The War Room of Blackiron Keep was a stark contrast to the opulence of the Southern council chambers Elyana was used to. There were no velvet chairs or gilded maps—only a massive slab of ironwood, scarred by dagger points and stained with wine, and the cold stone walls draped in the banners of the Wolf.
Kyle stood at the head of the table, his knuckles white as he leaned over a map of the Northern territories.
"We strike now," he growled, tracing a line from Blackiron to the jagged peaks of Karst's stronghold. "He sent a rat into my home. He tried to poison my people. I will pull his castle down stone by stone."
"And what will your army eat on the march, my Lord?" Elyana asked. She sat to his right, her hands folded calmly on the table, though her heart was still racing from the scene in the courtyard.
Kyle looked up, his eyes blazing. "We will hunt. We will forage."
"In winter?" Elyana shook her head. "The snows are already waist-deep in the passes. Jory destroyed a third of your winter reserves. If you march now, you leave Blackiron vulnerable and your men starving. Karst knows this. He wants you to march. He wants you to extend yourself so he can cut you off."
General Kaelen, the Captain of the Guard, nodded grimly from the shadows. "The Lady is right, my Lord. An offensive now is suicide. Karst sits in a fortress built into the cliffside. We cannot siege him without supplies."
Kyle slammed his fist onto the table. "So we do nothing? We sit here and wait for the next poison? The next assassin?"
"We don't wait," Elyana said. "We change the battlefield."
She stood up and walked to the map. "Jory said Karst has friends in the South. That means gold. Mercenaries. Supplies that aren't coming from the North." She pointed to the coastline. "White Harbor. That's the only port capable of bringing in that kind of support in this weather."
"You think he's smuggling?" Kyle asked, his voice cooling slightly.
"I think he is being funded," Elyana corrected. "Karst is a minor lord. He doesn't have the coin to buy Southern loyalty on his own. Someone is backing him. Someone who wants the North destabilized."
"Your father," Kyle said. It wasn't a question.
"Perhaps," Elyana admitted, meeting his gaze evenly. "Or one of his rivals. But if we can cut off that gold, Karst's support will crumble. Mercenaries don't fight for free."
Before Kyle could respond, a heavy knock echoed on the door. A breathless scout entered, clutching a scroll sealed with red wax.
"My Lord," the scout panted. "A rider from Lord Karst. He approached the gates under a flag of parley, delivered this, and rode off."
Kyle snatched the scroll. He broke the seal—a hawk clutching a snake—and unrolled the parchment.
Elyana watched his face. She saw the anger drain away, replaced by a dark, dangerous stillness.
"What does it say?" she asked.
Kyle didn't speak. He handed her the letter.
Elyana took it. The handwriting was sharp and jagged.
To the Lord of Blackiron,
It grieves me to hear of the sickness spreading within your walls. It is clear now that the Southern viper you took into your bed has begun to bite. The recipe found in your stores is Southern. The poison is Southern. She seeks to weaken the North from within to pave the way for her father's armies.
Hand over the witch, Elyana, for judgment. Do this, and I will open my granaries to your starving people. I will share my reserves with Blackiron, as a brother should.
Refuse, and the North will know that you chose a foreign whore over the lives of your own children.
— Lord Valerius Karst
Elyana read it twice. It was brilliant. It was vile.
She looked up. "He's spun the narrative. He knows we found the poison, so he's claiming I put it there. And he's offering food."
"It is a lie," Kyle said, his voice low.
"It is a lie that hungry people will want to believe," Elyana countered. "They are scared, Kyle. They see me, a stranger, and then their food rots. Karst is offering them salvation in exchange for one life. Mine."
General Kaelen shifted uncomfortably. "My Lord... the smallfolk are already whispering. If they hear of this offer..."
"Let them whisper," Kyle snarled. He took the letter from Elyana and crumpled it in his fist. "I do not trade my wife for grain."
"He isn't just attacking us with swords," Elyana said, her mind racing. "He is attacking your legitimacy. If you protect me while your people starve, they will revolt. Karst won't even have to fight you. Your own people will open the gates for him."
"Then we tell them the truth!" Kyle shouted. "That Jory confessed!"
"A dead man's confession against a living Lord's promise of bread?" Elyana shook her head. "Truth is a luxury, Kyle. Hunger is a reality."
She walked to the narrow window, looking out at the snowy courtyard where the pike now bore Jory's head.
"We cannot attack him," she said softly. "And we cannot ignore him."
"What do you propose?" Kyle asked.
Elyana turned back, her eyes hard.
"He wants me? He can have me."
Kyle stepped forward, alarm flashing in his eyes. "Elyana, no—"
"Not as a prisoner," she interrupted. "As a guest."
She tapped the map. "Invite him here. Or better yet, demand a Council of the Northern Lords. A neutral ground. Tell him we accept his offer of aid, but the terms must be discussed in person, before all the Bannermen."
"He will never come," Kaelen said. "He knows it's a trap."
"He is arrogant," Elyana said. "He thinks he has won the hearts of the people. If he refuses a public council, he looks like the one hiding something. If he comes... he brings his 'proof' against me."
"And?" Kyle asked.
"And I will tear his proof apart," Elyana said. "I know Southern poisons. I know the accounts. I will expose him in front of every Lord in the North. But we need to buy time to fix the food supply, or the Council will just be a prelude to my execution."
She looked at Kyle. "I need you to trust me. I am going to write to the South. Not to my father... but to my aunt. She controls the trade guilds in the Reach. If I can secure a shipment of grain before the Council meets, Karst's leverage vanishes."
Kyle studied her face for a long moment. The tension in the room was palpable. He was balancing the safety of his wife against the survival of his house.
Finally, he nodded.
"Write the letter," Kyle said. "But if Karst sets foot within ten miles of this council... I will have my sword ready."
"Good," Elyana said. "Because when we take him down, I want the North to see it happen."