Elowen Jadelyne Vassenet stopped reading the storybook and gazed out the window of their room, apprehensive of the unfamiliar. The foulmouthed babblings of the drunkards at the bar on the inn’s first level rolled without pause. The couple across the street continued to yell at each other while their baby cried. They didn’t feel it, whatever it may have been. But Jade was sure it came from the north and passed over the town. This… pulse—that was what first came to her mind—was different from that she felt earlier this week, but it also shook the anima in her crucible.


    Was it connected to the earthquake? The restlessness of the Frost Trolls? Could it spell trouble for Worwick? There might be something in this phenomenon she could use for the House Vassenet’s cause.


    “What is it, Lady Jade?” Tiffania tugged at Jade’s clothes, looking up at her with concerned eyes that were the color of seaweed. Only Tiffania called her Lady Jade. All others addressed her as Lady Elowen.


    Jade softened her face. Tiffania always complained that she looked scary if she was serious. She patted the girl’s hair, which was more auburn than her own strawberry blonde color.


    “Nothing to worry about, my lord,” Jade said while planning to investigate what the pulse could be. She found too much unknown worrisome. “Where were we in our tale?”


    Tiffania pursed her lips, an expression reminiscent of Aurelia, her late mother. She disliked being addressed as ‘lord’, but that was how it went, every elector for the princeps was addressed thusly, and she had learned to accept it. “The dragon rider has—”


    A knock on the door.


    Jade used her Aethersight to check who was on the other side, the Soulhearts in her sternial warming up. It was just a reflex. She knew it was the old man from his footsteps. Tired footsteps.


    In came Master Luvarci, ducking to not hit his head on the doorway. The Head Warden of the House Vassenet was a Quadlinker boasting two Adept Grade Soulhearts. Tales of his feats once danced on the lips of every bard of Gilders. But those days were long gone. If only he joined the Warden Orders of the Solvi Empire instead of staying with House Vassenet, his prowess would’ve reached greater heights. There wasn’t much of a future this part of the continent.


    What did he have to show for two decades serving the Vassenet lords? Stagnation and headaches. He became more of an administrator than the House champion.


    Often, Jade jokingly called Master Luvarci an old man, but he wasn’t that old. The stress of keeping the House afloat through generations of… problematic… lords added a decade worth of wrinkles to his face and whitened his hair. His muscles had deflated much compared to how older family members described his bygone years.


    Even if Jade thought Master Luvarci made the wrong choice, she had nothing but gratitude for him sacrificing the chance to stand on the pedestal of legends to take care of House Vassenet. Following the old man’s footsteps, Jade herself chose to stay despite the family’s misfortunes when she could’ve joined a sect and made a name for herself. Her criticisms for Master Luvarci setting aside his Soulheart Warden career could be directed to her too.


    When Lady Aurelia was alive, she pushed for Jade to go explore the world and seek her destiny outside of Gilders. Jade didn’t heed her sort of adoptive mother, of course. She stayed with the family in its time of need.


    “Granduncle!” Tiffania jumped off her chair and stood on her toes to hug his waist. Master Luvarci nodded at her. He must’ve been truly tired or he would’ve lectured the young lord on etiquette and titles. She excitedly asked, “Have you chosen our champion for the tournament?”


    “They were all inadequate, to say the least, my lord,” Master Luvarci replied.


    That’s not surprising, Jade thought.


    The tournament wasn’t a grand event that’d attract serious competitors. The pay would be the incentive. Their family didn’t have the resources of the Baccarats and Wyrenths to hire promising Dualinkers from far away. A couple of days ago, they petitioned the Aeolian Crest elder to lend one of his acolytes to be their champion—they had the right to Worwick and their cause was just—but they were denied. It was a skyward shot with no landing. The sects wouldn’t want to waste a single second in small-time politicking.


    Frantic to find a suitable candidate, the Vassenets stretched their stay in Worwick, grating on the constable’s good graces. The Lodge Master of the trappers offered their training grounds for the Vassenets to use—it was a donation from the previous lord, so there were no favors owed. Dregs with barely any experience dueling a Warden came by the dozen to apply. Most were only Adorned weapon wielders. She’d prefer hiring a Warden for the tournament.


    Jade wasn’t looking down on them. Or maybe she was.


    She couldn’t help it. They were trappers and mercenaries. And some disguised bandits. What chance did they have against Wardens of the highest pedigrees and tutelage? The Vassenets weren’t even aiming to win the tournament. Their pitiable goal was to not be embarrassed. They’d be jumping into the arms of embarrassment fielding any of those men.


    “We still don’t have a champion?” Tiffania’s voice wavered. “But this is our last night in Worwick. Can we stay for longer?”


    “Our promise to the constable was to leave on the morrow.” Master Luvarci went down on one knee and gave Tiffania a quick hug. He always had a soft spot for her. “We have used the meeting with the sect elder as an excuse to enter the town despite the princeps’ orders. The elder has left, and so should we. Let’s not place the constable in a tough position. He’s a good man who has helped us many times in years past.”


    “He has his own head to worry about,” Jade said. “Many are eager for him to make a mistake.”


    “What will we do for the tournament?” Tiffania asked. “Let’s accept Uncle Leyron’s offer of a champion. His only condition is we have to lose when facing his champion. That’s fine, isn’t it?”


    Jade’s left cheek twitched. He’s not really your uncle!


    She had explained to Tiffania many times that Lord Leyron of the Baccarats only acted nice to her for show. They had no blood connection; they were related by marriage to Tiffania’s third cousin. The expensive gifts for her birthdays were par for the course in noble circles. He was now showing his true skin underneath the mask of civility, wanting to takeover Worwick.


    Master Luvarci stood up, staring into nothingness with his jaws set. He spoke after several seconds, “I am considering that, my lord.”


    “You can’t be serious,” Jade exclaimed, closing the storybook in a loud snap. “We can’t trust him and whoever he’ll send to us. This champion of his might quit on us on the day of the tournament or intentionally bungle his match to make us look like fools. And we can’t complain. We can’t say that our champion was one of Lord Leyron’s men—that’s stabbing our own foot. He could even expose us accepting his help. That’s a showing of subservience. He’d use that to push more for regency of the town.”


    “Uncle Leyron won’t do that,” Tiffania said. “I know he plans to control Worwick. I’m not na?ve. But that doesn’t mean he’ll break his promise.”You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Jade was tempted to ask which promise.


    That the loaned champion would uphold their standing in front of the other lords? That Vassenet holdings would be maintained during the regency? Or that Lord Leyron would return Worwick to Tiffania when she came of age? So many other promises. He’d break them all.


    Who knew what nefarious designs floated in Lord Leyron’s head? They had no clue of why Lord Leyron was suddenly interested in controlling Worwick. Perhaps he has for a long time, only showing his hand now.


    But Jade held her tongue, brushing away her protests. She didn’t want to upset the little girl this late at night—Tiffania had been stressed by the burdens of adults too much. Jade reminded herself of her promise to Aurelia on her deathbed to care for Tiffania, including her mental state.


    “We’ll keep our options open, my lord,” said Master Luvarci. “The Firstborns will guide us to the champion who’ll win the tournament. Such isn’t possible if we take Lord Leyron’s deal. We aim high and win, the feldeers charge ever forward.”


    Tiffania’s face brightened. “If we win, we’ll uphold the name of the Vassenets! The princeps will favor us, and the other lords will give us aid.”


    That… is na?ve thinking. If they do win—and that’d be a miracle worthy of a pilgrimage—the most they’d get was to delay the princeps deciding Worwick’s fate by a year or two. It might be enough time to turn around their finances. Maybe not. But that was all their House could do—delay and vie for a better bargaining position. They should avoid owing any other noble family while maintaining a veneer of prestige.


    “Appearances, appearances,” Aurelia would scoff when tutoring Jade about etiquette. “The currency of power. Worth nothing. Worth everything.”


    “You should rest now, my lord,” Master Luvarci said in a tone that ended the conversation. He wanted to leave Tiffania with happy thoughts, unrealistic they may be. “We ride early tomorrow,” he added, leaving unsaid that it was better if fewer townspeople saw them leave their rightful territory.


    Jade was staying in Tiffania’s room as a guard, but she followed the old man out for a quick question. “Master, did you feel that… pulse? It’s similar to the previous one I told you about.”


    “What? Ah, yes. I know what you mean. I was wondering if that was my skull-splitting headache or my strained chest. It is something else, it turns out.”


    “Are you not worried?”


    “Some kind of natura explosion in the Big Bowl,” said Master Luvarci with a shake of his head. “You do know a lifestream flowed there in ancient times. The earth’s unrest. Nothing that concerns us.” He gave her a tired, lopsided smile. “I know you’ll look into it, so just tell me about it when you do find out. But don’t you have other things you’re investigating?”


    “Wha-what?” Jade’s fake shock couldn’t have fooled even a child. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”


    “A mimic slime Soulheart is missing from our stores. Only you and Sinclair are well-versed in using it. I know you’ve roped in Sinclair to aid you. I can’t stop you. I only ask that you tread carefully and not let any harmful consequences of your actions find their way to our family.”


    Jade nodded. “I swear on the feldeer’s horns, master.”


    <hr>


    Jade reached up to rub the beak of her trusty avian-steed, Amberwynd. It didn’t have a splotch of red or orange on its feathers; they were mostly white with blue and black streaks. Unfortunately, Jade’s seven-year-old self was too stubborn to change the name after the egg hatched. ‘Amberwynd’ was the dragon in her favorite book. Her Amberwynd may not be a dragon, but it had claws and wings, and that was close enough.


    “I’m sorry, but you have to leave tomorrow,” she told the avian-steed. “I know you like Worwick and you don’t want to—”


    Amberwynd tilted its head and looked at her with its right eye.


    “I was jesting,” she said with a laugh. “I don’t like Worwick either. Noisy, smelly, stuffy with all sorts of intrigue. The fields of Sandervale beckon me in my sleep, and you’ll return there. But I have to stay.” She moved closer to Amberwynd and looked at its large round eye that reflected her face. “Worwick is ours. We can’t give it up. If we continue to give ground, we’ll someday find ourselves with nowhere to stand on.”


    Amberwynd didn’t understand her. Jade meant those words for herself. It was much easier to step aside and accept that fate did not favor them. However, life rewards action, as Aurelia would often advise her. If Jade didn’t act, she would lose more and more. She abhorred losing.


    An eerie whistle, like the call of a forlorn bird, interrupted her thoughts.


    “Sinclair, what of your investigations?” Jade asked, turning to the far corner of the stable. The bonded Warden of the Vassenets maintained his blanket of shadows.


    “Lady Jade…” answered a wispy voice that could barely be heard over Amberwynd’s anxious snorts. “The last anyone saw of Finlay Rasband of Elmbow was two days ago. He left town, heading to—”


    “To the north,” Jade said. Did this Finlay Rasband—it had to be a fake name—have anything to do with the pulse she felt?


    She met this mysterious character when their entourage entered Worwick. He appeared too well-kempt, his hair worked in a foreign style, piquing her curiosity. When he looked at her, he seemed to recognize her. But she was sure she had never seen him before in her life. Was he spying on her… on all the Vassenets? He was a curiosity then, a potential threat now.


    “Indeed, to the north, my lady. No one saw him return to Worwick. Trappers prowling the mountains have no word. The bandits in our pay are equally clueless as to his identity. More ghost than man.”


    “It’s difficult to find someone who doesn’t want to be found,” Jade said. “The mountains are vast, and he is there while we are none the wiser as to his intentions.”


    “I will check if he has connections to the Baccarats or the Wyrenths,” whispered Sinclair.


    “Or the princeps. Don’t forget about him. What about the quake several days ago?”


    “The bandits disclaim responsibility. Five of them died in a cave-in because of it, including one of our contacts. I would’ve dismissed it as natural movements of the earth were it not for this feeling you had.” A scrap of disbelief surfaced in his tone. It sounded like an intentional slip.


    “I know what I felt, Sinclair,” Jade said. She was confident in her sensitivity to both anima and natura. Though she wasn’t a prodigy like champion the Baccarats hired, Jade’s anima-sense was on par with higher Linkers, allowing her to almost predict her opponents’ movements from their anima flow.


    Other Wardens felt the pulse too, though not as strongly. That was why they were dismissive of her concerns. Or likelier, there were so many problems in front of their faces that they couldn’t spare their thoughts to wonder about goings on the mountains. Jade should have done the same, but the wriggling worm of worry had burrowed in her head. The quake was anomalous and would affect them. Both her brain and guts agreed—a rare occurrence.


    “I will continue to learn what I can, my lady,” Sinclair said with a barely disguised sigh.


    “And the rumors of a Frost Troll roving in our warmer mountains?”


    Yesterday, a trapper raved about a Frost Troll attacking his party, killing all except him. The tusked brute was allegedly diseased, its moldy flesh falling off its body, yet its strength wasn’t diminished. Its condition could explain why its wanderings far south from the lands of snow.


    “It remains a singular rumor from a lone trapper turned crazed by the attack,” replied Sinclair. “The constable sent men in search of this Frost Troll. They found nothing. It could’ve been a different beast rather than a Frost Troll.”


    “Perhaps so…” Jade absentmindedly fiddled with Amberwynd’s feathers while trying to fit together blocks from different molds in her mind. Many things were happening. She couldn’t help but suspect they were all connected. “For now, continue monitoring the movements of the Baccarats. I still can’t pinpoint their motivations for trying to gain control of Worwick. This is exceedingly far from their holdings. Lord Leyron isn’t a man to gather control and power for its sake—he has deeper motivations. And continue your search for a suitable champion.”


    “I obey, tied by the bond.” Sinclair melted into the darkness, any trace of his anima wiped clean.


    Tip taps on the stable roof made Jade look up. The noise became a smattering of knocks. Seconds later, it was a heavy downpour crashing on the roof.


    Jade frowned. The Big Bowl always spawned these strange clouds bringing too much rain as if Worwick was to the south of the continent. She’d get wet returning to the inn.


    It must be torrential up north if it was raining this hard here. She prayed to the Firstborns that the rain would interfere with the plans of the mysterious Finlay of Elmbow.