Chương 89: Parent two

"Mama, are we there yet?" Serel asked, her upper half practically hanging out of the carriage window as she watched the buildings passing outside. Elaria sighed at the sight.

"Soon, Serel. Stop leaning out the window. You might fall." She knew she should have been stricter with Serel during their flight to Caer Virell on Vorthalor. Mournvale was far too lenient with the girl and would give her anything if it put a smile on her face. Serel pulled herself back in without complaint, settling into the seat across from Elaria with her hands braced on the edge of the cushion and her legs swinging idly in front of her.

She started playing with the necklace around her neck—the one holding the Sheathed Wick of the Quiet Wake.

"Do you think Mommy's friends will be there?" she asked absently, still fiddling with it.

"Perhaps," Elaria said.

"We will see." Her eyes moved to the wide square outside as their carriage merged with a knot of other traffic and drew toward the far end before finally coming to a stop. The coachman opened the door.

"My lady, young miss. We have arrived." Serel was out of the carriage before Elaria had fully risen from her seat. Another quiet sigh left her. The girl had far too much energy stored up. That was, perhaps in part, Elaria's own fault. She had promised to look after Serel while Mournvale was occupied, but she had been unable to actually spend much time with her while reassuming her duties at Flamehold Virell, and so Serel had been largely left to her own devices in the Ember Courts.

Elaria had assigned a Firesworn to keep watch over her so nothing unfortunate happened, but by all accounts, the normally curious girl had been strangely subdued, seemingly content to stay in Elaria's office even when Elaria hadn't been present. Serel had barely had to expend any energy at all. It did not escape Elaria's notice that the prospect of seeing Mournvale again appeared to be what excited the girl most of all, though.

She bid the coachman to return to Ashfast—he gave her a mildly puzzled look and asked how they would return, but she assured him it wasn't an issue—then caught up to Serel, who had stopped in front of the metal gates of the courtyard before them, peering at the building beyond. Elaria had visited Last Hearth before, though it had been several years. Many of its members were prominent individuals, but they tended to operate as individuals rather than as a body.

Even as Flamebearer of the Covenant, Elaria had rarely needed to deal directly with the 'guild.' This visit had not been part of her plans for this evening. She still had no shortage of matters to finish at the Flamehold, and both the Ember Conclave and the Cinder Council had demanded to meet with her by morning at the latest. She should have been preparing with Andrin and her adjutants to report on her findings, but instead, she was here.

Mournvale had reached out through Ashmark and specifically asked her to bring Serel. Elaria had half a mind not to acquiesce, but she felt that she owed the woman. A man of the Tenth Binding approached from the other side of the gates, dressed in dull plate with black hair pulled back in close braids and a steady expression. His gaze briefly assessed Elaria's armor before dropping to Serel.

"I'm assuming you're the ones Lady Mournvale sent for?" he asked with an Iriathi accent. Elaria dipped her head.

"Yes." His eyes moved up from Serel.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Falko, and I've been asked to guide you. Follow me." He pulled the gates open and motioned them through. Elaria kept a hand on Serel's shoulder as they entered the courtyard. Her gaze moved to the large golem standing near the center of it, patches of gardened gray Resonance clinging across its surface like a second skin, its whole form locked motionless.

Beside it, an elderly man with a weathered face and an iron brace fitted along one leg stood examining the golem with a multi-lensed monocle held up to his eye, a modest stack of crates and tools arranged behind him. He lowered the monocle as they approached, and a flicker of surprise crossed his face at the sight of Elaria.

"Flamebearer Valecrest," he said.

"What brings you to Last Hearth?"

"Flamebearer?" Falko glanced at her, apparently not having placed her until now. Elaria studied the older man, taking a moment to recall his name.

"Kest Dovren, was it?" A skilled Resonance crafter, if she was remembering correctly.

"That's right, though most just call me Old Kest." He smiled. Elaria filed that away.

"I'm here as this girl's guardian, and to see Mournvale." She gestured to Serel, who was looking between the immobilized golem and the old man.

"Ah, I see." Kest polished the monocle on a small cloth as he looked Serel over curiously. Elaria turned her attention back to the golem.

"What is this? It resembles a Flameforged Sentinel." Kest brightened, the wrinkles on his face gathering as he gestured toward it with a fond air.

"Keen eye, Flamebearer. This is a Slag Sentinel—she does share a lineage with the Flameforged Sentinels out of Vel Dranal, yes, but this is Lord CinderCtrl's own design. Stronger than the original, and more versatile." A faint furrow settled on Elaria's brow. Last Hearth possessed golems that surpassed one of the Covenant's most effective weapons? Why had this never been formally reported? Her gaze moved over the patches of gray Resonance spread across its surface.

"It would appear that it was not strong enough to demonstrate that today," she said. Kest's smile went slightly stiff.

"Yes. She is ordinarily tasked with guarding the gates, but that proved… a touch beyond her, on this occasion. I'm currently assessing the extent of the damage."

"Mournvale is responsible, isn't she?" The old man was quiet for a moment. Then a long breath left him.

"I'm afraid so. I couldn't be more pleased to hear of her return, but it would have been nice if she'd been just slightly more careful with our property in the process." Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work! Elaria shook her head. Typical of Mournvale. She couldn't even be bothered to show basic restraint toward her own guild. She would need to keep a close eye on the woman around the Ashfast.

"So Mommy fought that thingy?" Serel asked, pointing up at the Sentinel. Kest paused, looking at Serel with renewed attention.

"... Mommy, you say?" Serel turned back to Elaria with complete certainty.

"One day, I'll beat one of these too!"

"... I would hope not," Elaria said.

"No, I will!" A faint pressure settled at Elaria's temple. She turned to Falko.

"Take us to Mournvale. I have matters I would like to discuss with her." The man looked mildly uncertain, glancing between her and Serel, but eventually turned to Kest.

"We'll let you keep on working." Kest made a considering sound, stroking his chin for a moment before apparently deciding to let whatever he was thinking go. He raised his monocle as his full attention moved to the Sentinel.

"Of course, of course. Best of luck. And, young miss—" His monocle shifted to Serel.

"I'm Serel!" she said brightly. It occurred to Elaria that the girl was demonstrating considerably less of her usual reserve around strangers. Why was that? Simply because she believed these to be Mournvale's friends?

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Serel," Kest replied warmly.

"If you ever have need of me, you need only ask." With that, he turned to the Sentinel again. They moved past him and continued toward the guildhall—Elaria had never quite decided whether she liked the building or found it excessive—and stepped inside, where they stopped almost immediately. A beat of silence passed.

"…Hello. I'm Serel." A tall figure stood before them, draped in a covering cloak of gray fur and dark feathers, a wide-brimmed hat pulled low enough that their face was entirely shadowed beneath it. Beside them, a great sword remained balanced with its tip set into the stone floor. The figure's gaze dropped to Serel, who had drifted one small step back toward Elaria's side, even as the girl looked up at them with an expression of open curiosity. The gaze lingered, then rose to meet Elaria's.

"Honored flame." The resonant voice carried the title with a quiet, deliberate gravity.

"Flamebearer. Scion of the Wounded Sun. Heir to Ashward, custodians of Ember rule. Welcome to Last Hearth, where the flames of this age yet gather. The Quiet Pyre spoke of thy coming." Elaria's mouth settled into a thin line.

"I am no longer an heir to Ashward."

"Names may be set aside, yet the fires they marked do not so easily fade," he said.

"The heritage of the Last Ember is not a thing to be fled from, Flamebearer. Thou hast already tempered it. That is enough." Elaria held their shadowed gaze without responding. This man had once served as Votive Steward of the High Reliquary in Caer Virell, many years ago. His name was easy to overlook among the more prominent figures associated with Last Hearth, but there had been a time when no serious practitioner of the Emberward path had been unfamiliar with it.

Elaria had never fully understood what led a person of his standing to bind himself in service to a group that had no shortage of incredibly strong individuals. But her respect for his history and his mastery of the path made her unwilling to dismiss whatever weight his words might carry.

"... Who are you?" Serel asked. His gaze moved down to the girl.

"I am Holloway, young kindled flame," he said.

"The Temperer of flames such as yours." Serel tilted her head.

"Temperer? What does that mean? What do you do?" She pointed at the sword beside him.

"Do you fight? Your sword is really big." He glanced at it. A low sound came from beneath the cloak, though it wasn't quite a laugh.

"A sharp sight. It bodes well for one who would bear what comes. Indeed, when the need arises, we temper such flames through the tested mettle of steel." Serel frowned up at him.

"You talk funny." The sound came again, fuller this time. A thin but powerful hand reached out and gripped the sword.

"That, we do." He settled the sword over one shoulder and turned to cross the hall, lowering himself into a seat beside the hearth at the room's center. One hand lifted toward a passage at the far end.

"Go on. The Ashborn Ascendant and the Far-Walker await thee in the Halfcut Loft." Serel glanced up at Elaria. Elaria gave her a small nod. They followed Falko across the hall. Holloway said nothing more as they left. The corridors of Last Hearth were lined with what Elaria could only assume were collected trophies and relics from various beasts and battles—more than a few of which she recognized, having been present for the circumstances that produced them.

It made her consider whether all of Mournvale's associates shared her need to turn their victories into monuments. Elaria's steps slowed briefly as they passed an open-doored room that held little else but paintings across most of its walls, a few low seats arranged facing them. Most appeared to be landscapes of various kinds. It reminded her of Mournvale, for some reason. The woman had mentioned she was fond of scenery paintings, had she not?

When both Falko and Serel turned to look at her with matching expressions of mild puzzlement, Elaria set the thought aside and rejoined them. They eventually climbed a set of spiraling stairs and reached a corridor lined with adjoining rooms, each overlooking a small garden nook or open-air alcove. Inside, each was furnished with seating, low tables, and quiet corners that made them feel more like common rooms than private chambers.

As they neared one at the far end, a woman in burgundy robes stepped out of it and pulled up short at the sight of them. Her eyes held just a trace of crimson, and her complexion carried the same warm bronze tone as Elaria's own, marking her as cinderborn. Her face, however, was one Elaria couldn't immediately place.

"... Flamebearer Valecrest?" The woman blinked. Her eyes moved to Falko.

"Is there some emergency I'm not aware of?"

"I hope not," he said.

"She's here to see Lady Mournvale."

"Ah." She nodded and gestured back.

"She's with Lady Sylven in the Halfcut Loft."

"Erindael." A note of concern crept into Falko's voice.

"While you're here… how is Mistress Sylven?" Elaria's attention sharpened at the name. Though the face was unfamiliar, the name was one she had heard. Erindael Dawnglow was a healer of considerable repute—one whose name had come up more than once in the campaigns against the tributes. Erindael scoffed lightly.

"She's fine. It was a minor injury to begin with. A pulmonary tear and a bit of Resonance strain. Both are dealt with." Falko dipped his head.

"Thank you."

"Don't mind it." She waved a hand. Her eyes passed briefly over Serel before she stepped forward.

"I'll leave you to it." She slipped past them and disappeared around the corner. Falko gestured for Elaria to go first. She brought Serel along as they headed toward the indicated room, and voices became audible as they neared it.

"—so I told him that's exactly what his liege said before he died." Mournvale's voice was the first they heard.

"Honestly, I think I was being pretty cool at the time."

"Of course you do," a second voice replied.

"Ask me, and you're lucky no one was around to hear you embarrass yourself."

"I wasn't embarrassing myself. I was living in the moment. Anyway, after that, he started going on about how my soul and everyone else's was going to be used to bring back his liege or whatever, which kind of pissed me off, so we duked it out. And look, I know it's maybe not the most appropriate thing to say, but fighting a Silent Lord is genuinely one of the most thrilling things you can do." Elaria's frown settled as she listened to the exchange. A sigh followed from the room.

"Vera, you're right. It's not appropriate to say. If you do, there's a real risk that people will start thinking you're even crazier than Mira."

"I think they already do? You wouldn't believe the looks and reactions I've been getting since I got back. We passed through Karthvale on the way here, and they tried to arrest me."

"What? What did you do?"

"Why are you assuming that I did something? What if it was connected to something you were involved with this time?"

"Mommy!!" Serel broke away from Elaria's side and ran ahead through the open doorway.

"Oh, would you look at that—it's the little gremlin." Vera's voice brightened.

"See? Didn't I tell you she was dangerously cute?"

"You did," the other voice said.

"I'll admit you were right. Now, what about this better half—" Elaria stepped inside. Mournvale was at a low table near a marble railing overlooking a pond beneath, Serel already at her side, earning both an arm around her shoulders and an affectionate ruffle of her hair. Across from her sat a woman with emerald hair, who had gone still the moment Elaria entered. Her eyes moved to Elaria, then cut sharply to Mournvale with a stunned expression. Mournvale met it with a grin that Elaria did not like.

The woman glanced between her and Serel, eyes narrowing slightly.

"... Vera, you weren't—were you?"

"Weren't what?" Mournvale asked innocently.

"You weren't talking about her, right?"

"Hmm? Depends. Talking about her in what way?" The other woman stared, then let out a short breath and seemed to settle.

"Okay. You almost had me there for a second, but now I'm sure you're joking." She rose from her seat and offered a moderate bow along with a smile as Elaria crossed the room and came to a stop in front of them.

"Flamebearer Valecrest. It's been some time."

"It has, Pathfinder Sylven."

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you here?" Elaria studied her, then glanced at the grin still sitting on Mournvale's face before finally gesturing toward Serel.

"Mournvale asked me to bring our daughter." Pathfinder Sylven's expression froze. She blinked several times. The smile stiffened at its edges.

"Excuse me, what?"