CHAPTER 48: INTERROGATION IN THE HALLS OF DAWNHAVEN

The high chambers of Elenvyre shimmered with cold light.

Walls of translucent crystal pulsed faintly with the ley-lines woven through them, carrying whispers from the distant sea.

Around the crescent table of the Magus-Priests, silence reigned. None dared speak first, for all had seen what transpired upon the waters of the Shivering Sea.

The scrying pool in the chamber’s center still rippled with the memory of it, a towering wave, her face carved into the foam, demanding to know why Elven ships prowled where they had not dared sail in an age.

High Magister Elorath broke the silence, his voice grave.

"She is awake again. Thalassaria Virelleth no longer hides in her coral halls. She has re-consolidated her dominion, and now declares the Shivering Sea closed."

A murmur passed through the gathered priests. Some shifted uneasily; others traced sigils against ill-omen.

One elder spoke at last, her tone sharp as a knife.

"There is no chance stirring. It coincides with the human wars, the fall of Ignarion’s pride, the rise of the Null-Lord of Dawnhaven. Can you not see it? The Sea Queen moves in concert with the Architect’s blood."

Another slammed his staff against the marble.

"Blasphemy! To suggest an immortal queen of the deep bends her will to a human pretender—"

"Pretender?" Elorath cut in, his eyes flashing. "Did you not watch the slaughter? Did you not hear the thunder of weapons unseen since the Eidolons walked among us? He wields the same logic they did. Industry wedded to magic. And now Thalassaria, too, rises from dormancy. You think this coincidence?"

The chamber dissolved into overlapping voices, some warning of war at sea, others of opportunity, still others urging caution, fearful of awakening powers they could not control.

At last Elorath raised his hand, silencing the hall.

"Whether by chance or design, the tides shift. The humans are blind to what lurks beneath their coasts. Ignarion bleeds on land and sea alike. And Dawnhaven... Dawnhaven may yet rise as something altogether new."

He leaned forward, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.

"We will not remain idle. Dispatch word to our spies in Dawnahaven. And keep our shores just past the boundaries of the Shivering Sea. I would know if she speaks again. For if the Queen of Waves and the Lord of Dawnhaven march toward destiny, the Elves will not be caught unprepared."

The scrying pool shimmered once more, showing only dark waters. Every priest present felt it, the sense of the world turning, the weight of something vast stirring just beyond sight.

---

The great hall of Dawnhaven lay still. Only the banners overhead swayed slightly from the faint draft seeping in through the high windows.

On the polished marble floor, the two Elven Magi-spies lay prone, bodies untouched, robes unscorched, skin unbroken.

At first glance, one might have mistaken them for resting, merely bound by some gentle spell.

But their eyes betrayed them. Staring wide, unfocused, glassy, as if life itself clung by a thread.

Their lips parted, but no sound came. No scream, no plea, only a silent, endless begging for release. They had not been tortured in the flesh, but at an atomic level.

Before them, Caedrion slipped his black glove back over his hand, flexing the fingers as though nothing at all had transpired.

The glow of rustlight fading from his fingertips was the only hint that something terrible had been done.

He settled onto his high-backed chair, gaze sweeping over the hall with a mixture of disdain and grim calculation.

A faint smile ghosted across his lips as he finally spoke, his tone quiet but carrying to every corner of the chamber.

"You just had to make it hard on yourselves, didn’t you?"

He let the words linger, heavy in the silence. His eyes moved back to the broken spies on the floor, not physically broken, but hollowed out, husks of what they once were.

"Now I know. The elves see me as a threat." His voice sharpened, steel beneath the calm.

"They send their Magi into my city not as traders, but as thieves, as vultures seeking to pluck secrets they cannot conceive. And so..."

Caedrion leaned forward, resting his chin lightly on one gloved fist, eyes burning with intent.

"I must accelerate my designs. I must improve my forces at a higher rate than I initially thought."

The courtiers present shifted uneasily.

Some cast sidelong glances at the twitching, soul-shattered Elves; others stared fixedly at the Lord who had done this without lifting a blade. None spoke. None dared.

For in that moment, it was clear to all: Dawnhaven was no longer simply defending itself. Their young lord was preparing for something far greater.

The silence in the hall was broken only by the ragged, empty breaths of the Elven Magi sprawled on the marble floor.

Courtiers avoided looking at them directly, as if to do so might draw the same fate down upon their own souls.

Malveris was the first to stir. The old patriarch’s knuckles whitened as he gripped his staff, his sharp eyes narrowing on his son.

There was no anger in his gaze, only a deep unease. Was this still the boy he had raised? Or was this something else, something older, stepping through Caedrion’s skin?

"Son..." Malveris’ voice cracked slightly, the weight of worry heavy in the single word. "There are lines even victors hesitate to cross. You toy with them as though they are ink on a ledger."

Sylene shifted uneasily on her seat beside her brother.

The Lady of Dawnhaven, usually so quick with sharp retorts, kept her tongue still.

Her hands tightened on the arms of her chair, nails digging into the wood. Her lips pressed thin, her eyes fixed on Caedrion.

She wanted to protest, to chastise, but what good was it to rebuke one who commanded powers the rest of them barely understood?

And then there was Aelindria.

While the others looked at Caedrion with worry, even fear, she saw deeper. Felt deeper.

He let her feel his intent through the subtle bridge between their minds, a whisper of thought carried through their bond.

I do this for you. For us. For Dawnhaven. They came to steal, to probe, to measure us. I could not afford mercy this time.

Her eyes softened even as her cheeks flushed. She alone in that hall understood that her husband was not driven by cruelty, nor by hunger for power.

He was steel, cold when necessary, sharp because the world required it. Every ounce of it aimed at shielding her, their kin, their people.

So while Malveris frowned and Sylene sat rigid in unease, Aelindria took a step forward.

She rested a hand lightly on her husband’s shoulder, her presence a silent reassurance to him as much as to the court.

Caedrion glanced up at her briefly, then back to the lifeless-eyed Elves, and finally to his council. His voice cut through the air like a blade.

"The elves have marked me as a threat. Very well. Let them whisper of monsters if it soothes their pride. What I do here, I do because they would rather see us shackled than free."

He leaned back in his chair, glove secured, eyes glinting with the calm of a man who already saw the future he intended to carve.

"And if they force me to march faster, then so be it. Dawnhaven will not falter. We will only grow stronger."

The courtiers shifted, whispers rippling through the hall.

Some bowed their heads in acceptance, others in silent dread.

But Aelindria remained at his side, unflinching, her hand on his shoulder, the only one who knew beyond doubt that the man who had just broken two Elven Magi in spirit was still, wholly, hers.