That night, the manor was silent in the way only the North could manage.
Aveline sat at the small desk by her window, a single lamp casting warm light over scattered scraps of parchment. The cold pressed faintly against the glass, but her thoughts were far from it.
She hadn't brought ledgers. She hadn't brought reports.
She didn't need them.
Her mind replayed the day instead.
"Bread lasts longer than it tastes good."
"Defense sells."
"Imported, but it lasts."
She set her quill down, tapping the parchment once.
"Everything is built to endure," she murmured. "Except the people."
Lina sat nearby, mending a tear in a cloak. Tomas leaned against the wall, arms crossed, while Aaron sprawled half-on the bed, watching the ceiling.
"They spend on what keeps them alive," Aveline continued, thinking aloud. "Food. Tools. Weapons. Warmth."
"And they don't waste coins on frills," Aaron said.
"Not because they don't want them," she replied. "Because they can't afford to replace things that break."
She began writing then—not numbers, but words.
Durable.
Repairable.
Local materials.
Tomas frowned slightly. "You're thinking about work."
"I'm thinking about sustainability," Aveline corrected.
She drew a simple diagram—lines branching outward.
"Clothes wear out quickly here," she said. "Wind, snow, cold. The food is meant to keep them alive and full. The clothes are meant to keep them warm for years to come. Even little boys carry around firewood."
Lina looked up. "It's like all they're trying to survive is the cold."
"Exactly," Aveline said, eyes bright. "What if they didn't have to?"
Aaron sat up. "You're not thinking of luxury like before."
"No," she said. "I'm thinking about standardization."
She explained calmly, step by step.
"What is the one thing the North has an abundance of?"
"Assholes" Tomas remarked.
Aveline looked back at him. "Funny, but no. One thing it has but can never really use. So it has no choice but to export it.
"Quartz," Lina said. "The North is the biggest exporter of mineral stones. Luminite, Aetherstone, Emberjade, you name it."
Aaron nodded slowly. "But they don't have a lot of mages that are good at runes. And so they have no other choice but to just export it."
"To be fair, they never really focussed much on magic. They are a land of knights, through and through," Aveline replied. "The Royals never really wanted to help the North, so they sent no mages here. And the mages themselves, too scared to venture into the North, a territory of cold winds and enemies. But what if we offered those mages"
Lina's eyes widened. "We could make quartz and runes that can help improve people's daily lives."
"And keep the quartz in the North," Aveline said. "Since the quartz will be procured locally, we can use the lower quality ones to sell them cheap, and the higher quality ones can be more expensive."
Aaron grinned. "You're already plotting."
Aveline finally smiled—small, sharp, certain.
"I don't want to change the North overnight," she said. "I want to give it something that grows quietly. Something people don't resist because it makes sense."
She set the quill down.
Aaron straightened. "But where can we even find mages of that caliber?"
"We have me here. And we also have you."
Outside, the wind howled softly against the stone walls.
Inside, a seed had been planted.
And Aveline Faylinn—Duchess of Eryndale, Mistress Evora, builder of unseen empires—was already thinking ten steps ahead.
*****************
The idea refused to leave her.
It followed Aveline through the halls the next morning, lingered as Lina fastened her cloak, and sat with her even as she sipped the bitter northern tea that never quite warmed the hands.
By every metric, it would work.
And by every rule that mattered, she could not be the one to run it.
She stopped mid-step.
"No," Aveline murmured.
Lina glanced up. "My lady?"
Aveline shook her head slightly, more to herself than anyone else. "If the Duchess of Eryndale opens a business, it becomes political. And if the cursed daughter of Faylinn opens a business, it becomes doomed."
Tomas frowned. "Isn't that unavoidable?"
"Influence is unavoidable," she replied calmly. "Exposure is not."
She resumed walking, mind already rearranging pieces.
"Aveline Faylinn is watched," she continued. "Pitied. Feared. Measured. Anything I touch becomes… suspect."
She turns around. "But Evora isn't."
Mistress Evora.
A woman without a title. Without a lineage worth scrutinizing. A name already associated with trade, with competence, with quiet results rather than scandal.
Evora could fail without consequence.
Evora could succeed without threatening anyone.
"And if Evora builds this," Aveline said softly, "then the North gains something useful. Not something it feels it must resist."
Lina hesitated. "But the Duke…"
Aveline exhaled once.
"Yes," she said. "Caelum Eryndale."
This was the obstacle.
Caelum Eryndale did not trust anyone from the South. He wouldn't forbid it outright—but because he would ask why.
And she could not give him the whole truth.
Not yet.
Aveline stood before the mirror, fastening a simple pin at her collar. Not Duchess. Not merchant.
Something in between.
"He needs to meet Evora," she said. "Not the cursed bride. Not the political liability."
Tomas folded his arms. "And if he refuses?"
"Then I negotiate," she replied.
Her tone was mild.
Decisive.
"He doesn't need to like her," Aveline continued. "He only needs to see that she doesn't interfere. That she brings work. Coin. Stability."
Aaron grinned faintly. "You make it sound easy."
"It isn't," she said. "But he respects efficiency."
And Caelum Eryndale respected very few things.
She turned from the mirror.
Lina's fingers tightened slightly in her sleeves. "Even so, my lady, I do not believe this will work."
Aveline paused while Tomas continued. "You have tried before. To send people to the North. Many times. Each time they returned empty handed. The North does not welcome outsiders."
"Yes," she admitted. "But we can't just sit by and do nothing"
"What if we used someone from the North?" Aaron suggested.
She met his eyes. "Who?"
"Anyone really. We just need to offer them money to be the front face of the idea."
"There is no one trustworthy enough here to do that. Not for us at least." Tomas piped.
Aveline hummed in agreement. There is no telling whether anyone they seek out wouldn't reveal their secret. The Northerners are loyal to their lord. No amount of money would easily influence anyone.
The room felt silent as each person was thinking of a solution.
"If only we had someone in between. Someone from the North who also belonged to the South." Lina exhaled.
Aveline whipped her head towards Lina. "That's it!"
"Maybe we can find someone from the North who went South."
"I doubt there would be many, my lady."
"There was one I know. Alden Eryndale."
All three of them looked at her. "Alden Eryndale is alive?"
"Well .. no. But his legacy is."
"And what legacy is that, my lady?"
"It's a long story. But first, we need to get information."
"What kind of information?"
"Information on how many mines the North operates. How many mages it has. And the most important thing, who Alden told his stories to."
"I still don't understand what he has to do with this."
"Alden Eryndale stayed quite some time in the South. There he met and trained someone, before going back to the North. What we need to find out is whether he said anything about this person to his brother once he came back."
Aveline smiled the more she thought about it. If there is anyone the Northerners would trust, it's another Northerner. And who's more trustworthy than Alden Eryndale?
"So not only do we need to find out whether Alden Eryndale talked about training anyone, but also find out about who that someone is?" Tomas groaned. This was going to be a pain.
"We already know who he taught."
"Really? Who?"
She smirked. "Me."
*******************
The room was cold.
Not from winter—stone walls had long learned to hold warmth—but from the silence that pressed down like judgment itself. A single brazier burned at the far end of the chamber, its light stretching just far enough to reveal the figures kneeling on the floor.
Three men. Heads bowed. Shoulders tense.
At the head of the room sat Caelum Eryndale, his posture rigid, grey eyes unreadable. To his right stood Corvin Ashenrow, hands folded behind his back, gaze sharp and observant as ever.
"As you suggested." Corvin started. "I sent out three knights in training to fake an attack on her ladyship when she went out. These knights might not be the best we had, but they were still plenty strong."
A moment of silence filled the room.
"Speak," Caelum said at last.
The men flinched as if struck.
The one in the center swallowed. "My lord… the attack failed."
Caelum's fingers rested against the arm of his chair. He did not move. "I can see that."
The man nodded quickly. "We followed your orders precisely. No lethal force. Just enough pressure to see how she would respond."
Corvin's eyes narrowed slightly. "And?"
"She didn't scream," another man said hoarsely. "Didn't freeze either."
Caelum's gaze sharpened.
"She reacted instantly," the first continued. "Before we even closed in. Before we knew what was going on, she had one of us on the ground."
"How?"
These were big burly men. No average petite little lady could bring them down that quick and easy.
"We can't be sure, my lord. But she used magic. And it was pretty controlled magic too."
Corvin tilted his head. "Controlled?"
The man shook his head. "Yes, sir. Precise. Calculated. If it were normal attack magic, it would effect a higher area. Instead, it was precise and where it was supposed to go and exactly who it was going to affect."
Caelum leaned forward.
"Describe it."
The third man clenched his fists. "At first, she used no incantation. No visible sigils. She manipulated mana directly. I don't know how she did it, but it was like she used it on herself first. She became quick. The speed at which she closed the distance between us was not something an ordinary mage could do. I've only ever seen that speed with knights who can use speed enhancements. And then, she began using incantations. They were simple ones too. She first cut my hand so the blade would fall. That itself was very precise."
Silence fell heavier.
"She didn't overpower us," the first added quickly. "She outmaneuvered us. Every strike was placed to disable. Every movement… efficient."
Corvin glanced at Caelum. "Battle-trained."
"Yes," Caelum said quietly.
The men hesitated, then one spoke again. "My lord… it felt like fighting someone who knew exactly how to fight knights. There was no grand magic like we were prepared for. She didn't maintain a distance to fight like a normal mage. Instead, she chose to fight in close range. With the right amount of magic to disarm but not kill us."
Caelum exhaled slowly.
"That level of control," Corvin said, thoughtful, "is not common. Especially not for someone raised in the South."
Caelum's jaw tightened.
"She was taught," he said. "Not just magic—but combat application. Mana efficiency. Tactical restraint."
His eyes darkened.
"The King," he continued. "Or someone acting on his behalf."
Corvin frowned. "You believe the Royal Family trained her personally?"
"Who else would invest such resources?" Caelum replied. "A cursed child turned weapon. Or spy."
The men lowered their heads further.
"That makes it worse," Caelum said flatly.
He rose from his seat.
"Dismissed," he said.
The men did not hesitate. They bowed deeply and were escorted out, the heavy doors closing behind them with a final thud.
Silence returned.
Corvin broke it first. "You sent them to test her. They confirmed your suspicions."
"Yes," Caelum said.
"And yet," Corvin added carefully, "I never expected her to be such a talented mage. But why would a mage choose close combat?"
Caelum turned toward the window, staring out at the snow-dusted grounds.
"Which means," he said slowly, "whoever taught her… taught her more than just magic."
His fingers curled.
"I stil think we might be jumping to conclusions. Surely a spy sent by the king would show more restraint. Instead of just outright showing her abilities during the day. And not even killing the witnesses."
"That doesn't make her less dangerous," he continued. "It makes her more."
Corvin studied him. "What will you do?"
Caelum did not answer immediately.
"She believes she walks freely in my domain," he said at last. "Let her."
His voice was calm—but cold.
"If she truly is the King's blade," Caelum murmured, "then I will learn how sharp she is… before it's turned on the North."
And somewhere far from the cold stone chamber, unaware of the truths being weighed against her name, Aveline Faylinn continued on—unseen, untrusted. Caelum Eryndale had yet to realize that the sharpness of the blade he wishes to examine, is a sharpness that cuts for him, not against him.