Against The World

An hour later, we walked Evelyn to the northern gate.

Her escort had increased to ten riders. Two wagons traveled with them, carrying copies of the Westmere records and messages for Valewood.

Workers moved around us in every direction.

Surveyors marked the eastern housing district. Laborers cleared the road toward the abandoned quarry. Masons inspected the inner wall. Near the water basin, carpenters constructed a roof over the new distribution point.

Greykeep looked less like a camp than it had yesterday.

It did not look like a city yet.

But the shape of one had begun to appear.

Evelyn placed one foot in her stirrup.

Then she hesitated.

“Uriah.”

“Yes?”

“My test is complete.”

“I remember.”

“I am no longer required to observe you.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It means that when I return, it will be because I chose to.”

I looked at her.

The guarded expression she had worn when she first entered Greykeep was gone.

“I hope you do,” I said.

Her smile was quiet but unmistakable.

“So do I.”

She mounted and turned her horse toward the road.

Melody appeared beside me as the Valewood party passed through the gate.

“She likes you.”

I nearly tripped over a survey stake.

“What?”

“Evelyn.”

Mary joined us.

“Melody.”

“She does.”

“You do not need to announce it.”

“Why not?”

I watched Evelyn’s green cloak disappear among the riders.

“She was evaluating whether I was worthy of the Crown.”

Melody nodded.

“And now she wants to kiss you.”

Mary closed her eyes.

“That conclusion does not follow.”

“It does.”

“You cannot know that.”

“I have instincts.”

“You also thought Thomas was trustworthy because he gave us keys.”

“He was trustworthy.”

Mary looked at me.

“Please ignore her.”

“I am trying.”

Melody smiled.

“You are blushing.”

“I am tired.”

“That is not where tiredness goes.”

I walked away.

They followed.

Unfortunately.

Valewood Manor stood above a green valley bordered by orchards and low wooded hills.

It had no towers.

House Valewood’s ancestors had learned that towers attracted siege engines.

The manor was broad, fortified, and deliberately unremarkable from a distance. Only someone approaching its gates would notice the thickness of the walls or the archers positioned behind decorative stone screens.

Evelyn arrived shortly after sunset on the second day.

Her father received her in the family council chamber.

Lord Garrick Valewood was a large man with iron-gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Age had slowed his movements but done nothing to soften his stare.

Lady Helena sat beside him.

Where Garrick appeared carved from old oak, Helena resembled a polished blade. Her dark hair showed only a few threads of silver, and her pale green gown carried no unnecessary decoration.

Evelyn had inherited her mother’s eyes.

She had also inherited the uncomfortable sensation that those eyes noticed everything.

Garrick dismissed the servants.

“The reports from Westmere are contradictory,” he said. “Harwick claims an invasion. Berrin claims sorcery. Captain Vale claims lawful intervention.”

“Only one of those is accurate.”

“Which?”

“Captain Vale’s.”

Her father leaned back.

“So Harwick has fallen.”

“His stewardship was revoked.”

“By the boy.”

“By the king.”

Silence followed.

Helena’s eyebrows rose slightly.

Evelyn kept her expression calm.

Garrick noticed the correction too.

“You recognize him?”

“House Valewood already does. I made the declaration at Westmere.”

“You acted without our direct authorization.”

“The Measure grants me that authority.”

“If the Crown’s claimant proves worthy.”

“He did.”

Her father stood and walked toward the window.

“Tell me everything.”

Evelyn did.

She described Greykeep’s awakened Crown.

The thousands arriving from across the continent.

The temporary council.

The public accounting of food and supplies.

Uriah’s refusal to execute Harwick’s soldiers.

The transit gate.

The prisoners.

The flooding of Westmere’s lower level.

Berrin’s attack.

Harwick’s removal.

She spoke for nearly an hour.

Her parents interrupted frequently.

Garrick asked about defenses, land claims, and military numbers.

Helena asked about food, sanitation, workers, and public sentiment.

Neither asked whether Uriah wore a crown.

They understood that symbols mattered less than behavior.

When Evelyn finished, her father returned to his chair.

“He entered an enemy citadel with four companions.”

“Five people in total.”

“That is not better.”

“No.”

“He had no army waiting.”

“No.”

“No formal treaty with Westmere.”

“No.”

“And no knowledge of the citadel’s strength.”

“Limited knowledge.”

Garrick rubbed his forehead.

“He is reckless.”

“At times, but he is immensely powerful.”

“Inexperienced.”

“Yes.”

“Politically dangerous.”

“Frequently.”

“And you declared him worthy.”

Evelyn folded her hands.

“He entered Westmere because Harwick had imprisoned twenty-three people for bearing the Crown. When Harwick flooded the lower cells, Uriah risked collapsing the citadel to save prisoners, servants, and guards—including men who had been ordered to arrest him.”

“A calculated display,” Garrick said.

“No.”

Evelyn answered too quickly.

Her mother noticed.

Garrick did too.

Evelyn continued more carefully.

“He is capable of calculation. That was not one. He saw people in danger and acted.”

Helena leaned forward.

“You admire him.”

“He earned my respect.”

“That was not what I said.”

Evelyn held her mother’s gaze.

“He earned that as well.”

Garrick frowned.

Helena’s expression became thoughtful.

“How old is he?”

“Nineteen.”

“And you are twenty-one.”

“I am aware of my age, Mother.”

“I would hope so.”

“This has nothing to do with the Measure.”

“Of course not.”

Helena’s tone meant the opposite.

Evelyn removed a packet of documents from her case.

“Greykeep requests grain, blankets, canvas, soap, tools, and healers. In return, Uriah offers Valewood merchants equal access to the developing market and future access to the northern transit route.”

Garrick did not touch the packet.

“What else?”

“He is prepared to recognize Valewood’s existing borders.”

Her father’s suspicion deepened.

“Without negotiation?”

“On the condition that the people within them accept our rule.”

“There it is.”

“It is a reasonable condition.”

“It gives common farmers a voice in territorial law.”

“Yes.”

Garrick looked offended by the concept.

Helena looked interested.

“And what does the king want personally?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“No title granted to an ally? No Valewood troops permanently stationed beneath his walls? No financial oath?”

“No.”

“Marriage?”

Evelyn’s composure failed.

Only slightly.

It was still enough.

“No.”

Helena smiled.

Garrick looked between them.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Evelyn said.

“Something just happened.”

“Nothing happened.”

Helena rose and walked around the table.

“Did he mention marriage?”

“No.”

“Did you?”

“Mother.”

“I am merely trying to establish the boundaries of the negotiation.”

“There was no negotiation regarding marriage.”

“But you considered one.”

Evelyn felt heat reach her cheeks.

Her mother’s smile widened.

Garrick stared at his daughter.

“You are smitten with him.”

“I am not smitten.”

“You corrected me when I called him a boy.”

“He is the recognized King of Greykeep.”

“You smiled while describing him repairing a drainage channel.”

“I did not.”

“You did,” Helena said.

Evelyn looked betrayed.

Her mother appeared delighted.

“I respect him,” Evelyn insisted.

“Certainly.”

“I believe an alliance between Greykeep and Valewood is essential.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“And if strengthening that alliance eventually involved a more personal relationship, I would be willing to consider it.”

Garrick’s mouth opened.

Helena spoke first.

“You hope to win him over.”

Evelyn wanted to deny it.

She had been trained to negotiate treaties, judge rulers, manage estates, and remain calm while armed men threatened her.

None of that training helped when her parents looked at her like this.

“I would like him to see me as more than an envoy,” she admitted.

Her father sat heavily.

“The King of Greykeep.”

“Yes.”

“The nineteen-year-old who invaded Westmere with four people.”

“Five in total.”

“That is still not better.”

Helena touched her husband’s shoulder.

“At least she chose someone interesting.”

“She has not chosen anyone.”

Evelyn stood.

“I came to request supplies, not permission to marry him.”

“Has he shown interest?” Helena asked.

Evelyn remembered Uriah watching her laugh in Greykeep’s kitchen.

His simple answer at the gate.

I hope you do.

“Possibly.”

Her mother noticed that too.

“Send the grain,” Garrick said suddenly.

Both women looked at him.

He scowled.

“Send everything requested. Double the healers and add two companies of engineers.”

Evelyn blinked.

“You agree to the terms?”

“I agree that six thousand hungry people on our western border are everyone’s problem.”

Helena squeezed his shoulder.

“And?”

“And if this king is going to attract my daughter’s attention, I want people in Greykeep reporting directly to me.”

“Garrick.”

“What? She inherited this from you.”

Helena smiled.

“Most of her good qualities came from me.”

Evelyn gathered the documents before either parent could continue.

“I will prepare the convoy.”

“You arrived less than an hour ago,” her mother said.

“Greykeep needs those supplies.”

“Greykeep?”

Evelyn paused at the door.

Helena’s expression was innocent.

Far too innocent.

“The king needs them,” Evelyn said evenly.

Then she left before her parents could see her blush again.

Behind her, Garrick groaned.

“She is smitten.”

“Yes,” Helena said.

“Can he at least turn twenty before this becomes complicated?”

“I doubt complications consult calendars.”

Back at Greykeep, complications had not consulted anyone.

The quarry road collapsed shortly after noon.

No one was injured.

That was the good news.

The bad news was that the collapse revealed an underground chamber directly beneath the road.

Eleanor, Aldren, Mary, Melody, Alistair, and I stood at its edge.

Stone steps descended into darkness.

A carved Crown marked the first step.

Beneath it, someone had placed a warning in the old Greykeep script.

Mary held a lantern closer.

“Can you read it?” I asked.

“Some of it.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Probably.”

Eleanor looked at me.

“You use that word too often.”

Mary traced the faded letters.

“It says, ‘Let no wall be raised above the sleeping…’”

“The sleeping what?” Melody asked.

“The last word is damaged.”

“That seems important.”

“Yes.”

Alistair drew his sword.

A cold wind rose from the chamber.

It carried the smell of dust, stone, and something older.

Behind us, hundreds of workers waited for instructions. The new housing district needed the quarry. The bridge needed stone. Nearly two thousand people still lacked proper shelter.

I looked into the darkness.

“Can we build the road around it?”

Eleanor shook her head.

“Not without delaying the eastern district by several weeks.”

“Of course.”

The Crown on my palm began to glow.

A second light answered from below.

Then a third.

Then hundreds.

Melody leaned over the edge.

“Those look like eyes.”

The lights moved.

Stone scraped against stone deep beneath Greykeep.

Mary took one step backward.

I summoned the hammer.

Repairs would have to wait.

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