Thornwall announced itself before they reached it.
The walls came first — thick, practical stone rising above the treeline with the particular confidence of a city that had been built to last rather than to impress. No decorative spires. No gilded gates.
Just solid construction that had weathered generations and intended to weather several more.
Banners hung at intervals along the ramparts. The sigil of Valdis — clean, uncluttered — moved faintly in the morning wind.
"Functional," William said, studying the walls as they approached along the main road. "No nonsense."
"Reminds me of their lord," Alice said.
"Martin was anything but no nonsense when we first met him," Erica replied.
"He got there eventually," Alice said simply.
The road had grown busier the closer they got to the capital. Merchant carts. Travelers. A column of soldiers moving in the opposite direction, heading south with the particular efficiency of men who had somewhere specific to be.
They passed the group without incident, though a few eyes lingered on Drako longer than was polite.
Drako noticed.
Said nothing.
As usual.
The gates of Thornwall were open — wide and well guarded, with checkpoint officers moving between incoming travelers with practiced efficiency. Not hostile. Just thorough.
When Erica's insignia appeared the process shortened considerably.
A senior officer stepped forward, composure barely concealing his surprise.
"Your Highness." He recovered quickly. "We received Lord Martin's correspondence this morning. His Majesty King Corvus is expecting you." He straightened. "Please — follow me."
They passed through the gates.
Thornwall inside was exactly what the walls had promised. Wide streets. Stone buildings built for function first and appearance second. Markets that moved with purpose rather than spectacle.
The people here had a different quality to them than Dasos — steadier, less frightened — but Jericho noticed it anyway.
The undercurrent.
Conversations that dropped slightly when the checkpoint officer passed. Glances toward the southern road the soldiers had taken.
A fruit seller pausing mid transaction to watch their group move through the street with an expression that wasn't quite worry but was close enough to it.
"They know something is off," he said quietly to no one in particular.
"Word travels," Drako said beside him. "Even without confirmation."
William glanced around. "They just don't know what to do with it yet."
"That's what we're here for," Erica said.
They followed the officer deeper into the city.
The castle sat at Thornwall's center — not elevated dramatically above the city like some capitals preferred, but settled within it, as though it had grown from the same ground rather than been placed above it. Another practical choice.
Another thing that said something about the kind of nation Valdis was.
The courtyard was quiet when they arrived.
A small reception party waited — castle officials, a handful of guards, one nervous looking secretary clutching a document he kept adjusting without reading.
And slightly apart from all of them, standing near the courtyard's edge with his hands clasped loosely in front of him —
A man in his late forties. Medium build. Dark hair shot through with early grey, cut short and without ceremony. His attire was formal but not ornate — the clothes of a king who had dressed appropriately without enjoying it.
He looked up when they entered.
His eyes moved across the group quickly — assessing without performing assessment — and settled briefly on Erica before moving to Jericho, then the others, then back to no one in particular.
He cleared his throat.
"Welcome to Thornwall."
His voice was quieter than expected for the setting. Not weak — just calibrated for a smaller distance than a throne room demanded.
"I am Corvus von Valdis." A brief pause. "I received Martin's letter this morning. He was…" He glanced at the secretary briefly. "Thorough."
The secretary nodded vigorously.
Corvus looked faintly pained by the nodding.
Erica stepped forward and inclined her head. "Your Majesty. Thank you for receiving us on short notice. I am—"
"Erica Von Righteous," Corvus said. "Yes. I know." He said it without rudeness — just directness, the kind that came from someone who found pleasantries genuinely inefficient. "Martin's letter was very clear on that point."
A beat.
"And you—" His eyes moved to Jericho. "Are the one who built the wall."
Jericho blinked slightly. "I am."
Corvus studied him for a moment.
Said nothing further on the matter.
"Come inside," he said, turning toward the castle. "Whatever you need to tell me I would rather hear sitting down."
He walked ahead without waiting to see if they followed.
The secretary scrambled to keep pace.
William leaned slightly toward Erica.
"I like him," he murmured.
Erica gave him a sideways look.
"Don't tell him that," she said quietly. "I suspect he'd find it inconvenient."
⸻
The corridor leading to Corvus's private meeting chamber was lined with portraits.
Not of kings in ceremonial armor or nobles arranged in careful hierarchy — just Valdis. Landscapes mostly. The walls of Thornwall at different points in history.
A rendering of the Darkburn Canopy from a distance that someone had clearly painted before it became something to fear.
A harbor scene that William studied briefly as they passed.
"Trading nation," he said quietly.
"Was," Drako said.
William glanced at him.
"Before the forest changed," Drako continued, eyes forward. "The southern trade routes ran through Dasos. Merchants used the Darkburn Canopy's edge as a landmark." A pause. "That stopped three months ago."
Alice looked at the harbor painting again with different eyes.
The corridor ended at a set of double doors — solid wood, no ornamentation — where two guards stood aside as Corvus approached.
He pushed one open himself without waiting for anyone to do it for him. The secretary behind them made a small distressed sound at that.
Corvus either didn't hear it or didn't care.
The room beyond was exactly what the rest of the castle had prepared them for. A long table. Practical chairs. Maps on one wall, pinned and annotated in small precise handwriting.
A single window letting in clean afternoon light.
No throne. No elevated seat. Just a table with chairs of equal height on every side.
Corvus moved to one end and looked at the others still filtering in.
"Sit wherever you like," he said. "I find assigned seating wastes time."
He waited until they were settled, then turned to the door where three senior officials had followed them in — advisors by the look of them, already reaching for documents and preparing to arrange themselves at the table.
Corvus looked at them.
"Thank you," he said simply.
The officials paused.
"You can go."
One of them opened his mouth.
"I'll call for you when I need context," Corvus said, before he could speak. "Right now I need information. Direct information." His eyes moved briefly to Jericho's group. "I'll get more of it without you in the room."
A beat of uncomfortable silence.
Then they filed out.
The secretary pulled the doors shut behind them with the quiet efficiency of someone well practiced in managing their king's social consequences.
Corvus sat.
He looked around the table — Jericho, Erica, William, Alice, Drako — with the same assessing calm he had shown in the courtyard. Then his eyes settled on Jericho and stayed there.
"Martin's letter said you built a fifty layer wall around Dasos in a single morning," he said. "Using something called soul energy."
"Yes," Jericho said.
Corvus nodded slowly.
"He also said you spent four days in the Darkburn Canopy investigating the creatures." A pause. "And came back."
"Yes."
Another pause.
"All of you."
"Yes."
Corvus looked at him for a long moment.
"Then you have my full attention," he said quietly. "Tell me everything. And don't soften it."
⸻
Kingdom of Vevaria — Undisclosed Location
The tea house sat at the quieter end of the merchant district.
Not rundown — just overlooked. The kind of establishment that existed in the space between fashionable and forgotten, frequented by people who valued anonymity over atmosphere.
The sort of place where nobody looked up when the door opened.
Nass arrived first.
She always arrived first.
She took a corner table with a clear sightline to both the entrance and the side exit, ordered tea she didn't intend to drink, and waited with the particular stillness of someone whose patience had been professionally developed over many years.
Soren and Mira were positioned outside — not close enough to draw attention, far enough to be useful if something went wrong.
Nothing would go wrong.
But Nass had not survived this long by assuming that.
The door opened twelve minutes later.
Lola Val Deka entered without ceremony.
She was older than Nass remembered — though four years was not so long that the change should have been surprising. The same careful posture.
The same quality of stillness that came not from caution but from complete comfort in any room she entered.
Her attire was deliberately understated for someone of her house — traveling clothes, nothing that announced Val Deka to anyone who didn't already know her face.
She had also arrived first checked the room.
Nass noticed.
Old habits.
Lola's eyes found her in the corner without searching.
She crossed the room without hurrying.
She sat.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Lola studied her the way someone studies a thing they were told was lost and have now found sitting in front of them — carefully, as though confirming it was real before allowing themselves to react to it.
Her eyes moved to Nass's neck briefly.
The mark was exactly as she remembered.
Dark. Dense. Undeniable.
"You look well," Lola said finally.
Her voice was measured. Cautious in the way that had nothing to do with unfamiliarity and everything to do with the weight of what sat between them unsaid.
"As do you," Nass replied.
Another silence.
Lola's eyes moved once to the entrance. Then to the side exit. Then back to Nass.
"You weren't followed?"
"No."
"You're certain."
"Yes."
Lola held her gaze for a long moment.
Then she exhaled — quiet, controlled — and something in her posture shifted. Not dramatically. Just enough.
The caution didn't leave entirely.
But it made room.
"Four years," Lola said.
"Four years," Nass agreed.
Lola looked at her steadily. "I looked for you. After you left. I had people looking for months."
"I know," Nass said. "I made sure they wouldn't find me."
Something moved through Lola's expression at that. Not hurt exactly. Just the acknowledgment of a truth that had taken four years to be said out loud.
"You didn't trust that I could protect you," Lola said.
It wasn't an accusation.
Just an observation from someone precise enough to name things correctly.
Nass met her eyes.
"I trusted that you would try," she said carefully. "I didn't trust that trying would be enough. The people who framed me—" She paused. "They were patient. And they were thorough. Staying would have put you in their path as well."
Lola was quiet for a moment.
"You were protecting me," she said.
"Among other things."
Lola looked at her for a long moment.
Then something finally broke through — not dramatically, not with tears or declarations. Just a warmth that settled into her expression the way light settles into a room when a curtain is drawn back.
"You impossible girl," she said softly.
The corner of Nass's mouth moved.
Just slightly.
It was the closest thing to a smile she had allowed herself since arriving in Vevaria.
Lola reached across the table and placed one hand over Nass's briefly — a gesture that lasted only a second before she withdrew it and composed herself back into the woman who had navigated the Val Deka seat in one of the most politically complex courts in the demonoid world.
"You're back for a reason," Lola said. Her voice had returned to something measured. Not cold — just focused. "And it isn't to see me."
"No," Nass said honestly. "But I needed to see you first."
Lola nodded slowly.
"Tell me what you need."
Nass wrapped both hands around her untouched cup of tea.
"I need to return to the court," she said. "Quietly. With your support behind me." She paused. "And I need information that only exists inside it."
Lola studied her.
"The alliance," she said.
Nass didn't confirm or deny it.
Which was confirmation enough.
Lola was quiet for a long moment, her eyes distant — running calculations that Nass recognized from years of watching her work.
"The people who framed you," Lola said finally. "They're still there. Some of them are closer to the king than they were four years ago."
"I know."
"They will move against you the moment they know you're back."
"I know that too."
Lola looked at her directly.
"And you're still asking."
"Yes."
Another silence.
Lola straightened slightly in her chair.
And then — with the particular quiet resolution of someone who had made their decision before they sat down and had simply been waiting to confirm it was the right one —
"When do you want to begin?"
Nass finally picked up her tea.
"As soon as you're ready," she said.
Lola nodded once.
"Then we begin tomorrow."
Outside the merchant district, the city of Vevaria moved on without noticing.
Inside the tea house, two women made an arrangement that would quietly change everything.