Lord of the Foresaken
Chapter 34: ALLIANCE PROPOSALS

Chapter 34: ALLIANCE PROPOSALS

Dawn crept through the narrow window of Reed’s temporary quarters, casting sickly yellow light across the chamber. The Tournament officials had relocated him overnight—a gesture they claimed was for his protection, though the additional wards and guards suggested otherwise. Reed sat on the edge of his bed, fingers steepled beneath his chin, watching as the light slowly revealed the sparse furnishings.

They’d separated him from Shia. Her absence left an uncomfortable void in his awareness, like a phantom limb. The void-touched assassin had become more than a tool; she was now intrinsically linked to whatever dark game played out around them. Without her, Reed felt exposed.

A soft knock interrupted his contemplation. Marcus entered, carrying a tray laden with bread, fruit, and a steaming pot of tea. His face bore the pallor of sleeplessness, but his eyes remained sharp.

"Eat, my lord," he said, setting the tray down. "The game intensifies today."

Reed raised an eyebrow. "News travels quickly."

"Like blood in water," Marcus confirmed, pouring tea with practiced precision. The steam curled upward in patterns that seemed deliberately obscure the words he spoke next. "Your display of legal knowledge yesterday has... intrigued certain parties."

Reed took the cup, inhaling the familiar aroma of blackleaf—an expensive blend favored by the upper nobility. Someone had gone to considerable expense for a prisoner’s breakfast.

"The rumors have spread, then." It wasn’t a question.

Marcus gave a tight smile. "Three messengers arrived before dawn. Lords and Ladies who previously wouldn’t have acknowledged your existence now seek private audiences."

Reed tore a piece of bread, noting the quality of its crust—another subtle message. "They smell opportunity in chaos."

"Or they fear what’s coming." Marcus lowered his voice. "The void manifestation has frightened many. Ancient prophecies long dismissed as superstition suddenly seem uncomfortably relevant."

A hollow laugh escaped Reed’s lips. "And so they rush to secure alliances with the potential harbinger of doom." He shook his head. "Who makes the first overture?"

"Lady Seraphina of House Luminar arrives within the hour."

Reed’s eyebrows rose. Lady Seraphina—the one who had publicly identified Shia’s power as void manipulation. Her interest was particularly troubling.

"Curious," Reed murmured. "And the others?"

"Lord Krell seeks an afternoon audience." Marcus’s expression darkened. "A bold move, considering his agent was caught planting evidence in your chambers."

"Or a calculated one," Reed countered. "Only the guilty flee. The innocent—or those wishing to appear innocent—confront suspicion directly."

"Perhaps." Marcus hesitated. "The third request comes from Lord Thorn."

Reed paused mid-bite. Lord Thorn was a reclusive figure, seldom seen at court functions and keeping to the fringes of noble society. Rumors painted him as everything from a practiced poisoner to a secret practitioner of forbidden magic. The few verified facts about him were equally intriguing: he had risen from common birth, much like Reed himself, earning his title through mysterious service to the Crown rather than inheritance.

"Accept all three," Reed decided. "And arrange for me to see Shia before the first meeting."

Marcus’s expression tightened. "That... may be difficult. The Archon has placed her under special observation. The void energy continues to alter her."

Reed set down his cup with deliberate care. "I don’t recall making a request, Marcus."

His advisor bowed slightly. "Of course, my lord. I’ll make the arrangements."

The observation chamber where they kept Shia resembled a cage designed by someone who had only heard descriptions of prisons. Crystal pillars surrounded a circular platform, each pillar inscribed with runes that pulsed with silver light. Within this circle, Shia knelt, her head bowed.

The changes were immediately apparent. Her skin had taken on a translucent quality, revealing not blood vessels beneath but channels of swirling darkness. Her hair, once midnight black, now shimmered with an iridescence that caught nonexistent light. When she raised her head at Reed’s approach, her eyes had become pools of liquid shadow, tiny pinpricks of violet light serving as pupils.

"My lord," she spoke, her voice carrying an echo that seemed to arrive before her words. "They watch me constantly."

Reed approached the boundary of runes, careful not to touch the shimmering barrier between them. "How much can you say?"

A cold smile touched her lips. "They can observe my physical form, but the void speaks in tongues they cannot comprehend." She tilted her head. "Alliances come to court you today."

Reed nodded. "Three nobles seek audience."

"Three visible pieces on the board," Shia agreed. "But the hidden hand moves others." She leaned forward, the motion unnaturally fluid. "Trust none of them completely, my lord. Especially those who speak of similar backgrounds."

Reed’s eyes narrowed. "Lord Thorn?"

Shia’s expression revealed nothing, but the void-light in her eyes brightened momentarily. "The Trial of Nine approaches. You need allies, but remember: in the void, shadows may resemble truth without containing any."

The barrier between them suddenly flared, the runes brightening to painful intensity. Shia grimaced, pulling back.

"Our time ends," she whispered. "They fear what I might tell you." Her eyes locked with his. "Remember the ninth circle, my lord. Remember it must be filled."

The barrier between them solidified into opacity, cutting her from view. Reed stood alone, contemplating her words as guards approached to escort him back to his quarters.

Lady Seraphina arrived precisely on time, a trait uncommon among nobility who typically used tardiness to establish dominance. She swept into Reed’s chamber unescorted, dismissing the guards with a casual wave of her hand. Her robes, the color of burnished gold, caught the light in hypnotic patterns that drew the eye away from her face.

"Lord Reed," she greeted, her voice musical yet precise. "Your Tournament performance continues to surprise."

Reed offered a formal bow, precisely measured to acknowledge her higher station while maintaining his dignity. "Lady Seraphina. To what do I owe this honor?"

"Let us dispense with pretense," she replied, seating herself without invitation. "You control a void-touched assassin who spoke prophecy that terrified half the nobility. You invoked ancient law that most scholars have forgotten. And you survive, despite forces arrayed against you." Her lips curved into a smile that never reached her eyes. "You have become... relevant."

"Relevance is often hazardous to one’s health," Reed observed, taking the seat opposite her.

"Indeed. Which is why you need allies." She leaned forward. "House Luminar has studied the void for generations. What you witnessed—what your servant has become—we predicted centuries ago."

Reed maintained a neutral expression. "You identified her power publicly. Why share such knowledge freely?"

"To establish credentials," she answered simply. "And to signal to certain parties that House Luminar recognizes the signs." Her fingers traced patterns on the table between them—nine interlocking circles. "The Trial of Nine is not merely a punishment, Lord Reed. It is a selection process."

Reed’s pulse quickened, though his face betrayed nothing. "And what interest does House Luminar have in such a process?"

"Survival." For the first time, her composure cracked slightly. "The void grows hungry. The barriers thin. Your servant is merely the first visible symptom of a disease that threatens to consume our world." Her eyes bored into his. "We offer alliance. Our knowledge of the void coupled with your... unique position."

"And in return?"

"When you face the Trial, you will encounter artifacts of void-touched origin. Bring them to us, not to the Archons. They would destroy what they fear rather than understand it."

Reed considered her words carefully. "Your offer implies I’ll survive the Trial. Many would consider that... optimistic."

Lady Seraphina smiled thinly. "I never make unprofitable investments, Lord Reed. Consider my offer. House Luminar stands ready."

She rose in a fluid motion, the discussion clearly concluded to her satisfaction. As she reached the door, she paused. "One final piece of advice: when Lord Krell arrives, ask about the massacre at Thornwood Bridge. His reaction will prove... educational."

Lord Krell proved a study in contrasts to Lady Seraphina. Where she had been precise and elegant, he entered like a storm—loud, forceful, accompanied by two armored guards who positioned themselves at the door.

"Lord Reed," he boomed, his massive frame barely contained by his ceremonial armor, inlaid with blood-red garnets that matched his house sigil: a gauntleted fist crushing a heart. "Quite the spectacle you’ve created!"

Reed nodded coolly. "As has House Krell, it seems. Your agents have busy hands."

Krell laughed, the sound like stones grinding together. "Direct! I appreciate that in a potential ally." He dropped into the chair Lady Seraphina had occupied earlier, the wood creaking in protest. "Let’s be plain: my man was caught. Embarrassing, but hardly fatal to our discussions."

"You admit ordering the evidence planted?"

"Of course not," Krell grinned. "I admit nothing. But I respect a man who fights when cornered. You showed teeth yesterday, invoking the Compurgation. Old laws have power, especially in desperate times."

Reed measured his next words carefully. "Speaking of old matters... what can you tell me about Thornwood Bridge?"

The effect was immediate and visceral. Krell’s ruddy face drained of color, his massive hands clenching into fists. The guards at the door shifted, hands moving to weapon hilts.

"Who speaks to you of Thornwood?" Krell demanded, voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

Reed shrugged lightly. "Tournament gossip. The name seemed to carry weight."

"Twenty years ago," Krell said slowly, "a rebellion was crushed at Thornwood. House Krell led the Crown’s forces. We did what was necessary." His eyes narrowed. "Some call it massacre. I call it duty."

"And the connection to current events?"

Krell leaned forward, his massive bulk suddenly threatening. "The rebels carried a banner: nine circles surrounding a throne. They claimed the old prophecies foretold the fall of noble houses." His expression darkened. "We executed every rebel. Burned their writings. Erased their symbols from history. Yet here we are, two decades later, watching void-energy tear the sky and hearing the same damned prophecy from your servant’s lips."

Reed kept his expression neutral. "You fear history repeating itself."

"I fear nothing," Krell growled. "But I prepare for everything. House Krell offers alliance—our military might and political connections in exchange for information. Whatever you learn in the Trial of Nine, you bring to me first."

"An interesting proposition."

"A necessary one." Krell stood. "Consider carefully, Lord Reed. Some offers only come once." He moved toward the door, then paused. "One more thing: Lord Thorn is not what he appears. Trust him at your peril."

When Lord Thorn finally arrived as evening shadows lengthened, Reed found himself facing a man of stark contrasts to his previous visitors. Where Seraphina had been elegant and Krell imposing, Thorn was... ordinary. Medium height, unremarkable features, simple dark clothing with only a small silver pin—his house sigil of a thorned rose—marking his nobility.

"Lord Reed," he greeted, his voice soft but clear. "Thank you for receiving me after such exhausting meetings."

Reed gestured to the seat opposite him. "Your reputation precedes you, Lord Thorn."

"Most of it fabricated," Thorn replied with a slight smile. "Though I confess I encourage certain rumors. Fear creates distance, and distance provides freedom."

"A philosophy I understand well."

Thorn studied him for a moment. "Yes, I believe you do." He leaned back. "We share similar paths, you and I. Common birth. Struggle. A title earned rather than inherited."

Reed nodded cautiously, Shia’s warning echoing in his mind. "True enough."

"Then let me speak plainly. The other lords approach you with agendas centuries in the making. Houses Luminar and Krell play games whose rules were written in blood long ago." Thorn’s eyes met Reed’s directly. "I offer something simpler: mutual survival."

"You believe we’re in danger?"

"I know we are." Thorn’s voice hardened. "The old families fear change above all else. Two commoners rising to lordship in a single generation? Unprecedented. A void-touched servant speaking prophecy of fallen lords? Unforgivable." He shook his head. "They’ll use you, drain what they need, then discard you—or worse."

Reed considered this. "And your proposal differs how?"

"I don’t want your servant’s power or your Trial knowledge. I want partnership." Thorn reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small, unadorned wooden box. "This belongs to you, I believe."

Reed opened it carefully. Inside lay a familiar sight: the empty vial Shia had consumed, its crystal surface still bearing faint traces of void residue.

His eyes snapped up to Thorn’s face. "How did you obtain this?"

"I removed it from your quarters before Krell’s agent could find it." Thorn’s expression remained calm. "The hooded figure who gave it to you—he was my agent."

Reed’s blood ran cold. "Your agent is dead."

"Murdered by someone who fears what’s coming." Thorn nodded grimly. "Just as they fear what your servant is becoming, what you might learn in the Trial."

"And what is that, exactly?"

Thorn hesitated, then reached for his collar, pulling it down to reveal a marking on his chest—a partial circle scarred into his flesh. "I’ve undergone part of the Trial myself, years ago. I know enough to recognize that the nine circles aren’t just a symbol." His voice dropped. "They’re keys to something ancient. Something the noble houses buried generations ago."

"The throne of ash," Reed murmured.

"Yes." Thorn nodded. "Together, we might survive what’s coming. Apart..." He left the sentence unfinished.

Reed studied him carefully. Of the three visitors, Thorn offered what seemed most valuable—genuine connection, a shared outsider status, mutual need. Yet Shia’s warning lingered.

"I accept your offer of alliance," Reed decided finally. "But conditions apply. I share information at my discretion. My servant remains under my protection alone."

Thorn smiled, extending his hand. "Agreed. The Trial begins at midnight tomorrow. Before then, we should discuss strategy."

As they clasped hands, Reed noticed something he’d missed before—a thin line of violet tracing the veins in Thorn’s wrist, nearly invisible against his skin. The same violet that now pulsed through Shia’s transformed body.

"One question," Reed said casually, maintaining his grip on Thorn’s hand. "If your agent gave me the vial, then you’re the source of Shia’s transformation. Why?"

Thorn’s smile never wavered, but something shifted behind his eyes—something ancient and calculating. "Because, Lord Reed, some circles must be broken before they can be completed."

He pulled his hand free, the violet veins momentarily pulsing brighter before fading from view. "Midnight tomorrow. The Archons will come for you. Be ready."

As the door closed behind Thorn, Reed stood motionless, replaying the conversations of the day. Three alliances offered, each with hidden daggers. Three perspectives on the Trial of Nine, each incomplete.

The answer lay with Shia—with the void that spoke through her. With sudden clarity, Reed knew his next move.

He had to break her out before midnight.