Interlude I

It was the first time Elisa saw him collapse.

Kael always stood just tall enough that no one could look down on him. Even if she’d only known him for a month, she just knew.

Now he was on his knees.

His breath ragged, uneven, his frame shuddering under the weight of magic he had just burned through.

Every ounce of reserve—gone.

All for her.

For Pauline.

Elisa glanced at the woman lying unconscious on the cold stone, her body limp from the sleep spell Kael had placed on her.

The screaming had stopped, but the damage remained.

A shattered tibia wasn’t just an injury. It was a death sentence for humans without proper treatment.

Even still, she was alive.

Elisa swallowed hard.

Kael’s hands still trembled. His normally pristine composure ruined.

She didn’t know what to say.

So she settled for—

"You didn’t have to be so rough on her."

…

Really, Elisa? That was what you came up with??

Kael, for his part, walked a little.

Slumped against a wall.

He had barely touched real blood in days. And now, what little magic he had left was spent keeping an assassin alive.

Elisa wasn’t sure if it was irony or justice.

His eyes were locked on the ground, unfocused, hazy. Then, finally, in a voice so hoarse she barely recognized it—

"…How… could you not… tell me?"

Elisa’s throat tightened.

"I—"

Kael’s breathing was uneven.

"The truth, Elisa."

Not a demand. Not a threat.

A plea.

Elisa’s hands curled into fists. Her lips parted, closed, then parted again.

She exhaled sharply, the words burning against her throat as she tried to force them out—

"I—"

She couldn’t. She saw her mom’s face when she closed her eyes. Looking up at her in her cot. Grey and lifeless… and…

All she saw staring up at her—those stupid, pleading puppy-dog eyes—was the offspring of two monsters. 

Marion and Pulaski Blac’hil.

"It’s just…" It was almost a whisper from Kael.

A pause. A breath.

"What… did I do… wrong?"

She didn’t cry.

She wept.

A raw, ugly sound, torn straight from her chest.

It hurt for Kael to wince at the sight.

He had seen her fight, had seen her stand unshaken in a room full of enemies, able to manoeuvre out of life-ending magic.

And for once, he had no clever words.

\\\\\\\\\\\\

Elisa needed to move. To hit something. To remind herself she was still tethered to the ground—still a person, not just a ghost in someone else's godsdamned nightmare.

So the courtyard was an easy enough destination.

There was a rhythm to Elisa's kicks against the wooden post. Everyone in a mile radius of it could hear it. Highcliff carried sound incredibly well.

Practicing.

Kicking.

Studying.

A book on economics lay open on the stone bench beside her—half-read, half-forgotten—as she moved through the motions.

She had just returned from clearing out a bandit camp.

Took them prisoner. Nothing serious. A small thing to distract her from a big thing. She loved this strategy, but it was clearly unsustainable.

Even before she was his wife, she needed to be powerful. If she was an average human, she wouldn’t want to even imagine how well she would have fared. Probably lying in a grave.

It was futile. Another distraction, another task to fill the space in her mind that refused to stay quiet.

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted her next kick.

Not human.

Heftier. Denser.

She turned.

A wraith of stoneflesh stood before her, mop in hand, arms thick enough to fit two normal-sized limbs. Blue filtered from its cracks, licking the air with flames.

Muscles flexed against the wooden pole, more suited on the pinup dolls for teenage girls than a ‘skeleton’ cleaning floors.

The wraith cleared his throat.

"Hey. You okay?"

Elisa ran a hand through her damp hair, catching her breath.

"You’re head of manor maintenance. Mr. Tonoli, right?"

A smirk. "Got it in one. Impressive, considering you haven’t even talked to me before."

She exhaled. "Had a major moment of insecurity for not knowing the names I once knew... So...."

Tonoli shrugged, shifting the mop effortlessly in his grip.

"You still serve the manor, with…" Elisa trailed off, glancing at his hardened skin.

"Stoneflesh." His voice was steady. Apologetic, as if there was something to apologize for. "As my father did, and his father before him. Only difference is, I’m still here."

He gestured vaguely at the renovated courtyard.

"It’s changed since then. More polished. More Blac’hil."

Elisa studied his expression. "You must be angry."

Tonoli chuckled, low and deep. "No. Much the opposite."

He set the mop against the stone floor with a firm tap.

"The Blac’hils were hotshots. They took what they wanted. I served unwillingly, at first."

He met her gaze.

"Then the son came in." He paused. "Now that was someone worth serving."

Elisa huffed, crossing her arms.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Thirty-eight."

Her brows lifted.

"Wow."

Tonoli gave a short laugh, shaking his head.

"You don’t have many friends, do you, girl?"

Elisa hesitated. Then, quietly—"No. Just Master Blac’hil. Not even a friend, really."

Tonoli considered her for a moment. "I’ll be one."

Elisa blinked. "Are you sure? Did you hear what happened?"

"No, I did not. But whatever you did, it is irrespective of me being barred from making friends with you, which I'm not."

He stepped forward, a hand on his chest, leaning slightly.

"So yes, Lady Elisa. I'm positive."

\\\\\\\\\\\\

And somewhere far from the courtyard, far from her aching muscles and calloused hands—something old was waking. Watching.

It had not been built, nor discovered.

Upon the waters of the Basin, it had revealed itself.

A structure—impossibly tall, impossibly smooth, standing where no building had stood before. Wet and glorious, it emerged from the Basin overnight… standing large and tall like something sacred.

It was vaguely humanoid, but not quite. Its proportions were wrong, elongated, stretched in ways that defied architecture, that made the eyes slide off if they stared too long.

It was ancient, but untouched by time.

The likeness of a god.

It did not breathe.

And yet, those who stood near it felt it watching.

But the weirdest, most insane part, were the metal feathers that seem to run along its skin. That meant it once meant something to the Highcliff people.

But clearly, no one among the fey and the humans were familiar with what it meant.

The demonkin scholars who had arrived in the night whispered in hushed tones, unable to agree on what it was.

The Highcliff fey stayed away, saying it was not for them.

And in the deep forests, the Obsidian Tide rebels looked upon it with awe.

Because if something older than their gods had been buried here, beneath their soil, waiting—

Then it meant that the Concordant had known.

And they had been too afraid to speak of it.

\\\\\\\\\

The Basin offered no answers. But it demanded consequences. And far across the fractured nations, word would spread.

The attack on the wedding procession had sent shockwaves through the Lycan nation of Ve’tria.

The traditionalists didn’t care. They mourned, yes… but didn’t demand retribution.

To them, the strong survived. The weak fell. That was nature. The bride and groom were not strong enough. That was all there was to it.

But the human-influenced Lycans—the ones who had begun to build homes in Highcliff, who had taken to diplomacy and structure—

They wanted an answer.

They wanted Kael to respond.

To let this pass would be a failure of leadership.

But to answer too strongly would fracture everything.

And if he did nothing?

Then they would turn.

And if the Lycans turned against him, the nobility would turn next.

\\\\\\\\\

Power hates a vacuum. And Kael’s silence echoed louder than any declaration.

The ones who had always opposed the Blac’hils’ rule whispered. But the ones who wanted more would see opportunity.

If humans and Lycans attacked, if something old and terrifying was waking in the Basin, if Kael could not control his own house—

Then perhaps it was time to take it from him.

The High Lords will be watching closely.

Because if Kael failed to reassert himself, then his rule would be over.

\\\\\\\\\\\\

Kael exhaled, his gaze flickering up to meet Elisa’s. Pauline was sound asleep. It went without a hitch.

Her face was blank.

Had it always been a lie?

Kael felt a strange tightness in his chest.

Elisa, still silent, turned away. She could only shed tears.

She did not hold his gaze.

That, more than anything, stung.

“Your… ‘friend’ will be free to stay here,” Kael finally decided.

Elisa almost looked flabbergasted. “But… but your advisors said…”

“I am doing it, for you. I am banking on your word that Pauline will listen to us. Listen to you. You better be right.” 

It took everything to stand and take his leave. Leave his wife to it.

A wife that didn’t love… not that it was uncommon, in demonkin lands.

Political arrangements were the norm. A loveless marriage was still fruitful, since they bore children.

He had hoped he was better than them.