The soft rasp of parchment followed Elaria’s movements as she turned the page, her brow creasing slightly while her eyes moved across the text. She turned to the next, skimmed it, then flipped through several more before closing the book and sliding it back into place on the shelf, its spine settling neatly among rows of dark-bound volumes.
She reached for another.
The process repeated—again and again—as it had for several hours now.
Whatever one might say about Sablewatch Hollow, the Ashledger Archive possessed an impressive collection of rare and esoteric texts. Elaria had seen portions of it before, but this was the first time she had properly explored the archive in depth, moving through its shadowed aisles and alcoves. It almost felt like an injustice that so much knowledge had been hidden away beneath Mournvale’s estate rather than shared with the wider world.
Despite that, Mournvale had been correct.
There was very little of substance on the Graven Daughter.
Elaria had found scattered mentions of the Forgotten Throne in texts dating back to the previous age, but they were inconsistent to the point of contradiction. Some described the Graven Daughter as a sovereign entity, others as a remnant or echo. A few claimed it had long since fallen, while others spoke of lingering cultic movements—diasporas devoted to preserving or restoring it.
Mireya Halstrad was known to be the Last Song of the Graven Daughter in the current cycle, and Mournvale’s encounter with the Throne confirmed that it had not fully fallen. But that did not mean it had not been diminished, altered, or fragmented at some point in history.
Thrones were ancient and deeply inscrutable beings. Much of their nature had been lost to the erosion of ages, and that uncertainty was part of what made them so dangerous. They didn’t obey the same constraints as the Houses, and there was no assurance that conventional methods could truly oppose them.
Elaria had learned that lesson more than once while fighting the Silence and its Unraveled.
She continued down the aisle, working methodically through the volumes that appeared most relevant until she reached the end. With only a single night to search the archive, there had never been a realistic chance of covering everything, but she had to give Mournvale credit. The categorization alone was impressive for a private collection, and with the woman’s assistance, she had been able to cover far more ground than she would have alone.
There was much here of interest, even if little directly applicable to their immediate concern.
As much as Elaria objected to certain… indulgences present within Sablewatch Hollow, she found herself acknowledging that a repository like this could be beneficial to Serel’s development. She suspected it would fall to her to ensure the child did not merely inherit Mournvale’s irreverence but learned to appreciate what access to such knowledge truly meant.
Moving down another shadowed aisle framed by carved pillars, Elaria’s gaze passed over the engraved stonework between the shelves. The Ashledger Archive—like much of the estate—possessed a very distinct atmosphere. She still would not call it tasteful, but one learned to appreciate that it did carry a certain flair.
In some respects, it reminded her of ancient crypts and sealed reliquaries she had explored in the past. For a moment, she wondered if Mournvale had deliberately cultivated that resemblance, but unlike the rest of the estate, much of this architecture looked far older.
More likely, the archive had existed long before Mournvale ever took possession of Sablewatch Hollow.
Passing an ornate display holding a tome etched with faintly glowing glyphs, Elaria’s attention caught on a section further down the aisle. She slowed, studying it from a distance before beginning to approach.
She was only a few steps away when Mournvale appeared from behind a corner, abruptly blocking her path.
“Oh, you’re back here?” the woman said easily, a light smile on her face. “Finished over there, I guess. Why don’t you help me by the eastern stacks instead? You know how it is. I’ve still got a lot to go through.”
Elaria regarded her closely.
Mournvale had tied her silver-gray hair back at some point—a rare choice for the woman, as far as Elaria knew—but that wasn’t what held her attention. She watched the woman’s expression, searching it for what lay beneath the smile.t
This was not the first time Mournvale had appeared like this, redirecting her just as she neared this particular section. At first, Elaria had dismissed it. Now, the pattern was difficult to ignore.
Her gaze slid past Mournvale to the shelves beyond.
She caught the faint tightening of the woman’s shoulders.
There was something there that Mournvale did not want her to see.
“You coming?” Mournvale asked, her easy smile returning as she gestured down a connecting passage.
Elaria glanced at her.
…It was unlikely that Mournvale would conceal something actively dangerous within the archive, and Elaria did not feel she had enough cause to force the matter. Under normal circumstances, she might not have hesitated, but Mournvale had been unexpectedly cooperative of late, and Elaria had seen enough sincerity to hesitate.
She didn’t wish to trample over the woman’s boundaries on the basis of suspicion alone.
Still, she couldn’t help but question what Mournvale could be so intent on hiding.
She allowed herself to be led away, and together they began working through a section Elaria had yet to touch. They did not speak much, aside from brief exchanges to cross-reference texts or confirm details, but Elaria didn’t mind the silence. It was one of the qualities she had always appreciated about Mournvale. Many of their past allies had difficulty allowing quiet of any sort to simply persist—Blazegrip, outside of formal contexts, being a prime example—and one might assume that Mournvale would be the same, but Elaria had always found the woman to understand when to let silence stand.
The things she said in other contexts could be infuriating, but that was a very different matter.
Time passed.
Elaria did cast occasional glances toward the section she had been diverted from, but she chose to make no further attempt to approach it. Eventually, a book snapped shut behind her. She turned slightly to see Mournvale stretching, arms lifted overhead as she stifled a yawn.
Elaria’s brows rose. “And you still claim that you did not need sleep?”
Mournvale blinked, turning to her before smiling lopsidedly. “Don’t think I ever said that. Just that I’m fine without it. Mostly.” She flexed an arm lazily. “These babes don’t start wasting away just because I miss a couple of rem cycles or three.”
Elaria gave her an unimpressed look.
Mournvale lowered her arm. “…Right. Can we pretend I never said that?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“What is a ‘rem cycle’ supposed to be?” Elaria asked.
Mournvale paused. “…That’s what you latched onto?”
Elaria nodded slightly. “I already have very low expectations of you. You referring to your arms as your ‘babies’ does very little to lower those.”
“Biceps, actually. Not arms.”
“Does the distinction matter?”
“To some.”
“Not to me.”
Mournvale snorted. “Yeah, well, my father used to say that those well-fed don’t bother counting crumbs.”
Her eyes flicked briefly to the dark plate covering Elaria’s arms.
Elaria ignored it, focusing on the woman. “…Your father?”
She had never heard Mournvale speak of her family before. Not once in all the years they had known each other. She had never minded it. The woman was intimately familiar with Elaria’s past—like few others—but she had simply accepted that Mournvale’s silence on her own was intentional.
So the sudden and very casual mention caught her off guard.
Mournvale’s eyes lifted from Elaria’s arm to meet her gaze. After a moment’s silence, she released a light, almost dismissive laugh. “My father, yeah. He was the type who always had one saying or another at the ready. Thought he was a whole lot funnier than he had any right to. It is what it is.”
She turned back to the shelves, scanning the remaining volumes as if looking for something.
Elaria continued watching her.
As Mournvale reached for another book, she hesitated, then withdrew her hand. Resonance rippled outward as she invoked the Mark of the Stillbound Veil, its effect spreading like faint, silken threads through the air and into the surrounding stone.
“Huh,” Mournvale said. “I think we might’ve been at this for longer than expected. Looks like it’s morning already.” She glanced back. “What do you say we call it? Caldrin’s already cooking, which means it’s about time for Serel to wake up.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Elaria frowned slightly. She reached outward with her own power. Emberward’s Resonance stirred within her, and beyond the Hollow, she felt it answer the ambient currents of dawn as the Wounded Sun’s aspect intensified.
Mournvale was correct.
She was mildly surprised she hadn’t noticed sooner. Sablewatch Hollow’s Resonance dulled her awareness more than she liked.
“Very well,” Elaria said. “I doubt we will find much more of relevance.”
“I did tell you last night that there wasn’t much to be found.”
“And I chose to verify it. Regardless, I was able to review several records I hadn’t previously encountered. This was not wasted effort.”
She returned the tome in her hands to its place.
“Sure. Sure. Whatever you say.”
Elaria shot her a sharp look. Mournvale raised her hands in surrender, then tilted her head. “Hey, why don’t you go wake Serel?”
Elaria paused. She studied her. “…Me?”
“Yes. You.”
“Why?”
“It’s good to get some experience, don’t you think?”
“Experience in waking someone?”
Mournvale smiled faintly. “It’s harder than it sounds. Trust me.”
Elaria eyed her with open skepticism. She found that claim difficult to believe.
Her gaze drifted back toward the section Mournvale had blocked her from earlier.
“I mean,” Mournvale added, “if you think that task is too much for you…”
Elaria looked back at her.
She was not so naive as to fall for something so obvious.
However—
“Fine,” she finally said.
If she intended to take responsibility for Serel and bring the girl to Caer Virell, then it wasn’t entirely unreasonable to start shouldering such things.
“Great.” Mournvale smiled, and Elaria thought she caught a flicker of relief beneath it. “Then I’ll stay here a bit longer. There were a few texts I thought I’d skim before we stop.”
“Is that so?” Elaria asked.
“Yep,” Mournvale replied innocently. “I’ll meet you in the dining chamber later. You know the way, so you can move along.”
With that, she turned and headed down the passage, disappearing around a corner.
Elaria’s gaze lingered where she had gone, listening as the footsteps faded, before she finally left the archive herself.
She wasn’t sure whether Mournvale truly believed she hadn’t seen through the distraction. For now, however, she would let it stand—just as she would let the woman deflect her questions.
She ascended the stairs leading out of the crypt-like archive, passing through the halls of Sablewatch Hollow until she reached the tomb-lined garden separating the main estate from the living quarters. From there, she entered the Dreadwake Alcove and climbed to the second floor, moving down the corridor toward Serel’s room.
She stopped before the door.
Her hand had already reached for the handle when she paused and looked down at herself.
It dawned on her that she hadn’t removed her armor in over a day.
She had always worn it around Serel. The girl did not seem to mind, but it was somewhat inconvenient, given how close Serel tended to be.
After a brief moment of consideration, Elaria stepped back and began removing it. Piece by piece, the armor vanished into her Vaultring until only a simple underlayer remained, her arms bare and faintly damp with sweat.
She returned to the door and opened it, stepping into the dimly lit room beyond. Curtains were drawn across the window, muting the morning light.
Her gaze went immediately to the bed.
Serel lay sprawled across it at a diagonal, as if she’d started the night properly and then lost a quiet battle with her own limbs. One arm was thrown over her head, while the other clutched a pillow as if it might escape.
Elaria approached, surprised by how carefully she placed her steps. The light leaking in around the edges of the curtains caught in the silver strands of the girl’s hair.
She stopped at the bedside.
When Serel was awake, Elaria could respond to her as she would anyone else. She could prioritize, assess, and respond relatively normally, she felt. In sleep, however, the child somehow felt more unreachable. A small, tiny body trusting the world enough to not let it fade.
Elaria watched the steady rise and fall of her breathing longer than she meant to.
She realized why Mournvale had warned her.
There was a part of her that resisted disturbing this stillness before her.
Eventually, she set that aside and rested two fingers lightly against Serel’s shoulder.
“Serel,” she said in a low voice.
A small frown crossed the girl’s face. Her grip on the pillow tightened. “Mommy…” she murmured, making a quiet, displeased sound.
Elaria hesitated.
She could lift the blanket, put cold air to the girl’s feet, and force the matter. That was what she might have done with any member of the Pyric Oath resisting waking up. It was what she had done many times before to Mournvale and Halstrad when those two had been lazing in the field.
But this was different.
This girl was meant to be her daughter. And she was simply… sleeping.
Logically, she deserved better treatment.
Frowning, Elaria tried touching her lightly again, calling Serel’s name. The girl simply shifted and mumbled for ‘Mommy’ once more.
Was this intentional? Had Mournvale known Serel wouldn’t wake without her?
…Would Elaria truly prove incapable of something this basic?
Just as she was caught in those thoughts, Serel’s eyelids fluttered. The girl’s brow relaxed, and slowly, one eye cracked open. It fixed on Elaria’s face, unfocused at first—then sharpening as recognition arrived. A second later, the other eye opened, and her mouth curved into a sleepy smile.
“Mama,” she mumbled.
Something in Elaria’s chest eased. She was not entirely sure why.
“Good morning,” she said.
Serel blinked, then squinted as if something didn’t add up. Her gaze drifted downward, following Elaria’s bare arms.
Her eyes widened.
“Mama, you’re not wearing anything!”
“I removed my armor,” Elaria said, straightening slightly. “I am, however, still wearing clothing.”
Serel suddenly pushed herself upright, hair sticking out at odd angles, and leaned forward until her forehead pressed against Elaria’s stomach in some strange blend between a hug and a collapse.
Elaria froze, even as she instinctively steadied the girl with one hand on her back.
Without the armor, the contact felt… unfamiliar.
“Did you sleep good?” Serel asked, voice muffled.
Elaria considered. “Yes,” she said carefully. “Without issue.”
Serel hummed, then sat up properly. She rubbed one eye hard enough to wrinkle her nose and finally kicked the blanket away.
“I had a dream,” she announced.
Elaria waited.
Serel stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. “We have to wake Mommy too.”
A small furrow touched Elaria’s brow.
What about the dream?
Serel slid from the bed and left the room faster than Elaria anticipated. Elaria followed, catching up just as Serel raised her hand to knock on Mournvale’s door.
“Your mother is already awake,” Elaria said. “She is currently in the archive, conducting… research. She will join us later.”
Serel pouted. “I wanted to wake her…”
“I am certain other opportunities will present themselves.”
Serel turned, eyes narrowing at her with an intense suspicion. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
After a few more seconds, the girl nodded. “Okay!” Then she seized Elaria’s hand and immediately started dragging her down the hall. “Come on. We have to take a bath!”
Elaria allowed herself to be pulled along.
Washing herself, at least, was not a complicated affair. She hadn’t taken any proper baths since leaving Caer Virell, relying instead on her Resonance. In the field, that was enough. In camps, she sometimes used water and cloth.
With Serel, however, she quickly learned that it was an event.
The girl hauled her into a large, confusingly elaborate washroom and immediately began assigning ‘tasks’ as though arranging pieces on a war table. She was exceedingly particular about the order in which things were done—the water warmed first, then the soaps arranged, then rinsing—insisting that every step adhere strictly to routine and correcting Elaria the moment she deviated.
Elaria was used to being observed. But she was not used to being observed like this.
Nor was she used to being reprimanded for rinsing someone’s hair incorrectly.
By the time they finished, Serel looked immensely pleased with herself. Elaria wondered whether this was some form of ritual Mournvale had taught her.
Serel took her hand again and led her toward the dining chamber, her steps even quicker and brighter now.
Caldrin was already there when they arrived. Plates were set, covered by silver lids. The smell was warm and, Elaria had to admit, very inviting.
“Good morning, Lady Valecrest,” the man said. “Good morning, young miss.”
“Morning!” Serel chirped, climbing into her chair without hesitation.
Elaria lingered a beat longer on Caldrin as she took the seat beside Serel. “Do you genuinely manage this entire estate yourself?” she asked.
That had always remained a point of confusion for her.
Caldrin inclined his head slightly, as if the question puzzled him. “Naturally.”
“That seems inefficient.”
“Perhaps. But it is, in fact, entirely sufficient.” He lifted the cover from one of the dishes, revealing fresh bread, soft eggs, and thin slices of cured meat. “Would you prefer otherwise?”
Elaria didn’t answer.
Serel started humming softly, swinging her feet beneath the table, but the girl did not reach for her fork.
A faint ripple of Resonance passed through the room as Mournvale stepped through a Hollow Reach near the doorway, hair still tied back, expression no longer appearing tired as her focus immediately settled on Serel.
“Morning, kiddo.”
“Mommy!” Serel beamed. “Morning!”
“Morning, Caldrin,” Mournvale added.
“Good morning, my lady.”
“And I suppose I never did say morning to you, Ela—”
She stopped.
Her eyes had landed on Elaria.
Elaria met her gaze. “Is there something wrong?”
“…You took off your armor.”
“I did, yes.”
She had changed into a sleeveless tunic and dark trousers after the bath. It had seemed excessive to don her armor while remaining within Sablewatch Hollow—though she would do so before they departed.
Mournvale’s gaze flicked over her once more before she looked away, now with a neutral expression.
“Mommy,” Serel began, “did you know Mama has bigger muscles than you? Doesn’t that mean she’s stronger?”
Mournvale’s mouth twitched as she sat down. She reached out and ruffled Serel’s hair. “It’s not a competition, alright?”
Serel squeaked and immediately tried to fix it.
Elaria observed the exchange in silence, then lowered her eyes to her meal.
The room settled into a simple rhythm of eating as Serel abruptly seemed to recall her dream from before and began recounting it to Mournvale, speaking around bites while Mournvale listened with exaggerated gravity, interrupting only to ask questions that clearly did not matter. Caldrin excused himself into the adjoining room.
Elaria remained quiet, not because she had nothing to say, but because she felt not quite part of the discussion. And because she was trying to decide how to say what needed to be said.
Eventually, she did speak.
“Serel,” she said.
The girl turned to her at once, bread in hand. “Mmm?”
Elaria kept her tone level. “I will need to leave soon.”
Serel froze.
The light went out of her expression so quickly it was almost startling. Her fingers curled tighter around the bread. “Leave… where?”
“To Caer Virell,” Elaria replied. “I have duties there. I have been away too long.”
Serel’s lower lip trembled. She blinked hard once. “But, Mama…” she whispered.
Her gaze dropped to the table.
Elaria turned to Vera.
Vera looked from her to Serel, then leaned forward slightly. “Hey,” she said, her voice gentler than Elaria was used to hearing. “What if we went with her?”
Serel’s head snapped up. “What?”
Vera shrugged, as if she were suggesting a simple walk. “If that’s what you want. We talked about it last night. It’s an option.”
“We can?” Serel said, eyes widening.
“If you want to,” Vera repeated. “There’s no must. But we can.”
Serel looked at Elaria, searching her face with an earnestness that made Elaria feel exposed.
She nodded once. “Yes.”
Serel made a small, strangled sound—it reminded Elaria half of a gasp and half of a laugh—and then bounced in her chair so hard her plate rattled. “I want to!”
Vera smiled. “Great. Then we’ll start getting things in order. It’d be a shame to just leave everything here in Marrowfen, so we’ll talk to everyone and figure out how return visits will work.” Her gaze shifted to Elaria. “You’re alright with waiting until at least tonight to leave, right?”
Elaria considered her for a moment or two before nodding. “Yes. That is acceptable.”
“Thanks.”
“I am not the one who should be thanked.”
Elaria turned her attention back to Serel, who was now visibly vibrating with excitement at the sudden prospect unfolding in front of her.
At the prospect of going with Elaria.
She had not realized—until this moment—how much she had feared the opposite. That the girl might choose to stay. That she might hesitate. She had not examined what that possibility would have meant to her until she had seen the way Serel’s expression had fallen only moments before.
Elaria glanced briefly at Vera.
…Thank you, she thought, even if she did not say it aloud.
Her gaze returned to Serel, and something settled into place within her.
Very well.
She had already had similar intentions, but now she would ensure that her home in Caer Virell was ready for the girl. Mournvale may have Sablewatch Hollow and aspects that Elaria could not easily contend with, but she was not without her own advantages.
She would need to send Ashmarks to her subordinates before the day ended.
