They had scarcely turned from the crimson blaze of Ashmere's banners...leaving behind venomous words and smoldering tempers...when horns pealed across Caelmont's courtyard.
The sound rolled like thunder over stone, and the commotion of departure faltered.
Servants froze mid-step, captains lowered their flags, and even the restless horses tossed their heads as silence fell like snow upon the square.
A path opened through the gathered throng. Down it walked Elyria Venn.
The Oracle wore no crown, no jewel nor gilded hem. Her mantle was the soft shade of dawn before the sun chooses its color, shifting faintly with each measured step.
A wind moved with her, quiet and certain, though the morning air lay still otherwise. It teased the edges of her mantle, whispering of something beyond mortal breath.
She came to the heart of the five assembled courts and lifted her hand...not high, merely enough to command every gaze.
"Lords and people," Elyria said. Her voice rang like bronze struck clean, neither loud nor forced, yet carrying to every corner of the courtyard.
"The gods have watched your councils and weighed your tempers.
No throne has pleased them wholly. None has offended them beyond recall. Take from that what wisdom you will."
A ripple passed through the crowd, like wind stirring a field, like a sudden chill. Heads bent, Hands tightened on banners.
Elyria's gaze moved slowly from one lord to the next, though she lingered on none
"The roads are long," the Oracle continued, "and the seas grow restless.
Ride without arrogance, sail without fear. Let pride not devour prudence, nor prudence strangle courage.
Keep your oaths as you expect others to keep theirs. Let the strong shelter the bruised. And let the bruised remember they are not broken."
Her gaze moved lightly, never resting, brushing flame, storm, wind, frost, and stone alike.
"Go, then, with the favor you have earned...and with the mercy you will surely need.
May your people prosper under just hands. May you return to your halls unmarred by needless blood.
Take the blessing of the gods, and take your leave of Caelmont in peace."
Her hand lowered. For a heartbeat the square held its breath. Then, as if a spell had lifted, sound returned...the clatter of harness, the tramp of boots, the low murmur of voices quickened by parting.
By the time courtiers turned to look again, Elyria Venn had vanished into the press as quietly as she had come, leaving behind only a steadier sky.
*******
The procession began.
From Caelmont's towering gates spilled a river of banners, steel, and hooves.
Wheels groaned against cobblestones and hooves struck a measured rhythm that set the stones trembling.
Trumpets flared, though faintly, as if even the musicians felt the lingering gravity of the Oracle's words.
Aurelia, with Gwen's steady hand at her elbow, climbed into the velvet-lined carriage.
The veil brushed against her cheek as she settled inside, soft as breath. Gwen slid in beside her, arranging a shawl across her knees.
Vaelric scrambled up after them, immediately pressing his face to the narrow window to watch the departing lords.
Valerian rode ahead, a dark figure astride a restless storm stallion, his cloak snapping like a stormcloud behind him.
"Did you hear her, Mother?" Vaelric whispered, his breath fogging the glass.
"I did," Aurelia answered, folding her hands in her lap. "And I liked what she chose not to say as much as what she did."
"Blessings are fine words," Gwen remarked, giving a small, practical sniff as she tugged the shawl snug. "It's the miles that test them."
"Then we shall pass the miles," Aurelia murmured, more to herself than to either of them.
Gwen gave her a faint smile. "Off to Virelia, then."
Aurelia turned her head, met Gwen's eyes, and drew in a steadying breath. "Yes. To Virelia. Our new home."
"You'll love it, Mother," Vaelric said quickly, turning from the window. His eyes shone with that fearless conviction only youth could summon.
"Something tells me you're meant to be there."
Her heart tightened. She reached to touch his hair, brushing back an unruly strand.
"Then time will tell, my brave boy. Time will tell."
Outside, the Stormborne banners unfurled like severed thunderheads across the pale sky.
Valerian swung fully into the saddle, lifting his hand to signal the march.
The hinges of Caelmont's gates groaned as they opened wide, releasing the gathered hosts into the road beyond.
The symphony of hooves and wheels swelled as the lords' entourages wound their way into the hills.
Sunlight climbed higher, gilding helms and standards, casting long shadows that stretched eastward toward Virelia.
Aurelia leaned back, her gaze drifting from the bright fields unfurling beyond the gates to the small boy at her side.
Vaelric's eagerness warmed her spirit, while Gwen's quiet presence steadied her. Yet within, she carried a tangle of anticipation and unease. Elyria's words lingered in her mind....part blessing, part warning.
Valerian rode ahead like a storm-bound sentinel, silent, watchful, a man shouldering the weight of what lay before them.
She wondered what storms stirred behind his calm exterior, what burdens Virelia would lay upon him....and upon her.
From the eastern flank, a rider slipped free of the column and matched his pace.
The stallion was silver-grey, its mane a stream of mist. The man upon it wore a cloak that rose and fell as though breathing with the wind.
Platinum hair shone against the morning light. Lord Sylas Skyborne reined in alongside Valerian.
His smile was smooth, carrying a warmth that might have been genuine, or might have been only the courtesy of a man who always hid more than he revealed.
"Lord Stormborne," Sylas called lightly, his tone smooth as air over a blade. "The winds insisted I not let you quit Caelmont without stealing a moment of your company."
Valerian did not glance at him right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, his posture unyielding.
"If you're here to steal it," he said at last, his voice low and edged, "take it quickly. I've no mood to haggle."
Sylas chuckled, reining his stallion so their strides matched.
"Haggle? My friend, I only wish to share the air beside you. Storm and wind, after all, have never been enemies. Not truly."
"That depends," Valerian said, voice low, "on which way the wind is blowing."