“Then I will take my leave,” Elaria said, her tone cool as she turned toward the exit of the audience chamber.

  “Of course. Once more, you have our utmost gratitude for honoring our home with your presence, Flamebearer,” the man said, hurrying after her. He bowed again—too eagerly—as he followed her to the doors.

  He was, apparently, the most likely candidate put forward to temporarily replace Marrowfen’s former envoy to the Covenant of Flame. A merchant by trade, his reach supposedly extended far beyond the city’s borders, with a name appearing more frequently in trade manifests involving Resonant-infused materials.

  Elaria was not particularly impressed.

  He struck her as the sort who measured every word for advantage. Who turned every exchange into a transaction regardless of circumstance or cost. A man who might sell stability itself if the margin were right. Still, it was not her place to pass judgment on Marrowfen’s internal politics.

  Her meeting with him had been intended to clarify the events surrounding the Silent Lord’s return and near seizure of the city. His networks, she’d been told, were uniquely positioned to help track the movement of Resonant goods suspected to have been funneled through Whitefinger’s operations during his attempted coup, as well as investigate those involved.

  Listening to him, Elaria found it difficult to believe the city had been allowed to fester so deeply without notice.

  She did not think it would be long before Marrowfen’s upper echelons experienced a large upheaval.

  Some factions would not welcome that. The Ember Conclave, in particular, would likely be displeased. A drastic shift in one of the Covenant member cities would unsettle certain balances. But at this point, they had long since forfeited any claim to intervention.

  As far as Elaria was concerned, their failure to act sooner placed part of the blame squarely at their feet. It struck her as odd how accepting they had been of the Boneward Concord’s behavior up to now.

  It might be time the Ember Conclave examined itself.

  As Keeper of the Pyric Oath, such matters lay outside her usual authority. But they were in a state of war, and this wasn’t a moment for pride to cloud their judgment. When she returned to Caer Virell, she would convene the Cinder Council as soon as possible.

  She departed the estate and donned her helm as she passed through the marrowstone gates into the street. Waiting for her just beyond them was Mournvale’s steward, hands folded neatly behind his back.

  “Lady Valecrest,” Caldrin Emberlain said, inclining his head. “That concludes your final appointment for the day, I believe. Unless you would like me to arrange further meetings with the city’s notable figures?”

  “No,” Elaria said, already moving past him. “This is enough.”

  Her gaze tracked the facades along the street as her greaves struck stone in a steady cadence.

  She’d already spoken with several of Marrowfen’s most influential figures—enough to form a preliminary understanding of the situation, and enough to know there was no need to pull the Ardent Circle’s sigilists away from their tasks to conduct a full investigation here.

  There would be questions about the reason for her involvement here, but she had prepared for that before leaving Caer Virell.

  Numerous eyes lingered on her as they moved through the city on foot. Some followed openly, while others only glanced before looking away. A handful likely recognized her for who she was. Vorthalor’s flight over the city earlier had ensured that word would spread, and she was aware of the sort of effect her presence tended to have among the common folk.

  She didn’t mind.

  Once, that sort of attention would have irritated her. Over time, she had grown accustomed to it. In part, it was an inevitable consequence of her responsibilities as Flamebearer and Keeper.

  In part, it came from being acquainted with the likes of Mournvale and Halstrad for so long.

  Those two had never been subtle about anything, least of all the way they collected stories around themselves. She had heard the most absurd of rumors about them. And about herself, because of them.

  A faint frown creased Elaria’s brow beneath her helm as old memories surfaced.

  …Mournvale, in particular, truly had a talent for creating problems. What made it frustrating was that she almost always acknowledged them herself before Elaria had the chance to say anything. It had an uncanny way of making Elaria feel unreasonable for being angry in the first place.

  She clicked her tongue softly, already anticipating whatever complication the woman would manage next. It was only a matter of time.

  “Thinking about my lady, Lady Valecrest?” Emberlain asked from her side.

  Elaria turned her head slightly, giving him a brief, assessing look.

  Outwardly, he and Mournvale could not have been more different. In practice, the similarities were harder to ignore. She understood why they relied on each other.

  She faced forward again without answering.

  The sun dipped behind the peaks of Duskfall Vale as they approached Hollowstone Table, the light thinning as evening settled in. Within the Chapter’s halls, the attention of Kindled and non-Kindled alike followed Elaria. She didn’t pay it much mind, moving toward the inner corridors and the Chapter-Master’s office.

  A familiar thread of Resonance brushed against her senses. Slowing, she changed directions.

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  The Vice-Master of Hollowstone Table sat behind his desk when she entered his office instead, several documents spread between his hands and a faintly exasperated look on his face. Elaria’s gaze moved past him, drawn to the leather sofa near the wall.

  Serel sat there.

  The child’s small frame was nearly lost beside the broad bulk of the man next to her. Blazegrip leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a thick book open in one hand and an unguarded grin on his face as he read aloud.

  “—and when the Ash-Walker reached the far shore, the Pyre was quiet again, and the land was spared. Of the Ash-Walker, only a single scorched footprint remained, set into the stone so it would not be forgotten.”

  Serel remained perched at the edge of her seat, fingers curled into the cushion as she followed along, biting her lip in concentration. She looked up at him. “Why didn’t he let go of it sooner?”

  Vanded barked a laugh. “Good question, lass. Wish I knew.”

  Her face pulled into a small frown at the answer. That only seemed to amuse him more.

  “The folk in old legends can be mighty hard for us lot to understand,” he said, the laughter fading into a warm, crooked smile. “You’ll find a dozen versions of every tale, and twice as many reasons for why they did what they did. Most of the time, it’s less truth than guesswork.”

  His eyes flicked up as Elaria entered, the grin returning full force. “‘Course, a living legend in the flesh might have better answers than some old fool like me. You could try pestering your ma’ bird.”

  “Mama!”

  Serel slid off the sofa and hurried across the room, arms wrapping around Elaria’s waist. Elaria dismissed her helm, letting it vanish into her Vaultring, then removed one gauntlet before resting a light hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  “Hello, Serel,” she said, meeting her eyes briefly. There remained a part of her scared that the girl would hurt herself getting so close, but she knew it to be unreasonable. She shifted her attention to Blazegrip and Whiteforest. “Where is Mournvale?”

  The woman had been meant to bring Serel with her to whatever meeting she’d arranged. Instead, the child was here, and Mournvale’s Resonance was nowhere to be found within the Chapter.

  Whiteforest’s expression tightened slightly. Blazegrip closed the book with a loud snap and stood.

  “Best guess? She’ll be back ‘round here before long,” he said. “Seems like there might’ve been a few hurdles on her end. Sent the little one here to keep Gard company until she sorts things out.”

  Elaria eyed the Vice-Master for a moment, then turned her gaze back to Blazegrip. “And you are here because…?”

  He shrugged. “Couldn’t bear the thought of her waiting without either of her mothers around. Figured Uncle Vanded could fill the time with a few old stories.”

  “I see.” Elaria’s eyes remained on him for several seconds longer. It was commendable that he hadn’t wanted to leave Serel alone, at least. Still, he was responsible for Marrowfen’s only Chapter, and currently one of the city’s most important figures. If she hadn’t known how often he placed himself in danger on the battlefield to save those under him, she might have thought he was the type who always avoided his duties.

  “The Chapter-Master spent much of the afternoon outside the city,” Whiteforest said. “Following leads on some of the missing people who still haven’t been confirmed dead, as well as dealing with reported threats. I’m aware how it may appear, but he is doing what he can at the moment.”

  Elaria glanced at him, then met Blazegrip’s gaze.

  She supposed she should not look for more fault in the man than she already had. And despite what his behavior often suggested, he knew better than to push her patience too far.

  Most of the time.

  Though she found herself wondering about certain others.

  She looked down at Serel. “Where is your mother right now?”

  If Mournvale had taken the girl somewhere that had turned too dangerous, she should never have brought her along to begin with. Elaria had thought—briefly—that having a child to care for might temper the woman’s instincts. What she had seen over the last day gave her little confidence either way.

  “Mommy’s down there,” Serel said, pointing at the floorboards.

  “The Marrowvault?”

  “Mmm.”

  Elaria looked to Blazegrip, one brow lifting. The question did not need voicing.

  “Technically not the Marrowvault,” he said. “But a tunnel’s a passage, I guess.”

  “Why is she there?” Elaria asked.

  “Not supposed to tell you. Chapter secrets.”

  Elaria frowned.

  “‘Course, I don’t see much lightning lining up to strike me for it, so what’s the harm?” Blazegrip shrugged. “There’s an old bound specter down there. Been part of a pact with the Table since before anyone alive was keeping proper records. Tied up with some House Hollow site, you see. Mournvale heard and wanted to ask it a few questions.” He paused, then added, “Not sure why she sent the kid back up, but that fellow’s always been a bit precious about rules.”

  “Mommy wanted to do a rite,” Serel said.

  Elaria stilled and looked down at her.

  …A rite? In the Marrowvault?

  What rite would Mournvale even attempt there—and without preparation? Rites were not things one performed on impulse.

  “Do you know what the rite was called, Serel?” Elaria asked.

  The girl nodded. “Mmm. They said it was stillness.”

  Elaria’s brow drew together. That couldn’t be right. They were far too distant from Gloamsdeep Hollow for that.

  Her gaze lingered on Serel’s face, searching.

  …She did not think the girl would lie, though.

  If Mournvale truly intended to perform the Rite of Stillness, then what was the reason? Was she trying to reach House Hollow regarding Serel? Or was this tied to her disappearance during those two years?

  Elaria would have words with her.

  “Did that old specter promise to help your mother with the rite?” Blazegrip asked.

  Serel turned toward him. “He did. He said Mommy had to remember.” She hesitated, her voice lowering. “There was someone very sad there. And the ghost said it was dangerous… but Mommy’s strong!”

  “Remember…?” A thoughtful expression crossed Blazegrip’s face, followed by a look of realization. “Oh. So that’s it.”

  Elaria turned to him sharply. “What do you mean?”

  He blinked. “Huh? You don’t—” He stopped himself, frowning slightly, before scratching the back of his head. “Actually, nah. Sorry. That’s probably not mine to spill.”

  Elaria’s eyes narrowed.

  So there were still things Mournvale had not told her.

  Whatever Blazegrip had realized, it didn’t change what needed to happen next. Elaria would confront Vera when she returned—and they would have a longer conversation than either of them would enjoy. She had spent the day thinking through the implications carefully.

  Her gaze dropped to Serel, and to her own hand still resting on the girl’s shoulder.

  …If possible, she might have considered performing a rite of her own. There remained questions she couldn’t fully answer. But a rite was not an option. Nor should it be necessary.

  She already knew what her senses told her. What her instincts warned against. And what the demands of her duty—and the current tribulation—would not allow her to ignore.

  Serel looked up at her.

  Elaria met the girl’s silver eyes, streaked faintly with crimson, still unaccustomed to the strange dissonance of seeing something of herself reflected back in that fashion.

  Her hand shifted on its own, resting briefly atop Serel’s head, rustling her hair in the same gesture she had seen Vera use. Serel blinked, surprised, then immediately reached up to pull her hand away and fix her hair. “Mama!”

  Elaria withdrew her hand, expression unchanged.

  She had given a promise of sorts that morning that she wouldn’t leave immediately. At the time, she had meant only that she would stay until her nominal duty to assess Marrowfen’s circumstances was complete.

  Now, it was.

  She was confident she could find a justification to stay longer if she wanted. There were very few who could seriously challenge her decision. She was aware that it would please Serel. And she could admit, privately, that she would have liked more time to think and consider.

  But the Silence did not halt its advance simply because she lingered.

  She had already been more indulgent with this visit than she could recall being at any point since the first tribulation began. A bad habit that she did not want to encourage.

  She needed to return. If not tonight, then tomorrow.

  The only question was whether she would do so alone—or with a daughter in tow.