Chapter 12
Kael didn't like being surprised.
So when his hawk brought in a message sealed in blue wax, he nearly threw it in the fire.
Until he read the first line.
"I write not as a petitioner, but as a strategist."
That stopped him.
He sat down. Poured a glass of blackthorn liquor. And read the rest in silence.
A political engagement. With a woman he had never met.
For protection. For alliance. For power.
And—most curiously—for a child.
"I have adopted the boy known in prophetic circles as the Pale Blade—Elias."
Kael stared at that line for a long time.
The Pale Blade was a ghost of a name. Buried in old war reports, obscure texts, whispers from dying seers. Most dismissed it as myth.
Kael hadn't.
He remembered a collapsed border village where the sky had cracked open like glass. A young boy was seen walking away from it, unharmed. No record. No survivors. Just a name.
Elias.
And now a minor noblewoman had him in her care and wanted his name to shield the boy from the world.
Ambitious. Bold. Possibly unhinged.
Kael approved.
"Do you know her?" asked General Morwen when Kael handed him the letter.
"No."
"Do you trust her?"
"No."
"Will you accept?"
Kael looked toward the northern window. Beyond it, storm clouds pulsed with blue light—mana storms. The world was unraveling, and the empire still hosted banquets.
"I'll meet her," he said.
Later that night, Kael wrote two letters.
One to Clarisse Arven.
"Your proposal is absurd.
Your insight is unnerving.
Your terms are acceptable."
The other to his steward.
"Prepare the estate. She and the child will be arriving within the week.
And make sure the west tower guest room isn't haunted this time."
He paused, pen hovering.
Then added a final note:
"I want to see this woman for myself.
Anyone who dares write to me like that either knows too much—
Or is about to."
.
.
.
.
.
End of Chapter 12