhaps that was what love did to a man who'd spent half his life expecting only war or death.
The door swung open with a sharp knock, and Simon entered, his expression grim. Behind him stood a young messenger in House Valenpor's colors, windblown and pale.
"My lord," Simon announced with a bow, "a courier from the western court."
Elias set down his pen, reading the tension in the room before the boy even spoke.
The messenger bowed quickly, fumbling for a scroll sealed in deep crimson wax. "For the Archduke of Velwynd. It is marked urgent, my lord."
Elias took the letter and broke the seal, eyes flicking over the words with cold efficiency.
As he read, a slow coldness settled in his gut while a strangely cruel smile graced his lips.
"To Archduke Elias Wylt of Velwynd:
In accordance with the statutes of noble conduct and under the judgment of His Majesty's Council, you are hereby summoned to appear before the noble court in the capital city. You stand accused of grievous injury to the person of one Tobias Vaits, sworn man of House Valenpor, and are charged with exceeding the rights of lordly discipline and inflicting violence without lawful cause.
The House of Valenpor seeks reparations in gold and lands, as well as a formal censure.
You are commanded to answer these charges within a fortnight.
By order of the Noble Council and Count Lucien Valenpor."
Elias's eyes scanned the letter a second time. He recognized the hand—Valenpor's, almost certainly. The words were chosen for venom: grievous injury, without lawful cause. All neatly calculated to cast doubt, to erase Ilya's pain and his own justification.
He felt the familiar heat of anger begin to rise, but forced it down. That was what Lucien wanted: to draw him into rage, to make him the monster painted in rumor and legend.
He set the letter down. "So. He makes his move."
Simon studied him carefully. "Will you answer, my lord?"
Elias nodded once. "Of course. We aren't barbarians." He chuckled, then stood, rolling his shoulders, pain a dull echo beneath the surge of resolve. "Prepare a letter for the council. I will appear before them. And summon the bannermen—call up all the armies of the north."
Simon's eyes widened as he paled. He didn't give voice to his thoughts, however– he simly bowed. "At once, my lord."
As the man departed, Elias called for Madam Therin. The woman appeared quickly, giving a deep bow. She was already pale, either having overheard his order or being told in passing as Simon headed out.
"Madam Caelith– Send a letter to Roderic Cane, our Coinmaster. Inform him that, effective immediately, the North will cease all transport of product into the south. Order that he send letters of introduction and sale to nearby countries, and that we will be selling our products at fifteen percent lower than the usual prices to countries outside of Valtherion."
Madam Therin swallowed a little air, giving a nod as Elias continued.
"Also, have a letter sent to the noble court and have a copy sent to the King. Inform them that due to an ongoing legal battle with the court of southern nobles, the North is putting a lien on all products services to the south until such time as the legal dispute is resolved. Furthermore, regardless of the result of these matters, the North will be declaring a state of war in existence between them and house Valenpor and any allies whom take its side, to go into effect upon resolution of the aforementioned filing. Understood?"
Now white as a ghost, she nodded and bowed.
"Yes, my lord," was all that was said before she turned to go.
Elias lingered a moment, looking out the window where the clouds gathered over the northern peaks. In the pale reflection of glass, he could almost see Ilya—her quiet courage, the light that had begun to thaw something inside him. He had given Lucien the instruction deserved of the house of his wife, not the man who ran it. Now, he sought to drag the matters into court of law where rule of right was not truth, but honeyed words and bantied favor. Elias had few allies in such places- but he did not care to make any either. Theralorne was entirely self sufficient and imported less than two percent of its needs from the south.
So…. if this became an issue that dragged other nobles into the matter along with the crown, he would not hesitate to do what he'd been planning since before Alura died, a long standing plan of his if just such a case as this arose.
He'd sever ties with the Kingdom and take his territory and people with him.
Not just for himself, but for her and his people—for the truth of what they'd begun to build together.
Let Lucien summon whatever petty vengeance he could muster.
The north would answer.
And this time, he would not stand before him alone.