“Whoa,” Sorian's voice cut the air. The dappled stallion responded immediately, hooves clattering to a halt on the frozen cobblestones.
Sorian remained mounted high on his decorated saddle, looking down at Lady Elena. One gloved hand rested casually on his thigh while the other held the reins.
“Lord Sorian,” Elena said, loud enough to carry across the courtyard. Her shoulder remained squared, despite a chill wind pulling at her cloak.
“How gracious of you to come in person.”
Elena stood framed in the massive castle gate. She was curiously alone, save for a few guards at a distance behind her. No advisors, no handmaidens.
A light snow was beginning to fall again—fat, slow flakes hanging unnaturally in the air. The fading day washed the scene in a half-light that blurred edges and deepened shadows. Lanterns along the castle wall had been lit, their flames guttering in the wind.
Behind Sorian, a garrison of officers and soldiers stretched as far as Elena could see. Their armor gleamed dully in the fading light, weapons at the ready, faces impassive.
Her gaze moved past him, tracking the garrison as they filed into the castle grounds, sergeants barking orders, men taking up posts at strategic points. Her own guards shifted uncomfortably, watching as they were surrounded.
“No need for your men, Sorian,” she said with a creeping edge beneath her smile. “We have things quite under control.”
“Do you?” Sorian’s lips formed an expression like a smile, but with no warmth. He took a good look at her as his men moved past them, the message clear in their every step.
Elena watched as her guards were coldly relieved of their posts and swiftly disarmed. The shift in power was palpable, happening around her in real-time. Her cloak bunched slightly in her grasp.
“And where is Edric?” Sorian asked, his smile deepening as if he were asking about an old friend at dinner.
“My father is dead,” Elena replied, her gaze dropping momentarily to the stones beneath her feet.
“And your brother?”
For a second, uncertainty crossed her features before she composed herself. “A traitor,” was all she said, the words coming out clipped and final. “I am the Lady now. Threadneedle answers to me.”
“Is that so?” Sorian spoke with a hint of amusement. “And you have the Candlemaker Sarah under guard?”
She looked away for just a moment, a tell that Sorian immediately registered. When she turned back to him, her gaze was steady but her tone carried the faintest trace of a lie.
“Yes, of course.”
“Good. Good,” he laughed, the sound sharp as breaking ice. “Because you’ll be joining her.” He gestured lazily, a small movement of his gloved hand that brought two soldiers forward immediately.
They flanked Elena before she fully registered what was happening. Strong hands gripped her arms, not roughly, but with finality.
“Confine her,” Sorian ordered. “Not the dungeon—yet. Her chambers.” His gaze swept over the castle walls and the courtyard. “Threadneedle is ours now.”
“My father,” Elena snapped, struggling to steady her voice, “has always been your supporter, Sorian. I am at your service as well.” She forced her voice to remain steady.
Sorian finally dismounted in one smooth, practiced motion. He approached her, close enough that she could see the fine stitching on his blue doublet and smell the faint scent of leatherwork and spiced oil that clung to him.
“I’m afraid you don’t understand,” he said, his tone softening to something more confidential, somehow making his words all the more threatening. “We have evidence he was plotting against the Crown. He is guilty of treason. His seat is gone.”
The charge landed like a physical blow. Elena shrunk away, only to be held firmly in place by the guards.
“Lies,” she spat, though she trembled with the first hint of genuine fear. “No one was more loyal. What my father did, for the purges, ridding the Candlemakers—”
Sorian shook his head, cutting her off with the casual disregard of a man accustomed to interrupting without consequence. “No one cares.”
“Guards!” she cried, her voice cracking as she scanned the battlements, hoping against hope for an army to appear. She turned—and saw only a single guard at the gate, his face a mask of indecision.
“Lower the gate,” she commanded, clinging to the last vestiges of her authority. “Sorian has lost his mind.”
The guard looked from her to the line of soldiers still funneling into the courtyard, weighing his options in a calculation that took only seconds. Without a word, he silently abandoned his post, melting away into the growing shadows.
Elena’s shoulders sagged as the last of her defenses crumbled. She appeared hopeless and frightened, a woman watching her world dismantled piece by piece. Then, as if remembering a card not yet played, she straightened.
“Wait, wait,” she said with new urgency. “I remember. I know details about my father’s work—the Covenant.”
Sorian, who had already begun to turn away, stopped. Genuine interest crossed his features, though he masked it quickly. He didn’t speak, but his attention was unmistakably captured.
“Yes,” Elena pressed, sensing an opening. The guards’ grip loosened slightly as they responded to Sorian’s subtle signal.
“I know what he was working on. The Covenant. It can rewrite nations. Or erase them—it’s...” She swallowed, gathering her courage. “And I can lead you there.”
Sorian’s gaze moved past her, settling on the dark signal tower that loomed over the castle walls, its ancient stone structure a silhouette against the mountain backdrop. A shadow passed behind his eyes, an assessment and dismissal happening in the space of a heartbeat.
Then he let out a laugh, loud and genuine, startling in its suddenness. His officers, watching carefully, joined in.
“My lady,” Sorian said once his mirth had faded, leaning in so his words reached only her, despite the public setting.
“We already know… everything.” He savored the word, watching it land. “Everything,” he repeated, letting it linger between them.
Elena’s face drained of color as the implications settled over her.
“We will take control of the Covenant,” Sorian continued, looking again to the tower. Elena followed his gaze, the realization hitting her. “Soon enough.”
The leader of the garrison approached, saluting crisply. Sorian returned the gesture only with a nod, then issued orders that carried across the courtyard.
“Take the castle, and search every inch for the girl.”
As he marched away, shoulders squared beneath his fine cloak, Sorian took one last look at Elena. His gaze, though, was indifferent.
“And get her out of my sight,” he said to the guards who still held her; his tone was as casual as if he were asking for his wine to be refilled.
They dragged her away with quick and fearful movements, leaving only her footprints in the snow as evidence she had ever held power here at all.