Location: The Thorne Estate, The East Wing.
Setting: The Lady's Conservatory.
While the North was a land of black rock and white snow, the East Wing of the Thorne Estate was a lush, humid jungle trapped under glass.
Duchess Lydia stood before a row of rare Midnight Orchids. These were not ordinary flowers; they required a drop of Mana Water every day and bloomed only when fed tiny scraps of raw meat.
She held a small pair of Silver Shears in her gloved hand.
Snip.
She cut a withered leaf.
"The Duke is sentimental," Lydia said to the empty air, her voice calm but tight. "He sees a bottle of scented water and thinks his son has returned from the grave. It is pathetic."
She moved to the next plant, a Venom-Ivy from the southern swamps.
"He tore the certificate. Legally, Rian is still the Viscount of Blackiron. As long as he holds that title, he holds a claim to the land, the tax, and—Gods forbid—the succession."
The heavy glass doors of the conservatory opened.
Cassius Thorne entered. He was still wearing his formal court attire: a stiff collar of white lace and a coat of deep crimson velvet. He looked agitated. He paced the stone path, his boots clicking rhythmically.
"Mother," Cassius said, ignoring the flowers. "The Duke has locked himself in the study. He has summoned the Family Diviner. He wants to trace the Aurora Vial magically."
"Let him trace it," Lydia said, snipping another leaf. "The Merchant said the bottle came from a ruin. Even if the Diviner traces it, he will point to the North. That proves nothing."
"It proves Rian is alive!" Cassius snapped. He grabbed a stone bench and gripped the edge until his knuckles turned white. "If Father confirms Rian is alive, he will recall him. He will send a Griffon Rider to fetch him. Rian will return to the Capital, protected by the Duke and the Princess. And if he brings that... that technology with him..."
Cassius shuddered. He remembered the clarity of the glass. If Rian controlled a mine of Star-Crystal, he would be richer than the Thorne family within a year. Money bought Mercenaries. Money bought Mages. Money bought power.
"Calm yourself, Cassius," Lydia turned, pointing the sharp shears at him. "Panic is for the commoners. We are Thornes. We plan."
"We cannot plan against the Duke!" Cassius argued. "He is a Grand Knight of the Fifth Circle. If he wants Rian back, Rian comes back."
"Not necessarily," Lydia smiled. It was a cold, thin smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Your father is powerful, yes. But he is bound by something stronger than his Battle Aura."
"What?"
"Honor," Lydia whispered. "And the King's Law."
The Golden Scroll
Lydia walked to a small marble table amidst the ferns. On it sat a tray with a silver teapot and two cups of Dragon-Well Tea (imported, costing 2 Gold Coins per ounce).
Next to the tea lay a scroll.
It wasn't parchment. It was Vellum, dyed a deep purple and sealed with the Royal Seal in gold wax.
"This arrived this morning," Lydia said, pouring the tea. "While you were arguing in the library, the Royal Messenger delivered this to the main gate."
Cassius looked at the seal.
"A Royal Decree?"
"Read it."
Cassius picked up the scroll. He broke the seal.
He unrolled it. The calligraphy was sharp and aggressive.
[The Royal Summons: The Feast of Swords]
To all Vassals, Lords, and Title-Holders of the Kingdom of Oland:
By the Order of His Majesty, King Aric the Iron-Handed.
In celebration of the 50th Year of the Dynasty, and to renew the Vows of Fealty against the rising darkness in the West:
Every Noble holding the rank of Baron or higher must present themselves in the Capital City.
Date: The First Day of the Third Moon.
Failure to appear will be considered an Act of Treason.
The Title of any absentee Lord shall be stripped and reverted to the Crown.
Cassius read it twice.
His eyes widened.
"The Feast of Swords..." he whispered. "The King calls the vassals every five years. But... the timing."
"Look at the date, Cassius," Lydia sipped her tea.
"The First Day of the Third Moon," Cassius calculated. "That is... Thirty Days from now."
He looked at his mother. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face.
"Thirty days."
"The Blackiron Territory is two thousand miles away," Cassius laughed. "In winter. Through the Blizzard Belt."
"Even a Knight on a Spirit Horse takes three weeks to make that journey. A normal caravan takes two months."
"Exactly," Lydia placed her cup down. "Rian has no Spirit Horse. He has no Mana-Engine Carriage. He is stuck in the snow."
"So here is the trap," Lydia explained, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"If Rian stays in the North, he misses the summons. He violates the Royal Decree. The King declares him a Traitor. Your father, bound by honor, must disown him. The title of Viscount is stripped. Rian becomes a common outlaw."
"And if he tries to come?" Cassius asked, his eyes gleaming.
"If he tries to come," Lydia picked up the shears again. "He has to cross the Wildlands. He has to cross the Gray Ridge. He has to cross the Bandit Pass."
"Two thousand miles of unpatrolled road," Lydia said. "Accidents happen. Wolves. Rockslides. Bandits."
The Shadow Contract
Cassius paced the room, his energy renewed.
"The Duke will try to send help," he realized. "Father will send a Griffon to pick him up."
"Your father is busy," Lydia said smoothly. "The Southern Front has flared up again. The Orcs are pushing. The King has ordered the Duke to the border to inspect the defenses. He leaves tomorrow."
"He will not have time to fetch a wayward son."
"But Rian might have... resources," Cassius frowned, touching the pocket where he kept the Aurora Vial. "If he really is rich, he might hire a High Mage to teleport him."
"Teleportation costs 10,000 Gold Coins," Lydia scoffed. "And it requires a Teleportation Circle at both ends. There is no circle in Blackiron."
"However," Lydia paused. She walked over to a locked drawer in the greenhouse table.
She pulled out a heavy pouch. It clinked with a distinct sound. Not the jingle of gold, but the dull, heavy thud of Mana Stones.
High-grade stones. Blue and pulsating.
"We do not leave things to chance," Lydia said. "The King's Call is the legal trap. But we need a physical one."
She handed the pouch to Cassius.
"Take this. Go to the District of Shadows. Find the contact for the Shadowblades."
Cassius weighed the pouch.
"There are Fifty High-Grade Mana Stones here," he breathed. "That's enough to hire a Fourth-Circle Assassin."
"Hire three," Lydia commanded. "Tell them to watch the Southern Road leading out of the North. If Rian leaves his fortress... if he tries to answer the King's Call... put an arrow in his throat."
"And if he stays in his fortress?"
"Then the King takes his head for treason," Lydia smiled, cutting the head off a Midnight Orchid. The purple flower fell to the muddy floor. "Either way, the weed is pulled."
The Final Move
Cassius tucked the pouch into his coat. He felt the hum of the magic stones against his ribs.
"I will go tonight," Cassius said. "The Duke leaves for the front tomorrow. Once he is gone, I will intercept any letters Rian sends."
"Good," Lydia turned back to her plants. "Now go. I have to prepare for the Royal Ball. We must look devastated that our 'dear Rian' cannot attend."
Cassius bowed and left the greenhouse.
The cold air of the hallway hit him, but he didn't feel it. He felt the heat of victory.
He walked past the library door. He could hear the Duke inside, arguing with the Diviner.
"Find him! Use the blood link!"
Too late, Father, Cassius thought. The clock is ticking.
He walked to the window and looked North.
The sky was dark.
"Thirty days, Brother," Cassius whispered to the glass. "Run or stay. You lose."
[Camera Focus Shift]
The camera lingers on the Golden Scroll left on the table.
The wax seal of the King glimmers in the candlelight.
It is an absolute order.
"Attend or Die."
End of Chapter 62