The situation was absurd, yet the outcome had not changed. The Duke and his late heir were dead.
Cendre struggled to reconcile the explanation he had been given with the consequences it had produced. The Ja-kin possessed evidence, and from what he had seen, they had little reason to lie. They had spoken openly of their loyalty to the First Warden's line and had even expressed eagerness to reconnect with the North-folk of Icy's End through the grassy path once the thaw allowed safe travel.
Yet the truth remained simple and grim.
An investigation had quietly become a political conflict between two city-states.
He had expected something else entirely when he first crossed the Quiet Pass. In his mind he had prepared himself to encounter raiders, rebels, or perhaps those half-mythical savages people in Icy's End liked to describe when speaking of the lands beyond the wastes.
Icy minions of hell.
Instead he had found a city.
A people with laws, customs, and a long memory of their place within the Empire.
Still, one thing remained unavoidable. Justice, in some form, had to be done. Not the kind delivered by a blade or a hanging rope, but the kind that settled blame and responsibility so that both sides could move forward without drawing swords.
This was no rebellion.
No deliberate murder.
Only two parties colliding at the worst possible moment.
Cendre stood before the elders once more and inclined his head slightly.
"I will have to travel back to explain this," he told them.
His voice carried the measured tone of someone already weighing the consequences.
"If you permit it, please pen down your statements. Write how the encounter happened, how your riders met the hunting party, and what followed afterward."
He looked from one elder to another.
"See that honest words are written. Ja-kin friends, we are in dire times. If we are to preserve peace between our people, then responsibility must be upheld and given."
Tarja translated his words carefully.
When she finished, the elders nodded among themselves.
Doja spoke first.
"And you will have it, Ser," the elder said. "We are ashamed that such an accident happened."
His voice carried both regret and gravity.
"But we are also grateful that this tragedy has revealed truths which may yet prevent further bloodshed."
He rested his hands on the arms of his stone throne.
"To shed the blood of those who share the same line," he continued, "is to dishonor the oaths once made and upheld."
Cendre bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment.
There was little more to say.
He left the great hall soon afterward, walking beside Tarja as they descended the long staircase and exited the fortress.
The cold air outside struck his face, though the warmth rising from the city's stone pathways softened the bite of the wind.
Neither of them spoke as they returned through the streets of Carcove.
When they reached Tarja's home, Cendre removed his cloak and sat beside the fire pit, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared into the flames.
His head throbbed faintly.
He had hoped for something simpler.
A clear enemy.
A band of killers hiding in the wastes.
Something that could be dealt with by steel and certainty.
But when had life ever been so straightforward?
He had lived long enough to know better.
And yet, somewhere within him, hope always lingered. Hope that the world might occasionally behave in simple, predictable ways.
It rarely did.
"I am ashamed that it has come to this," Tarja said quietly from across the room.
Cendre glanced up.
She had removed her fur coat and sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap.
"Ser Dalens," she continued, "do you think this will be resolved in peace?"
Cendre considered the question for several seconds.
"I do not know," he admitted.
He leaned back slightly, letting the warmth of the fire ease some of the tension in his shoulders.
"The evidence suggests that there has been a great misunderstanding," he said. "That there is indeed a cause which led to this effect."
He stared into the dancing flames.
"If what happened in the wastes is true, then this is a tragedy we can hope will not grow larger than it already is."
Privately, he knew the situation was already enormous.
The Duke and his heir were dead.
Deaths of that magnitude rarely passed without consequences.
People did not surrender blood easily, and when it was taken, they demanded repayment.
That was the problem.
The Ja-kin possessed their oaths and rights, written and sealed by the Empire itself. But emotions were rarely governed by documents or old agreements.
Anger was far more persuasive.
Cendre feared that even the truth might not be enough to stop the coming storm.
The situation was delicate. One careless word or one rash decision could widen the wound until neither side could step back from it.
Eventually he rose from his seat.
"I will have to ride back to Icy's End," he said.
Tarja looked up at him immediately.
"Tell your elders that I intend to carry their words to the Duchess," he continued. "And that I will present their testimony honestly."
He paused before adding the next part.
"It would be best if you came with me."
Tarja blinked.
"Me?"
"Yes."
Cendre folded his arms.
"The Duchess is a reasonable woman. Cold-minded, but not cruel. She will listen if someone from Carcove speaks for your people."
Tarja lowered her gaze slightly.
Fear flickered across her expression.
It was understandable.
Leaving her city to walk into the court of a foreign ruler, especially one whose father and brother had recently died, was no small risk. And for a scholar, it takes great courage.
Cendre spoke again, his voice steady.
"I will make sure you remain unharmed."
He met her eyes directly.
"Those who ride with us will not have a hair of theirs touched."
Tarja hesitated.
She stood and walked toward the doorway, glancing briefly outside as though measuring the distance between her home and the world beyond the mountains.
For a long moment she remained silent.
Then she turned back.
"If peace is to be preserved," she said slowly, "then someone must carry the truth."
She drew in a steady breath.
"Very well."
Her expression hardened with quiet resolve.
"Then I will risk mine."
Tarja bowed her head slightly.
"It is a responsibility I shall take."
[[
Cendre spent another day in Carcove waiting for the letters.
The elders had promised written statements, and though the matter was urgent, the Ja-kin insisted that such words be prepared carefully. According to Tarja, when the elders recorded testimony regarding matters that could affect the fate of their people, they did not rush the process. Each statement was reviewed, rewritten, and sealed only when the elders were satisfied that the account held no careless errors.
When the letters finally arrived, they were presented within a single lacquered box.
The box itself was simple but beautifully made. Its dark surface had been polished until it reflected the firelight in soft glimmers. Carved along its lid was a symbol resembling waves curling inward toward a circle.
Tarja noticed Cendre studying the design.
"The sea," she explained. "It is the seal of Carcove and our people."
Cendre ran a thumb lightly along the carving.
"The sea?" he asked.
Tarja nodded.
"Our ancestors believed that all life came from the waters," she said. "Even here, surrounded by ice and stone, the rivers and seas sustain us."
She gestured toward the box.
"When we seal something with this mark, it represents sincerity. Words placed within the sea's mark must be truthful, for the waters carry memory."
Cendre accepted the box without further comment, though he handled it with care.
Inside were the written statements of the elders and the four riders who had encountered the Duke's hunting party. Each account had been written in careful script and stamped with wax seals bearing the same wave emblem carved upon the lid.
He carried the box with him as preparations for departure were made.
The riders who would accompany them were chosen shortly after.
The first was an older Ja-kin rider named Voja.
He was broad-shouldered and calm, with the quiet confidence of someone who had spent many years riding across dangerous lands. His hair had begun to grey at the temples, but his posture remained straight and steady.
The second was a younger rider named Maroja.
Where Voja appeared measured and patient, Maroja carried the restless energy of youth. His movements were quicker, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon as though eager to witness the world beyond the mountains.
When they met before the city gates, Voja placed a hand against his chest and inclined his head.
"We represent our people in this," he said. "Our lives are now entwined with yours, Ka-Cendre. We will present ourselves before our kin and speak only the truth."
Maroja followed his gesture.
"I shall do the same," he said. "The world has widened for us, and it would be misfortune to step forward while ghosts linger upon our shoulders."
He smiled faintly.
"We carry a message of peace."
They believed it.
That much was clear to Cendre.
Tarja had then explained that the red flame tattoos winding across their arms marked them as accomplished riders of their people. According to Ja-kin tradition, such markings were granted only after years of service and discipline.
"They are symbols of skill and purity," she had said. "It is an honor to be escorted by riders who bear the red flames."
Cendre had nodded at that.
It was comforting to hear.
The return journey, however, would not be easy.
The route he had taken through the Quiet Pass was treacherous enough even alone. With companions and especially with the responsibility of carrying diplomatic testimony, it was far safer to follow the path the Ja-kin recommended.
They called it the grassy path.
The path that had recently opened again after years of ice.
The name puzzled Cendre.
When he asked about it, Tarja explained.
"It is an ancient road," she said. "Older than Carcove itself."
She gestured toward the distant mountains beyond the city.
"It winds through the tundra and hills, avoiding the worst of the wastes. The direct path is shorter, but it crosses dangerous ground."
Cendre could certainly attest to that.
The wastes beyond Pala's Crossing were full of crevices, unstable slopes, and frozen mists that could hide death beneath a single careless step.
An older road that avoided those dangers sounded far preferable.
So at the coming dawn, with their rations packed and waterskins filled, they presented themselves one final time before the elders of Carcove.
Doja and the others offered brief words of blessing before they departed.
Then the four riders left the city.
They passed through the great stone gates and rode once more into the open tundra where the cold wind swept across the land in endless currents.
Cendre tugged his armored cloak tighter around his shoulders as the chill returned.
He rode beside Tarja while Voja and Maroja led them toward the winding path where the grassy road began.
During the first few hours of travel, Cendre found himself studying the landscape carefully.
The tundra was alive in ways few people in the south would believe. He began noting the different fauna and flora scattered across the frozen plains, creatures and plants that many scholars believed had vanished centuries ago.
One creature in particular caught his attention.
The Albino bison.
They were enormous animals, easily the size of wagons, their thick white fur blending almost perfectly with the snowy landscape. Their horns curved outward in massive arcs that made them appear even larger than they already were.
Tarja noticed his interest.
"They are common in these lands," she explained. "Not as strong as oxen, but their meat is rich."
She smiled faintly.
"Oily. Full of fat. Good eating."
According to her, the meat of the albino bison was considered valuable even within Carcove.
"It is expensive," she added. "The kind that is traded in copper."
That surprised Cendre slightly.
Even more surprising was the form of currency the Ja-kin used.
Many of them still traded with old Imperial coins minted during the reign of emperors long since dead. The metal had circulated among them for generations, passed from hand to hand long after the Empire itself had forgotten the settlement beyond the mountains.
Of course, the Ja-kin still practiced bartering, exchanging goods directly when it suited them.
But the coins remained.
They continued to circulate, quiet relics of a connection that had never truly disappeared.
As they rode across the tundra, Cendre slowly began to realize something else.
Many of the animals he saw were species that scholars in the south believed to be extinct.
In a strange way, the Ja-kin had preserved them.
Whether intentionally or not, their isolation had created a kind of sanctuary, one that had remained untouched by the relentless expansion of the Empire.
It was valuable.
Extremely valuable.
Cendre found himself quietly preparing arguments in his mind.
Arguments he might present to the Duchess.
Reasons why Carcove should not be treated as an enemy or threat.
But even as he constructed those careful lines of reasoning, doubt lingered.
The Duchess was intelligent. Logical.
Yet she was also grieving.
He feared that when the truth reached her ears, she might not listen to the benefits or the logic of preserving peace.
She might listen to her pain instead.
Cendre glanced briefly toward Tarja riding beside him.
If the Ja-kin were as sincere as they appeared, if their words truly carried the honesty he had witnessed, then they deserved a chance.
Even if delivering that truth would be painful.
Especially if it would be painful.
He sighed quietly.
A wound could not be treated without causing pain first.
That was a lesson every soldier eventually learned.
And so he would gamble.
He would bring the truth to the Duchess and hope that the pain it caused would lead, eventually, to healing rather than another war.