The courtyard of Vale House still smelled of smoke. Ash clung to the cracks in the stone, and the air carried the faint sting of burned sigils. But for the first time in living memory, there were flowers.
A handful of servants had stolen them from the overgrown garden, cutting the stems with kitchen knives, arranging them in chipped glass jars along the railings. Their colors were dull from neglect, but against the gray courtyard they looked like fire.
Elma stood in the center with Calista at her side. No chains, no leash, no shadow waiting at the door.
The people of Vale House gathered around—guards in dented armor, maids in patched dresses, cooks with soot on their hands. They weren't dressed for ceremony, but their eyes were sharp, fixed on the two women standing before them.
It wasn't a wedding. Not yet. But everyone knew what it meant.
Calista stepped forward first, her voice cutting through the hush. "This house has lived under masters for too long. Nitron taught us chains, silence, fear. We bury that with him."
She turned to Elma, her gaze steady. "What rises in its place isn't a crown. It's a vow."
Elma's heart thudded. She wasn't used to being watched like this—not with hope. The shard stirred faintly, humming like an ember at the base of her spine. She pushed it down and reached for Calista's hand.
Her voice came low but clear. "I was raised to serve or die. He called me vessel. He thought he owned my body, my fire, my soul. But I never bled for him."
She lifted their joined hands. The crowd leaned forward.
"I bleed for her. I fight for her. If I burn, it's with her name on my lips."
The courtyard went still. Even the wind seemed to pause.
Calista's eyes softened, but her smile was dangerous, sharp as glass. She tilted her head toward the people. "You hear her. We do not kneel. We do not chain. We do not obey. From this day, we rise together—free, or not at all."
A murmur ran through the crowd. Some bowed their heads, some pressed fists to their chests, some simply stared in silence. But no one turned away.
For the first time, Elma felt it—not worship, not fear. Something like belonging.
That night, the hall filled with music for the first time in years. Someone found a broken fiddle, another a drum. Servants sang in voices gone rough with disuse, but laughter wove between the notes.
Elma sat with Calista near the fire, their hands still linked, a small circle of space carved out amid the chaos. Every so often, someone came forward to pour them wine or bow in thanks. Elma hated the bowing, but Calista only smiled, accepting it as if it were natural.
"They'll call this a union," Calista murmured against her ear.
Elma glanced at her, brow furrowed. "And you?"
Calista's smile curved slow, dangerous. "I call it ours."
Elma kissed her then, not with desperation but with quiet certainty. The hall cheered, voices rising, and for a brief moment, Vale House didn't feel like a cage. It felt like the beginning of something alive.
But peace never lasts.
When the music faded and the fire burned low, a guard slipped into the hall, his armor streaked with dust. He knelt at the edge of the crowd, his voice carrying over the last notes of song.
"A rider waits at the gate."
The hall quieted at once.
Calista's eyes narrowed. "From where?"
"From the city," the guard said. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "He carries no banner—but he asks for audience with… the Vessel."
Every eye turned to Elma.
The shard stirred again, sharper this time, a whisper curling through her mind. They come. Take them. Rule.
Elma's hand tightened around Calista's, and for the first time that night, her smile faded.
The union had been made. But the world beyond Vale House had already come knocking.