Volume 2 – Inheritance of Fire
Chapter 5 – The Summit: Day Two
The dawn arrived gray and cold.
Mist clung to the rooftops of Hollowreach like breath held too long. Below the battlements, the city stirred with unease. Day One had been a feast. Theater. A moment to dream. Day Two would be the reckoning.
Inside the High Court Chamber—converted from the old war council hall—tables were arranged in a wide circle of polished black oak. Each bore a city sigil, banners behind them, guards stationed with ceremonial halberds. A central podium waited, draped in the crest of Hollowreach: the twin suns rising over a fractured crown.
I entered with measured steps, my officers flanking me like shadows. Tyla. Elric. Rowen. Joric. Calderon. Ezra had already taken his place in the gallery above, near the stained glass of the observatory dome. He was watching everyone—eyes scanning posture, breath, doubt.
I stood before them and waited. Silence fell like a hammer.
"Welcome," I began, voice steady. "Yesterday we ate. Today we decide."
Scrolls were unrolled. Transcripts distributed. Behind me, Tyla cleared her throat and approached the dais, parchment in hand.
"The proposal is threefold," she said. "First: the Kingdom Reformation Act—trade, infrastructure, military, education, civic law. Second: The Rights Charter—for non-human citizens, arcane practitioners, and lower castes. Third: The Standardization Mandate—all regional laws are to be harmonized with Hollowreach law over the next three years."
Murmurs broke instantly. Not even a pause for the ink to dry.
Lord Henswick stood first. "This is madness. You mean to dissolve a thousand years of local governance overnight?"
"No," I said calmly. "I mean to evolve it."
Lady Ivelynne spoke next. "And if we don't agree to this… evolution?"
I turned to face her. "Then you'll be left behind. These reforms are not threats—they are foundations. You can build on them. Or be buried beneath them."
Gasps followed, but none walked out. Not yet.
One of the younger merchant lords rose, face flushed. "Taxes set by the capital? Marketplaces regulated by mages? Have you ever tried selling grain in Redfen after a flood year?"
"Yes," Elric said, rising beside me. "And I've seen how bandits steal from starving farmers because the nearest magistrate is six days away."
Tyla added, "Unified policy doesn't mean blindness. It means oversight. Enforcement. Equity."
The arguments spun out in layered waves. Infrastructure planning—should the cities be rebuilt before or after the schools? Magic licensing—who would test the hedge witches in the forest valleys? How would beastkin be registered? Would human nobles still preside over their territories?
Rowen spoke with fire about military reform. "If you want to lead troops, you'll need training—noble blood or not. Hollowreach will no longer bleed for the vanity of pampered sons."
Captain Joric supported him, offering a draft for a rotating command corps based on performance and war readiness.
Ezra passed a note down to me mid-session.
Verent, Cyra, and Alloran are with us.
Ivelynne is probing. Henswick has gone quiet—dangerous.
The coastal states are undecided but leaning.
I pocketed it without breaking stride.
An emissary from the north—a woman in wolf-fur robes—stood and raised a surprising point. "And what of the leylines? Magic this widespread... it could tear holes into places you haven't mapped. Have your scholars considered it?"
Calderon rose without waiting. "We've begun rune anchoring already. Mana stabilization zones will follow. The arcane is not your enemy—it is your inheritance."
The room quieted again. Tension thickened, less confrontational now. Minds turned inward. Debates shifted from raw denial to cautious negotiation.
By dusk, a dozen amendments were requested. Some were worthy. Some were desperate shields for old power. I took them all into consideration, even the absurd ones. Let them feel heard. It would make tomorrow's push easier.
Lady Cyra proposed a rotating oversight council drawn from each province, a body to audit royal appointees to local posts. A shrewd move, but one that aligned with transparency. I approved it.
A sea-lord from Eastmar wanted exclusive rights to maintain their current port fees, untouched by the kingdom's new trade tax. I declined that—but offered a compromise: if they used the funds for shipbuilding and local infrastructure, a portion would be tax-deductible. That won a reluctant nod.
Lord Renfell—always a traditionalist—suggested that magic licenses only be issued by those with noble blood. Tyla nearly laughed out loud. I let her answer: "Magic is no respecter of bloodlines, my lord. Your ancestors would know that better than anyone."
Even the Highmist delegation's outrageous request to brand licensed mages with glowing sigils for "transparency" got its time at the table. I rejected it outright, but I noted their fear. It would need addressing—not with cruelty, but education and structure.
Let them feel heard. Let them believe they had shaped the wheel. Tomorrow, I would remind them who forged it.
When the gavel finally fell, I exhaled.
"We reconvene at dawn," I said. "Come prepared to draft law. We do not build an empire of suggestions. We forge policy."
They rose slowly, some nodding, some stiff with defiance. The chamber emptied with the shuffling weight of history on their shoulders.
Ezra met me outside the hall beneath the flaming braziers. "You did well," he said. "But tomorrow, they'll bite."
"I'm counting on it," I replied.
He handed me another folio—new notes, new assessments.
"Rest," he added, eyes scanning the torch-lit courtyard. "You'll need every ounce of strength to crown a new world."
Back in my chamber, I sat by the hearth, the folio open on my lap, firelight dancing across the pages. Ezra's handwriting was precise—names, alliances, potential threats. Pages of data disguised as parchment-thin intuition. I read each note carefully, cataloging loyalties and liabilities alike.
Then my eyes landed on the name: Lord Henswick.
Ezra had drawn a box around it in faint ink. A simple note beneath:
"Wounded pride. Eyes on the undecided. Armed guards double the norm. If a fight breaks out tomorrow, he'll be the one who lights the match."
I leaned back, the flicker of flame catching the tension in my jaw.
Let him try, I thought.
I closed the folio and stared into the fire until it dulled.
And for the first time all day, I allowed myself a breath that didn't taste of fire and steel.
Tomorrow, the law would be written, the ink would dry—or blood would.
And no one—no one—would leave unchanged.