The command tent was a temporary sanctuary of warmth against the sharpening evening chill. Inside, the scent of expensive ink had been replaced by roasted venison, rosemary, and the sharp, clean aroma of elven wine. A heavy oak table, salvaged from the tower's upper dining halls, stood at the center.
Alaric sat at the head, his feet barely reaching the edge of the chair, yet his presence filled the space. To his left sat Asimi, a silver-haired statue of imperial grace, and to his right, Dawn, who looked remarkably comfortable with a dagger in one hand and a piece of bread in the other.
The three guests sat opposite them, looking strikingly out of place in the refined setting.
Kaelen of the Southern Isles moved like a cat even when sitting still. He had changed into a fresh set of silks, though his curved blades remained strapped to his back, a breach of etiquette that Asimi chose to ignore.
"The wine is better than I expected for a flood zone," Kaelen said, his voice carrying the melodic lilt of the sea. "But I suspect you didn't invite us here for our palates."
"I invited you because you are a master of a style that shouldn't exist in this province," Alaric replied, his eyes locked on Kaelen's. "The Painted Sea style is reserved for the high guard of the Coral Throne. Why are you in Asmora, Kaelen?"
Kaelen's smile didn't reach his eyes. "The Coral Throne is currently underwater, metaphorically speaking. I am merely a man looking for a employer who doesn't check the casualty lists of foreign wars."
"He's lying," Dawn whispered, her royal-blue eyes glowing faintly. "He smells like salt and old blood, but his heart is racing."
Marek the Iron didn't touch the wine. He ate with the mechanical efficiency of a man who viewed food as fuel. His battered plate armor creaked every time he moved.
"And you, Marek?" Asimi asked, her metallic eyes scanning his scars. "You've fought for the Midland Coalition, the Grey Duchy, and the Iron Coast. All of them are gone. Are you a bad omen, or just a survivor?"
Marek looked up, his face a map of deep-set lines and old regrets. "I don't care for omens, My Lady. I care for walls that don't crumble and lords who don't run. I've seen enough cities burn because the men at the top were made of glass." He looked at Alaric. "You aren't glass. You're something else."
"I am the one who will give you a home that stays standing," Alaric said. "But in return, I require more than just your sword. I require your discipline for the Starfall recruits."
Finally, Alaric turned to Vesper. She sat with her back straight, her rapier resting against the chair. She was the only one who looked Alaric in the eye without blinking.
"Vesper is a fine name for a mercenary," Alaric said, leaning forward. "But your footwork in the ring was pure Imperial Academy. Fourth Form, High Guard. Only the daughters of Great Houses are taught that."
Vesper stilled. The air in the tent grew heavy. "The Empire is a large place, Prince Alaric. Many people learn many things."
"True," Alaric countered, "but only a few would risk coming to a 'haunted' village to spy on an exiled Empress-Consort. Who sent you? House Valerius? Or the Inquisition?"
Vesper laughed, a sharp, cold sound. "If I were with the Inquisition, you'd already be in chains. If I were with Valerius, you'd be dead. I am here because my father thinks you are a fluke, a child playing with a tower he doesn't understand. I am here to see if he's right."
Alaric stood up, his small hands resting on the table. The shadow cast by the lantern made him look towering against the canvas walls.
"In two weeks, the semi-finals begin," Alaric said, his voice dropping into a register that felt far too heavy for a four-year-old. "You will all likely win your brackets. You will be offered the dwarven steel. But know this, when you swear the oath of Starfall, the Theurges will bind your spirit to the Tower. If you are here to spy, you will be caught. If you are here to betray us, you will be broken."
He looked at each of them in turn.
"I am not playing with this tower," Alaric finished. "I am the tower. Decide now if you want to be its shield, or its target."
Silence followed his words, broken only by the crackle of the fire outside. Kaelen looked intrigued, Marek looked relieved, and Vesper looked, for the first time, genuinely uncertain.