Chương 93: Laying down the law

Elaria felt no sympathy for the shocked, alarmed faces before her. That some of these people believed their loyalties to deceased houses entitled them to lay claim to anything connected to her was as offensive as it was unsurprising. She had dealt with their kind since childhood, and the ambitions of men and women who saw children as little more than vessels for legacy were a venomous inheritance she refused to let touch her daughter.

"Flamebearer," Cinder Envoy Meadow Hightalon said, having risen from her seat. Elaria knew the gray-haired woman well, and knew too that she was one of the few with strong ties to the Ashwards of old who had not entirely debased herself with its ruin. Hightalon's gaze moved uncertainly over Elaria.

"To be clear... are you saying that your daughter is also the daughter of Lady Mournvale?" Elaria turned her gaze on the envoy, her Resonance still holding the chamber in its grip and leaving no doubt as to the seriousness of her intent.

"Yes." Hightalon's lips parted as if she was prepared to point out the absurdity of the claim, but the moment her eyes shifted to Mournvale at Elaria's side, whatever words had been forming died. She remained silent for another moment, then slowly sat back down. Elaria studied her, then glanced briefly at Mournvale and noted that the woman's attention seemed fixed on the arm Elaria still held raised between them.

"Flamebearer, don't be ridiculous," another voice broke in, as traces of Emberward Resonance pushed weakly against her own. She turned to the decrepit old man, her gaze narrowing. High Minister Donatien Mabbot was a relic of an older order, one whose present duties and authority within the Ember Conclave bore little resemblance to the influence his office had once held before the Conclave had been folded into the Covenant of Flame.

The days when men like him might have shaped the course of Elaria's decisions had long since passed. Even so, he remained a pillar of old tradition within an institution that prized ritual, formality, and continuity above nearly all else. He still commanded enough respect among many of its members that removing him outright would not come without consequence.

Not unless Elaria meant to revive the worst ambitions of her forebears and drag the machinery of the Covenant's governance and still-young doctrine fully beneath her hand by force.

"Ridiculous as you may find my words, there is nothing about them that is wrong." Elaria let her and Mournvale's arms fall, though she did not step away from the woman.

"My daughter's name is Serel Mournvale. She is not Ashward, even if she carries both of our blood." The High Minister looked at her as if she had lost all reason. He shook his head.

"Flamebearer," he said, "she is a woman."

"I am aware," Elaria replied.

"As are you."

"Yes." Mabbot lifted one thin hand and gestured toward the gathered assembly, the apparent worry and strain beginning to creep into his expression.

"You don't need to resort to these falsehoods merely to mislead us. Those gathered here are men and women of sense and discernment."

"Nothing I have said has been false." He paused, watching her closely.

"You swear upon the Wounded Sun that you have a daughter?" Elaria nodded once.

"I do."

"And that she is sprung of your loins and blood?" Her expression hardened. A ripple of discomfort moved through much of the chamber. Beside her, Mournvale grimaced. Elaria let her gaze rest on the High Minister for several long seconds.

"She is my daughter, and she carries my blood," she finally said.

"This I swear upon the Wounded Sun." She saw relief loosen something across the old man's wrinkled features, and it only sharpened her anger. He thought he had found part of the answer that he wanted. Thought Ashward had been preserved after all. Now that hope had taken root, he could not bear to let it die.

"And I swear upon the Wounded Sun," Elaria continued, "that my daughter is Mournvale's as well." The man stiffened. He stared at her, his Resonance brushing against her in a tentative, probing connection. Slowly, his expression started to sink as he found no falsehood in her words. The Wounded Sun bore witness to it, and Elaria had given none but the truth.

"H-How can that be?" he asked. Those nearest him who were Unkindled—or who did not follow the path of House Emberward closely enough to test her words for themselves—turned toward him in mounting astonishment as his disbelief confirmed her words.

"It's actually true?" Chapter-Master Ruun looked between Elaria and Mournvale with some doubt still left.

"Mournvale, you had a child with the Flamebearer?" The chamber's attention shifted to the woman.

"Ehm…" Mournvale hesitated, glancing sideways with a look that made Elaria pause. Mournvale was rarely hesitant, and Elaria had not expected to see that uncertainty on her now of all times. Finally, the woman nodded.

"It's true, yeah." Ruun frowned heavily, the scar cutting across his brow deepening.

"But you're both women." Mournvale scratched at the side of her head.

"There is that, isn't there?"

"Precisely!" High Minister Mabbot snapped, first pointing accusingly at her before turning to Elaria.

"Forgive me, Flamebearer, but you must have been deceived in some fashion. It pains me to imagine how such a failure occurred, but someone clearly neglected your instruction in youth. Two women cannot produce a child together, regardless of whatever falsehood this woman has persuaded you to believe." Elaria stilled. Next to her, Mournvale blinked several times.

"…You think she never learned where babies come from," Mournvale said, "and that I'm somehow tricking her?"

"What other explanation can there be?" Mabbot demanded.

"Flamebearer Valecrest has never endured the labors of childbirth, nor borne any sign of it. And the Keeper of the Last Ember would never permit such a deviation from its sacred line." Elaria's expression tightened.

"I have no intention of discussing these matters here, High Minister. You only need to understand that there was no deficiency, and that I have not been deceived by Mournvale."

"Flamebearer, with all due respect, that cannot be."

"It can." Her voice sharpened.

"There is no uncertainty whatsoever as to my daughter's parentage. None. As for the means by which she came to be born of me and Mournvale, I have no obligation to disclose them to you or to any other official in this chamber."

"W-What—" The man faltered, still appearing unwilling to accept her words, yet unable to continue pressing once she had sworn to them so plainly. Elaria let her gaze rest on him, then on the similar expressions worn by a portion of those in the Conclave's robes throughout the tiers. Even if they tried her patience, their reactions did not surprise her. She had come here fully aware that there were those in the Conclave in particular who would be delighted by the announcement that she had a daughter.

The reason she had chosen to declare Serel's existence so early was precisely because of people such as these. Unless she tried to conceal her daughter's existence entirely, whispers would begin sooner or later, and unless the truth was laid down clearly from the outset, those whispers would seek to shape Serel into something Elaria wouldn't permit. However, even if she had declared that Serel was not an Ashward, that alone would not have unsettled them this deeply.

What troubled them wasn't merely that Elaria refused to acknowledge Serel as an Ashward. It was that she claimed Mournvale as the girl's other parent. The name of the Ashborn Ascendant was admired throughout the dominions by warriors and common folk alike. There was no doubt of this. But to those who knew her more closely—and to those old institutions that inherited generations of tradition—the name Veralyth Mournvale meant very different things.

To the Ember Conclave in particular, she had always been an uncomfortable presence. They had no choice but to respect her strength and her achievements, yet to men like High Minister Mabbot and others of his persuasion, she remained a woman who had risen from nothing, possessed no family legacy to speak of, and hadn't even come from the central dominions.

She was notorious for disregarding authority, procedure, and regulation, had never truly belonged to either the Covenant or the Conclave, and perhaps worst of all in their eyes, she was no follower of the House of Emberward. As one of the Marked Ones and a champion of man, they could accept her. As the other parent of the child they would already have been tempted to see as Ashward's heir? They could not. Not easily, at least.

Elaria observed the strain lingering across the chamber, both in the set of older and some younger faces. While it was not something to take pride in, she couldn't deny that some distant part of her found a measure of satisfaction in seeing this reaction. The sight fed the anger within her that had threatened to spill over, tempering it into a cooler simmer. She felt some guilt in using Mournvale's presence as a shield, but she did not regret doing so for their daughter's sake.

Nor did she doubt that Mournvale would prefer this over the alternative. The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. As the silence stretched, and as those less agitated by Mournvale's apparent role in Serel's parentage gradually mastered their surprise, a sense of open expectation settled over the chamber. Elaria knew what these people would wonder next.

They would not let the nature of her relationship with Mournvale go unexamined, and while she had no intention of revealing more than necessary, she knew Mournvale herself would likely prefer some small clarification over allowing the chamber to invent its own. Just as she prepared to speak again, however, a dry laugh broke the silence. Her attention shifted back to High Minister Mabbot. A different light had entered his eyes, and the sight of it only deepened her disgust of the man.

The shock was gone, replaced by recognition slowly reshaping itself into calculation. He drew a slow breath, straightening with a vigor that seemed to rise above his years, and when he looked at her again, much of his earlier agitation had given way to something almost reverential.

"Flamebearer, you have my apologies," he said, bowing his head.

"I was too quick in my objections, and too hasty in the conclusions I drew." Elaria said nothing. She only watched him, suspicion growing. The man's gaze flicked briefly toward Mournvale, then back to her, and for a moment, Elaria thought she could follow the path of his thoughts as he forced this new truth into the shape required by his old fixation.

"If the child is truly born of both Flamebearer and Ascendant," he started, voice steadening with each word, "then perhaps this is no deviation from what ought to have been, but rather a further correction. A convergence of powers so singular could hardly be called ordinary. The blood of Ashward and the Last Ember joined with the strength of House Hollow's present Chosen in one line..." He swallowed.

"Such a child could only be extraordinary. It was foolish of me to think her existence anything but a cause for celebration. This is joyous news, I'm sure we can all agree." A low murmur stirred through parts of the chamber. Elaria's jaw tightened.

"She is a child."

"Yes," he replied, as though she had only confirmed his point.

"A child still, so imagine the potential within her. A child of such consequence ought to be guided properly. It's good that you chose to reveal her to us today." Elaria's Resonance flared through the chamber again.

"Her consequence is not yours to define."

"But surely you see what this means," he pressed on, too enthralled by his own musings to even heed the warning in her voice this time.

"The age of tribulations has only grown harsher. Not even your great power can hold these threats at bay forever, Flamebearer. The assault of the Silence and whatever may come next has proved that the dominions of man require something greater, and what is this child if not Emberward's answer to that need? A daughter who by all reason should not be, yet who bears your flame and Mournvale's strength, can only be the purest expression of divine intent."

The heat that rolled from Elaria was enough to make those seated nearest to him recoil. Still, he continued.

"She may be the answer to generations of uncertainty. The child could become the figure who reunites what has remained broken since the Ember Throne fell. Ashward reborn, not in the frailty that led to its ruin, but in triumph. A true heir shaped by—""I already told you," Elaria said, "she will not be shackled to your dead obsessions." Mabbot's face flushed red and shone with sweat, but whatever restraint had once governed him was gone now. Had age finally stripped it from him?

Elaria had never seen him like this before.

"No," he said, almost smiling.

"No, you're right. She must not be shackled. That would only stunt her potential. She must be allowed to grow under proper guidance, so that she may become what the Covenant will one day require of her. A beacon and weapon unlike any other. And would that not be best for all involved? We could devote the full resources and wisdom of the Covenant to her upbringing, while you, Flamebearer, remain free to attend to your duties against the tribulations.

As for Lady Mournvale, she is not a woman known for remaining in one place, nor for living in any way that would allow for the steady raising of a child, so would this not be best for her as well? I am sure the long, ordinary burdens of childrearing are not ones she would wish to—" His words cut off. A perfect, smothering pall of stillness swallowed the chamber. The gathered assembly froze where they sat, every whisper strangled, every movement checked.

The hairs along Elaria's arms rose beneath her armor as the weight of House Hollow's Resonance pressed in, carrying a depthless pull that seemed to drag at spirit and flesh alike. She turned her head toward Mournvale, and a pulse of alarm went through her at the blunt rage she saw there. The woman stepped past her, eyes fixed on Mabbot.

"Finish that sentence," the woman said. The High Minister stared at her, yet he couldn't obey. One of those seated beside him nearly buckled under the pressure. Another Conclave official looked moments from retching. Even among the Kindled, all sat rigid, pinned beneath the oppressive weight of Hollow's claim.

"I was ready to let you blabber on," Mournvale continued, and each word fell with a strange weight as if the room itself were being made to remember it.

"Ready to let you keep running your mouth, since Elaria seemed to think dealing with you was her job, and I really didn't want to waste my time on political bullshit that isn't even in my wheelhouse. You being delusional and obsessive doesn't matter much to me, since I wouldn't have let you within ten steps of my daughter anyway." She came to a stop at the edge of the first tier, looking up at the High Minister. Though several levels still separated them, it was as though she were standing directly before him.

"But don't you dare talk like there's anything about raising her I'd ever hand off because it's too boring, too small, or too ordinary. I'm not just some stand-in who happened to wind up with her. I'm her mother, and I promised her I would be that above all else." The man's face drained further of color as Mournvale's Resonance offered far less quarter than Elaria's had, constricting the rhythm of even his breathing.

The entire section was shrinking into their seats, yet none in the chamber—not even Chapter-Master Ruun—could speak against her or force back Hollow's silence. There was but one whose voice held authority here. Elaria watched Mournvale closely as the woman's presence bore down upon the High Minister. Some quieter, more reasonable voice in the back of Elaria's mind told her that Mournvale was going too far. That she ought to intervene.

This was not the measured conduct a Cycle-forged should display toward those who could not defend themselves. She was not granting these people any room whatsoever. It was naked domination. Yet, for some reason, Elaria felt no urge to bid her to stop. Mournvale's gaze lingered on Mabbot, then swept over the rest of the chamber.

"We're telling you folk about Serel as a courtesy. Because apparently some of you would start whispering and clamoring the moment you heard she existed. But I'm not as nice as Elaria. I couldn't give a damn about your Conclaves and traditions. If anyone so much as touches a hair on my daughter's head—if anyone so much as thinks about turning her into some kind of weapon—after today, I'm personally punting you and half of your estates off the highest cliff in the Crestfall Rises without a second thought."

The uncertain, off-balance woman Elaria had glimpsed only minutes ago was nowhere to be seen. She found herself looking silently at her back, thoughts stirring. Had she ever seen Vera reveal this side of herself anywhere but the battlefield? Was this… the proper degree of anger to feel at this moment? Mournvale's attention returned to High Minister Mabbot, whose resistance had steadily weakened under the Resonance of a House he failed utterly to repel, and a genuine panic had taken hold of his face.

Suddenly, a thread of unease tightened within Elaria. Vera wouldn't truly kill someone, would she? Not even she would be able to entirely ignore the consequences. If necessary, perhaps Elaria would have to— Another pulse of Hollow Resonance moved through the chamber, carrying with it the shape of another silence, one that carefully eased a portion—but not all—of Vera's pressure.

Vera's hand snapped to the side, where Yria Wakeshade had appeared beside her, one hand carrying the sheathed blade chained to her wrist, the other laid deliberately around Vera's forearm. With the hand bearing the sword, Wakeshade signed something, but Elaria couldn't fully follow the meaning. She herself was nowhere near as fluent in this form of speech as Mournvale was. Vera held Wakeshade's gaze for several seconds. Then some of the tension in her face eased.

She signed something brief in return, and Elaria thought she caught mention of speaking later, after which Vera turned fully back to Elaria as the Hollow Resonance flooding the chamber finally receded.

"There's not much more to say, is there?" she asked, meeting Elaria's eyes.

"Because if not, I think it'd be better if we just left. I want to check on Serel and make sure she's alright." Elaria held her gaze for a moment. Against her own expectations, the faintest smile touched the corner of her mouth, half-hidden by the sideguards of her helm.

"You should go ahead. I believe you have made your stance clear today, and I am certain Serel misses you. There remain a few matters I wish to address, but I will return once I have dealt with that." A slight frown passed over Vera's brow.

"…You sure?" Elaria nodded once.

"Yes. Go." The woman hesitated at first, then cast one final warning glance across the chamber and a lingering look at Wakeshade before cutting a Hollow Reach into the air beside her with Stillwake. What was left behind after her departure was a chamber that couldn't quite bring itself to speak. Elaria let her gaze pass over the men and women present.

"I hope that it is properly understood," she said, "that Mournvale is no longer a woman I am inclined to restrain on your behalf." Elaria walked the corridors of the Conclave Spire alone, her thoughts turning over the conclusion of the proceedings. She was under no illusion that today's assembly wouldn't give rise to any number of inconveniences. Even so, she found herself wondering whether it had not, in the end, been the most effective way of handling matters.

Elaria had never been overly troubled by the Conclave's sensibilities, and the Council seldom interfered with her duties in any meaningful way. In truth, she didn't greatly concern herself with either body's opinion. There was little either could truly do against her if she judged their conduct compromised or obstructive, and even then, it was usually only a small minority—however loud—that ever troubled her. That was why she had not expected today's matter to descend into such… force.

At most, she had anticipated issuing a few warnings and keeping a closer watch on people like the High Minister to ensure Serel wasn't disturbed going forward. Yet Vera's outburst may well have achieved the cleaner result. When two of the world's few living Cycle-forged stood on the same side, she supposed there were certain efficiencies that could be found. Elaria herself could never have resorted to the kind of open threat Vera had delivered, not without compromising the duties and restraints of her office.

But Vera's mere involvement had likely been enough to cause any of those in the chamber who might otherwise have entertained designs upon Serel to fully retreat without Elaria herself needing to surrender more of her own position. In effect, their fear of Vera had absorbed much of what might otherwise have fallen upon Elaria. She wondered whether any part of that had been deliberate on Vera's part, or whether her threats truly had been nothing more than the product of temper and instinct.

The woman could be reckless, and she had a marked instinct to act first and think later, but Elaria didn't believe her wit was actually as shallow as her impulses sometimes made it seem. Vera was no fool. Perhaps, upon her return to the Ashfast, Elaria should—"Flamebearer—!" A voice called from behind. Elaria stopped and turned to its source. A faint scowl touched her eyes beneath the visor as she saw a figure in the garnet robes of the Conclave hurrying after her, a thick folio clutched to his chest.

After resuming control of the assembly following Vera's departure, Elaria had made it clear that Serel would be entered into the registries of lineage as her daughter, but recorded under the name Mournvale. Once that matter had been settled—and once it had become equally plain that High Minister Mabbot was in no condition to argue with her further—she had gone on to address her plans when returning to her duties against the Silence, along with her intention to make use of Mournvale's aid on those fronts.

At some point during those exchanges, Wakeshade had slipped away without Elaria noticing, and by the time the assembly finally drew to its close, there had been very few left with the courage or station to approach her directly. Only Chapter-Master Ruun, Cinder Envoy Hightalon, Envoy Vale, and a handful of others had tried, and even those conversations had been brief and largely deferred to a later date. Of the Ember Conclave, not a single member had moved to speak with her before she left.

Elaria had assumed she would leave the Spire without any further dealings with them. So what, precisely, did this one want? Had she underestimated the High Minister's persistence? The man who came to a halt before her was thin-framed, with spectacles set low on his nose. He took a measured breath as he pushed the spectacles back into place, his hand lifting further to brush a loose fall of dark hair from his eyes.

"Who are you?" Elaria asked. He looked up to meet her gaze.

"Legate Nigel Marlowe, Flamebearer," he answered, straightening.

"My apologies for stopping you."

"What do you want?" Though she wouldn't make a spectacle of him as Vera had Mabbot, Elaria recognized that a line might still need to be drawn if Conclave legates started accosting her even after those proceedings.

"It concerns Lady Mournvale," the man said carefully.

"I wished to ask whether you knew of any means by which she might be contacted. You see, there is a matter I would like to discuss with her." Elaria paused, one brow lifting.

"You wish to speak with her? Why?"

"I'm afraid the particulars are of a private that wouldn't be appropriate to disclose to you, even taking into account your… relationship with Lady Mournvale. Suffice it to say that she once retained my services in a highly sensitive matter, which I carried out on her behalf. However, when the time came for her to settle the payment, she had already disappeared. Now that she has evidently returned, I would like to meet with her and conclude that unfinished business."

Elaria studied him, eyes narrowing as the meaning of his words settled.... Why would Mournvale owe this man money?