Chapter 15: Chapter 14: A Song of Brawn and Brain

Chapter 14

A Song of Brawn and Brain

> Many stories are told of the Emperor, but the Empress's rise to power alongside him is just as storied. Before the coronation, she was of course known by a different name.

>

> — Historie and Geographie of the Provincia Empiris

>

> Gaius Elvianus

Days blurred into nights as the Fete approached, each one bleeding into the next. With Elara’s rejection still fresh in his mind, Godfrey found no reason to venture into the village. Instead, he immersed himself in the solitude of the woods, training relentlessly with his new weapons. Tarlow’s instructions echoed in his mind: carry the blades at all times, let them become extensions of his body, their weight and feel ingrained into his very being.

His training continued even in the sanctuary of sleep. In his dreams, he obsessed over every movement, every possible combination of the longsword and parrying dagger. The dream world became his second reality, where he tested the limits of his creativity with the weapons. The longsword’s length, the parrying dagger’s notched teeth—they were tools, and he learned to wield them with growing proficiency.

Through countless hours of repetition, Godfrey discovered the most efficient draw—both blades on the left hip, with the parrying dagger drawn in a reverse grip. The movement became second nature, a fluid action that needed no conscious thought.

The Fete was set to begin the following morning, bringing with it a week of excitement and competition that would sweep through Oakvale. Most of the games were not centered around physical prowess but rather displays of talent and skill. The villagers would gather to watch competitors dance with graceful precision, sing with haunting melodies, showcase their woodcraft with intricate carvings, or demonstrate their archery with deadly accuracy. Each event was a celebration of the diverse talents that made up their community.

Yet, it was the Strength games that held the greatest allure. Promising a spectacle of raw power and determination, they are always the most popular events. For the villagers, the highlight was not just in watching the displays of brute force but in the stakes that came with them. A purse of five silver coins awaited the winner, a sum that could make a significant difference in the life of any commoner. Even the runner-up would walk away with two silver, a respectable prize that added an extra layer of competition to the tournament.

These games were held at the end of the week-long festivities, just before the grand feast that would conclude the Fete.

In addition to the Strength games, Godfrey had also signed up for the singing portion of the Fete, a decision that had surprised even himself. It wasn’t out of some lingering desire to impress Elara or to win the approval of the villagers. No, it was something deeper, more intrinsic. After that night in the tavern, when his voice had flowed over the crowd like a living force, swaying their emotions and commanding their attention, he had felt a primal satisfaction that he couldn’t ignore.

The memory of it still sent a shiver through him—the way his song had connected him to the people, to the very air they breathed, to the emotions that rippled through the room like waves. It was a power unlike any other he had known, a power that was both terrifying and exhilarating. It had awakened something in him, something that craved that connection, that influence, and that raw, untamed energy.

He understood that allure could be as dangerous as it was intoxicating, but if he was to make any impression on those who might be observing the Fete—be it Rinthess or any other Imperial agents—he would need to command attention. To slip by unnoticed was no longer a viable strategy; he needed to stand out, to show his worth, and to make it impossible for them to ignore him.

Presumably, Rinthess had some scheme in place to fabricate his status as a member of the nobility. It wasn’t something he fully trusted or understood, but he had little choice but to play along with her game for now. If her plan fell through, he and his uncles had a fallback: to join up with a recruiter heading to Centria, should one be present at the Fete. That would at least get him into the general Imperial Army, a path that might provide some protection and keep him from being left out in the cold.

But regardless of the specifics, one thing was clear—running was no longer an option, nor was staying in Oakvale. The quiet life he had known was slipping away, and with it, the possibility of remaining in the shadows. The Fete wasn’t just a local celebration; it was his stage, his proving ground. It was where he would either set the course for his future or lose everything he had been working toward. The stakes were higher than they had ever been, and he couldn’t afford to fail.

XXX

Godfrey lay on the soft, ankle-high grasses that hugged the muddy banks of the Frosmuth, their gentle caress forming a natural blanket as soft as down. The air carried a distinct bite, a sharp reminder that winter was just around the corner. Soon, the waters would begin to freeze in the Spine, and the steady flow of timber down the river would halt, as the entire region hunkered down and held their breath for the return of spring.

As he lay there, staring up at the pale sky, Godfrey’s thoughts drifted back over his life in Oakvale. As a child, he had always been chasing some new adventure. He had gathered a merry band of playmates, and eventually, two strong bonds had formed with Liam and Jeromie. But after what happened… Godfrey had withdrawn, unintentionally severing the ties that once connected him to his peers. Aunt Alice had often told him that it was unnatural for a boy his age to spend all his time training and conversing with old men. He should be out chasing girls or at least chasing trouble, she’d say with a knowing smile.

Instead, Godfrey lay on the ground, the ache of sore muscles and tested bones forced away any true feelings of relaxation, even as they sang songs of relief when he had stopped here to rest. He had been told to practice his dual-weapon sword forms up the length of the Frosmuth until it reached the edge of the farmland plains that stretched towards the Spine, and do the same on his way back. He was back now. This was as good a place as any to rest his head as any.

With a sigh, Godfrey rose, peeling off his sweat-soaked tunic, then his boots and stockings. He stepped onto the muddy bank, the squishy, freezing black earth pressing between his toes. The shock of the cold made him gasp, but he didn’t hesitate. He took a deep breath and dove headfirst into the shallows. The riverbed dropped away sharply beneath him, the rocky earth shaped by centuries of fast-flowing water. The icy embrace of the Frosmuth enveloped him, shocking his senses into clarity.

As Godfrey emerged, cleaner, but feeling slightly foolish, he saw Liam walking toward him, his face red as his feet tore clumps up behind him as he marched. Trailing a few paces behind was Elara, her lips moving rapidly as she spoke to Liam, though it was clear he was no longer listening—or perhaps had never been.

Godfrey’s heart quickened. He knew about Elara and Liam, or at least he knew enough—how she used Liam in much the same way she had used him. The knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth, but it also stirred something else, something he wasn’t entirely proud of. A prideful, distinctly masculine energy welled up inside him, and despite the unease gnawing at the edges of his mind, he couldn’t quite squash the feeling. It was reckless, maybe even foolish, but a small part of him relished the confrontation that was about to unfold, whatever it could be.

As Liam stormed toward him, Godfrey’s initial sense of anticipation turned to confusion, then to a cold, creeping dread. Liam’s eyes were ablaze, his usually calm demeanor utterly absent. Godfrey could see that this wasn’t going to be a conversation.

“Liam, what’s going on?” Godfrey called out, trying to gauge the situation as Elara hurried behind, a mix of anxiety and calculation in her eyes. She seemed almost curious, as if unsure how this confrontation would unfold.

Liam didn’t slow down. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his voice, when he finally spoke, was rough with emotion. “You bastard! You think you can just get away with it?”

Godfrey’s brow furrowed in anger, and he turned a glare onto Elara. “I don’t know what she’s told you, Liam, but I imagine it wasn’t the whole truth.”

As Godfrey returned his gaze to Liam, the boy was already moving. Godfrey saw the strike building in the boy’s shoulders and stance. He was winding up for a right uppercut that would end with Godfrey on his back in the freezing water, having rescued his damsel in distress.

Liam was a competent fighter, he was as strong as an ox, and was a full head taller. But, he was also a blacksmith and spent most of his days shaping iron into steel.

Godfrey had been trained to kill.

Godfrey’s right leg flicked out and shoved Liam’s hip on his leading side, halting all of his forward momentum. Godfrey stepped into Liam’s guard and introduced his beautiful new parrying dagger to the hairs on the older boy’s throat.

With a swift, almost reflexive motion, Godfrey’s right leg shot out, his foot connecting with Liam’s hip just as the larger boy committed to the punch. The impact wasn’t enough to hurt him, but it was perfectly placed to disrupt his balance. Liam’s forward momentum faltered, and his punch lost its power as he stumbled.

In the blink of an eye, Godfrey stepped into the space between them, closing the distance before Liam could recover. His hand moved with precision, drawing the parrying dagger from its sheath at his side. The cold steel gleamed in the autumn sunlight as Godfrey brought it up to Liam’s throat, the blade’s edge barely grazing the hairs on his skin.

For a heartbeat, everything froze. The world around them—the river, the trees, the distant call of a bird—seemed to hold its breath. Liam’s eyes widened in shock, the realization of how close he had come to a serious injury—or worse—finally breaking through his anger.

“Elara, would you mind telling me what you told him?” Godfrey stated plainly, not taking his eyes off of Liam’s.

“I…mentioned you hurt me, but Liam assumed I meant physically. I don’t think I adequately…corrected the misunderstanding in time to prevent this incident.” Elara's voice was quiet, tinged with guilt.

Godfrey nodded, sheathed his dagger, and stepped back from Liam. “So, what was she asking your help for?”

Liam, still shaking off the daze, looked at Godfrey with a newfound wariness. There was a flicker of fear, maybe even respect, in his eyes as he took another cautious step back, trying to put some distance between them. Godfrey fought the urge to roll his eyes; after all, he was the one who had been attacked without provocation.

Liam chuckled nervously. “I’m guessing you told her no.”

“More or less,” Godfrey replied, his tone flat. “I don’t want to air dirty laundry.”

Liam’s expression darkened. “I think I have a right to know what you were speaking of with her.”

Godfrey met his gaze, unwavering. “And I think you lost that right when you assaulted me.”

Liam scoffed, trying to regain some composure. “You had the situation under control, it seems.”

Godfrey turned to leave, his patience wearing thin. “Solid argument, Liam. Listen, I am thoroughly finished with this situation, so if you wouldn’t mind…”

Without warning, Godfrey kicked his scabbarded longsword into his hand from where it had been lying on the grass, smoothly pushed it through the looped buckle on his left waist, and drew both of his blades in his standard guard; dagger held in a reverse grip, longsword extended in a one-handed longpoint guard.

It was a childish display, Godfrey admitted to himself, but it got the reaction he wanted. Liam jumped back with a startled yelp, and Elara’s eyes widened, her expression a complex mix of emotions.

Godfrey grinned, then turned and began performing his sword forms down the riverbank, leaving the two behind. He started to feel pangs of guilt for his display, but he reasoned that it was better this way; he would be gone soon.

XXX

The morning of the first day of the Fete dawned crisp and cold, the bite in the air sharp enough to make breath visible. Godfrey sat with his family in the market square, enjoying a hearty breakfast as the village bustled with activity. This first day of the Fete was dedicated to the tradesmen, each proudly displaying their finest work. Nearby, a woodsman had set up a stall, showcasing intricate carvings that depicted fierce battles between wild beasts and the monsters who lived in the far reaches of the Empire. The detail in the carvings was remarkable, and the prices seemed almost criminally low considering the skill involved. It was clear the woodsman worked out of passion, spending most of his time animatedly explaining the scenes to wide-eyed children.

“Did you ever hunt a drake when you were stationed in Grecia, Hawker?” John asked, blowing on a steaming mug of mulled wine. The warmth of the drink and the festive atmosphere seemed to loosen the usual reserve among them.

“Aye, but I was barely a Squire then,” Hawker replied, his voice thoughtful as he stared into the distance. “One of the local drakes had grown too large, started eating enough livestock to hurt the region’s economy. The other drakes began leaving ‘gifts’—chunks of meat, old armor—at our fort as a warning. The Captain knew it was serious. I was on wagon duty, so I only saw the beast’s corpse after the fact. Sixteen Soldiers and half as many Knights killed. Not a single Squire left standing. That’s how I ended up Squiring for Captain Halt.”

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“Who's Captain Halt?” Godfrey asked, curious, as his uncles rarely talked about their past; the mulled wine must have been potent this morning.

Godfrey, intrigued by the rare openness in Hawker’s voice, leaned forward. “Who was Captain Halt?”

At the mention of the name, John, Tarlow, and Hawker exchanged quick glances, a silent communication passing between them. “He was a good man,” Hawker said finally, his voice thick with unspoken emotion. “A damn fine officer. I’d have followed him to the grave—and I almost did.”

Sensing the tension, John jumped in, his tone lighter. “It’s a sore subject for Hawker, lad. Let’s focus on the festivities today, eh?”

Hawker, though visibly miffed at being handled, accepted the change in topic. He settled deeper into the sturdy wooden armchair, which had been placed around the feasting tables in the square. The air, though cold, was thick with the anticipation of the day’s events, the sounds of the Fete carrying a promise of celebration and camaraderie.

Aunt Alice, oblivious to the tension lingering in the air, suddenly perked up, turning her attention to Godfrey with an eager smile. “So, Godfrey, what song are you planning on singing tomorrow evening at the music competition?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, the festive atmosphere around the table screeching to a halt as all eyes turned to Godfrey. Hawker, Tarlow, and John were frozen in shock, the mugs of mulled wine halfway to their lips, as they processed what Aunt Alice had just casually revealed. Three pairs of eyes narrowed in unison, a stern, almost disbelieving glare fixing itself on Godfrey.

Before he could even attempt to respond, Aunt Katherine chimed in, her voice cutting through the silence. “Alice, really,” she said, a note of exasperation in her tone, “you might want to think before you blurt out sensitive information like that.”

She then shifted her gaze to the rest of the family, speaking in a tone that brooked no argument. “Now, listen here, all of you. Given the inevitability of Godfrey’s path at this point—and let’s not forget the boy’s general and typical lack of blatant stupidity—I trust that he knows better than to cause another political incident. Isn’t that right, Godfrey?”

Godfrey, caught off guard, managed a hesitant nod. Aunt Katherine’s words, though reassuring on the surface, were laced with an implicit warning. The uncles exchanged looks, their initial shock tempered.

Tarlow began to laugh, first quietly, then uproariously. His booming laughter filled the market square, drawing a few curious glances from passersby. “Ahhh…,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes moments later, “My boy, you will truly be the death of us all! But what is life without art, hm? What’s near-certain, thorough, and extremely painful death compared to a bit of village singing? I love it, Godfrey!”

His laughter was infectious, and soon the tension around the table eased, the corners of John’s mouth twitching upward despite himself. Hawker, though still frowning, couldn’t help but shake his head with a begrudging smile.

Tarlow leaned back in his chair, clearly delighted. “If we’re going to dance with the wolves, we might as well do it with a song, eh?” He clapped Godfrey on the shoulder with a grin. “I never got my shot at a wolf, but I always wanted to…”

His voice trailed off as his eyes drifted into the middle distance, clearly far from the bustling market square. The laughter that had filled the air moments before faded, replaced by a somber silence. The weight of Tarlow's unspoken memories hung heavy between them, and for a moment, the joviality of the Fete seemed distant and irrelevant.

Hawker cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “Well, Godfrey,” he said, his tone softer now, “just make sure you know what you’re doing. We don’t need any more trouble than we’ve already got.”

Just then, Elara appeared at the edge of their gathering, her presence instantly drawing attention. She moved with the same confidence that always seemed to ripple through the crowd like a stone skipping across water. Aunt Alice’s eyes lit up with excitement, her hands clapping together as she practically beamed at Elara.

“Oh, Godfrey!” Aunt Alice exclaimed, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. “It’s Elara! What a lovely surprise, dear!”

The rest of the family, however, shared a different reaction. Hawker, Tarlow, and John exchanged wary glances, their smiles thinning into something far less welcoming. Aunt Katherine’s eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze fixed on Elara with a quiet intensity.

Elara, unfazed by the mixed reception, offered a polite nod to the group before turning her attention to Godfrey. “Godfrey,” she said, her voice calm but firm, “I’d like to speak with you. It’s important.”

Godfrey glanced at his uncles, who were all now fully focused on Elara, their expressions unreadable but clearly suspicious. Aunt Alice, oblivious to the tension, continued to smile, practically glowing with excitement at the prospect of a conversation between Godfrey and Elara.

Aunt Katherine, ever the protective one, spoke up, her tone cool but polite. “Elara, dear, I’m sure whatever it is can wait until after breakfast, don’t you think?”

Elara met Aunt Katherine’s gaze, not flinching under the scrutiny. “I’m afraid it can’t,” she replied, her voice unwavering. “It’s something that concerns Godfrey directly, and it’s best discussed in private.”

Godfrey, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on him, hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Alright, Elara. Let’s talk.” He stood up, giving a quick nod to his family before stepping away from the table.

As they walked off, Aunt Alice whispered loudly to Aunt Katherine, “Oh, I bet they’re going to make up!” Aunt Katherine gave her a patient smile, but her eyes remained sharp as they followed Elara and Godfrey's retreating forms. The rest of the group watched them leave, their suspicions simmering just beneath the surface.

They walked among the colorful stalls for a moment. “Elara, I wanted to apologize. Brandishing a weapon like that to…get a reaction out of you was childish, no matter the provocation. I shouldnt’ve scared you like that.”

Elara didn’t immediately respond, her eyes scanning the crowd as they moved through the bustling market. The vibrant colors and lively chatter of the Fete seemed to fade into the background as Godfrey’s words hung in the air between them. After a few moments, she glanced over at him, her expression softening slightly.

“I wasn’t scared,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a hint of something Godfrey couldn’t quite place. “I was surprised. And maybe a little… impressed.”

Godfrey looked at her, surprised and upset by the admission. “Impressed? By what, exactly? That I could have seriously hurt Liam over a misunderstanding? That I can draw steel quickly?”

Elara shook her head, her gaze turning inward as if she was carefully choosing her words. “No, not that. It was more… how you handled yourself. How you moved, how you controlled the situation. I’ve always known you were skilled, Godfrey, but I think yesterday made me see it differently.”

She hesitated, then continued, her voice more deliberate. “It made me realize that if my…idea is going to work, then I need your help. I want to be honest with you, Godfrey. Look, I’ve manipulated you, and I admit that. I’ve manipulated Liam too. And I did it long before I had any sort of goal in mind. I’m sorry for that. But what we discovered in my study? That’s beyond either of us, and we need to start making moves.”

“Making moves? To what end?” Godfrey asked, his tone skeptical.

“To teach the peasantry that the powers of the Hand and the Tongue, the core of the nobility’s control over the common folk, are built on a lie.”

Godfrey’s frown deepened. “So what, Elara? The Empire is probably aware of that, and if they are, they’ll crush anyone who tries to spread that information. Hawker and John are constantly warning me that the Empire is obsessed with maintaining the status quo. They’re even watching Oakvale for signs of trouble. You have no power, no plan, and no resources.”

Elara took a step closer, her eyes locking onto his. “Godfrey, I’m going to trust you, because I need your help. The books—we’ve only scratched the surface of what they can teach us. I’ve already learned one of the talents of the Tongue. I can do it, though I’ve only tested it on animals. I can control them, make them do simple tasks. I have power now, Godfrey, and you’re right, I have no resources. But I know how to get some, enough to propel us into the lower reaches of political power.”

Godfrey’s eyes widened in shock, but as he considered it, it made a twisted kind of sense. Elara was brilliant—brilliant enough to decipher ancient texts and tap into a repertoire of hidden knowledge.

Elara noticed his reaction and continued, her voice almost eager as she explained. “I’ve reached a critical mass of translated words and phrases. It’s like the pieces finally started falling into place, and now the work is progressing rapidly. The breakthrough came when I realized that half of the content is mathematical. It’s all about understanding the processes you’re trying to control in another person, and then calculating the exact intonations needed to achieve the desired effect.”

She paused, letting that sink in before adding, “It’s exceedingly difficult, Godfrey. The calculations are complex, and they have to be done in real-time, on the fly. But it’s possible. I’ve already done it. And it means we can proceed with my idea.”

A cold dread washed over Godfrey as he asked, “What plan, Elara?”

She met his gaze, her eyes burning with determination. “The taxes. The Fete marks the end of the taxing season, once all production ceases. The Magistrate’s coffers are overflowing with silver right now. I need that money to leave this place, to fund the next phase. I’ll take my father’s horse, ride north, then loop west to the coast, eventually heading south to Westport. With that silver, I can establish a safe haven, a base where I can strategize and plan my next move.”

Godfrey stared at her, struggling to process what she was saying. “Elara, you’re talking about stealing from the Magistrate. Do you realize what that means? If you’re caught—”

“I won’t be caught,” she interrupted, her voice sharp with conviction. “I’ve thought this through. The Tongue can manipulate minds, bend them to their will. I can make them forget they ever saw me. I’ll leave no trace, no witnesses. By the time anyone realizes what’s happened, I’ll be long gone.”

Godfrey shook his head, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “And what if something goes wrong? What if the Tongue or the Empire finds out? You’ll be hunted for the rest of your life, Elara. And if they even suspect I helped you—”

“They won’t,” she cut him off again, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve accounted for everything, Godfrey. This is our chance—my chance—to change the world, to disrupt the power they hold over us. And I need you with me.”

For a moment, Godfrey didn’t know what to say. He was torn between the fear of what she was planning and the undeniable pull of her ambition, the allure of her ultimate vision. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured. “What exactly do you need me to do?”

Elara’s expression softened, a small, almost grateful smile crossing her lips. “I need you to be my backup, Godfrey. The power, I’ve got to take a few moments to figure out the correct intonation. I’ll need you to keep problems at bay during that time.”

“The Magistrate’s vault always has a guard on it. You just said that you need to know the subject of the power, or at least understand them. I’ll bet the minds of the critters you’ve been practicing on are a hell of a lot less complicated than the mind of that guard, whoever it will be that day.”

Elara’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a more serious expression as she considered his words. “You’re right,” she admitted, her voice tinged with frustration. “The guard will be more complex, and I’ve only practiced on animals so far. But that’s why I need you. I’ll have to approach this carefully, maybe even take it slow to get a read on the guard. During that time, you’ll need to keep anyone else from interfering.”

Godfrey frowned, the weight of the plan pressing down on him. “And if something goes wrong? If the guard notices what you’re doing or if someone else shows up?”

Elara’s gaze hardened, her determination unshaken. “Then we improvise. We’re both capable of thinking on our feet, Godfrey. If it comes to it, we’ll find a way out. But we have to try.”

“No, I don’t have to try, Elara. This could get my family killed if I was caught. This could get your family killed. Have you considered that?”

“Have you considered the depravity the nobility forces on us? Do you even remember what happened to little Jeromie? Gone before you had even really known him, before anyone had really known him, and what was the sum of his life, Godfrey? Remind me? A large silver coin? Who else is going to stop this, Godfrey?”

“I don’t know, Elara, but it doesn’t have to be you. You’re barely an adult, even if you are brilliant. And guess what, just because the most obvious route of escape is towards Centria doesn’t mean that the Empire won’t send people looking for you at Westport. You’ll be carrying hundreds of pounds of precious metal, alone, with a single horse, through the winter of Southern Brella?”

Elara’s jaw clenched, her eyes flashing with frustration. “I know the risks, Godfrey. Do you think I haven’t considered all of this? But what choice do we have? We either act, or we remain shackled to this life forever. Do you want to spend the rest of your days bowing to those who see us as nothing more than expendable?”

Godfrey’s heart pounded as he looked into her eyes, seeing the fire that burned there. He understood her anger, her desperation, but the reality of what she was proposing made his blood run cold. “You’re asking me to risk everything—my family, your family, our lives—for a plan that might not even work.”

“And if it does?” Elara shot back, her voice trembling with intensity. “If we succeed, I’ll have the resources to start something real, something that could change everything. I’ll have a chance to fight back against a system that sees us as less than human.”

“Where did this passion for the greater good come from, Elara? Or is it a ploy to appeal to my morals? If you’re asking me to believe this golden future you’ve envisioned doesn’t have a nice chunk carved out with your name on it, you must truly think I’m a fool.”

Elara’s eyes narrowed, her expression hardening. “I never said I didn’t have my own ambitions, Godfrey. I’m not going to pretend I’m some selfless hero. Of course I want to carve out a piece for myself, to rise above the life we’ve been handed. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about the bigger picture. Just because I have personal goals doesn’t mean I don’t see the injustice around us, or that I’m not willing to do something about it.”

Godfrey crossed his arms, still skeptical. “What injustice have you faced in Oakvale to support this sudden passion? We don’t even have nobility here, besides the Magistrate. And what happens when your goals conflict with this grand revolution you’re planning? What happens when the needs of the many clash with your own desires?”

Elara took a step closer, her voice low but fierce. “I’m not naïve, Godfrey. I know there will be sacrifices, compromises. But if we don’t do something, if we don’t at least try to change things, then what’s the point of any of this? You think I want to spend the rest of my life scheming and manipulating just to get a few extra scraps? No. I want more. We both do. And this is our chance to take it.”

Godfrey stared at her, the fire in her words both compelling and terrifying. He could see the conviction in her eyes, the unwavering belief that this was their only shot at something better. That, at least, he could believe.

“My fate is consigned, Elara. Ever since I sang that song, I opened a door to a different future. You know that, so you know I can’t come with you. Even if I wanted to…”

Elara’s expression tightened, the fire in her eyes dimming as she absorbed his words. “I know,” she said quietly, the edge in her voice softening. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t help each other while our paths are still aligned.”

Godfrey studied her for what felt like an eternity, searching her eyes for any trace of deception, any hint that she might be playing him as she had so many others. But what he saw was something he hadn’t expected—sincerity, as far as sincerity could exist within Elara.

He nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “Alright, Elara. For now, we’ll work together. I owe you that much, I think. To try to keep you alive so you can kill yourself trudging through the snow. But after this… we’re done. You follow your path, and I’ll follow mine.”

Elara’s gaze softened further, a flicker of something like gratitude mixed with regret passing through her eyes. “Agreed,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll go our separate ways when this is over.”

“It’ll have to be before the Strength games. I’ll be leaving soon after.”

Elara nodded. She looked tired. Godfrey could relate.

Godfrey left her there, and forced himself not to look back. Had he done so, he would have seen that she was already gone.