Chapter 196

“Good morning, gentlemen,” I said as I approached the two guards at the gate of the Bram estate. “I am Lord Grimm. I’m here to speak with Governor Bram on an urgent matter.”

“Do you have an appointment?” one of the guards asked.

He looked to be in his early thirties. Broad-shouldered and fit beneath his armor, with dark hair, green eyes, and a nose that had clearly been broken more than once. His face was a little too wide to be handsome, but he carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly how capable he was.

The younger guard was probably in his late twenties. Mouse-brown hair, hazel eyes, a neatly trimmed mustache, and enough confidence that I doubted he struggled much with women.

“No,” I replied simply.

I was fairly certain nobles didn't justify themselves to hired help. My goal wasn't to be rude - just to sell the role.

And technically, it wasn't a role. After the war, the Queen of Arvellia had granted me the titles Warden of the Northern March and Lord of Northwatch. Iilvarion knew me as Hearth-Brother of the Red Steppe. Even Morentis had given me a title - Ally of the Council.

I was pretty sure they had invented that one specifically for me. Crowhurst and the Council had probably felt obligated to honor me while simultaneously wishing they didn't have to.

Personally, I couldn't have cared less. Most of the time I forgot the titles existed.

The guards exchanged a glance.

“What is this regarding?” the older guard asked.

“Business,” I replied. “I was told Governor Bram is a practical man. I hoped to speak with him directly.”

The older guard studied me for a moment before glancing at his companion and giving a small nod.

The younger guard headed into the estate.

“One moment, please,” the older guard said. “We'll inform the governor of your arrival.”

I waited patiently.

Five minutes later the younger guard returned accompanied by another man - mid-fifties. Average height. Average build. Well dressed, but not noble. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly groomed, his dark eyes cautious, and he carried himself with the confidence of someone accustomed to making decisions.

“Good morning, Lord Grimm,” he said. “I'm afraid the governor is quite busy. May I ask the purpose of your visit?”

“I'd prefer to discuss that with Governor Bram directly.”

The man's expression didn't change.

I had no idea how nobles handled this sort of thing. Corporate bureaucracy, though? That I understood. The trick wasn't forcing your way up the ladder - it was making the person in front of you feel safer escalating the issue than handling it themselves.

“You seem like a competent man,” I said. “Which means you're trying to determine whether this is something worth the governor's time.”

His expression remained neutral.

“Let's assume for a moment that it is. If you send me away and it turns out Governor Bram needed to hear what I have to say, that's going to create problems. And those problems are going to reflect poorly on you.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

I shrugged. “If you tell him I came and he decides not to see me, that's his decision. Whatever consequences come from that belong to him.”

I smiled politely. “But at least you're not the one responsible for making the wrong call.”

For several long moments he simply studied me. Then he sighed. “Very well.”

I resisted the urge to grin.

“If you'll wait in the parlor, I'll inform the governor of your arrival.” He turned and gestured for me to follow.

* * *

While I waited in the parlor, Iolite explored as much of the estate as she safely could.

She was far better at sneaking around than I was. Being able to move through stone and earth had a number of advantages. She could check basements, root cellars, storage rooms, and every room on the first floor without ever being seen. The second floor was possible as well, though considerably riskier.

I'd instructed her not to stray too far from fireplaces, chimneys, or stone walls. I wanted her to have an escape route if something went wrong.

Of the two of us, I had the easier job. I was the distraction. The catalyst.

If Governor Bram was involved with the Covenant and thought the Crown had started asking questions, he'd want to protect himself. Maybe he'd someone. Maybe he'd move evidence. Maybe he'd try to warn the Covenant. Whatever he did, I wanted him nervous enough to make a mistake.

About fifteen minutes later, the governor entered.

He looked to be in his mid-thirties. His clothing was practical but expensive. Not formal wear. Not something he'd chosen for guests.

A clean shirt. Well-made tros. Polished boots. An overcoat he'd probably thrown on moments ago. The clothes of a man who'd been working when interrupted. Reading. Paperwork. Something indoors.

Most importantly, when his eyes met mine, there was no recognition.

That was encouraging. If the Covenant had provided him with a description of me, he hadn't connected the dots. Yet.

“Lord Grimm, I presume?”

“Governor Bram,” I greeted and rose.

We shook hands.

His grip was firm. Measured. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

Pleasure wasn't the word I'd use.

“Is there somewhere private we can speak?” I asked. “The matter is somewhat sensitive.”

He hesitated, but only briefly. “Very well. If you'll me in my study.”

He led me into an ading room - large desk, comfortable chairs, bookshelves, the lingering scent of cigar smoke and brandy. This wasn’t a workspace - it was an entertaining room. A place where agreements were reached and favors exchanged.

“Please, sit.” He moved behind the desk. “I apologize. My steward neglected to mention your title.”

I settled into a chair. “Warden of the Northern March.”

His brow furrowed. Then lifted. Recognition finally sparked. “You've traveled a long way from home.”

So he'd heard something. The question was what.

“Yes,” I said. “I'm actually here on behalf of High Councilor Amberleigh.”

Confusion flickered across his face. Then caution.

“Relax,” I said. “This isn't about you specifically. As governor, I simply felt it appropriate to notify you before beginning my work. There's a proper way to handle these things.”

He leaned back slightly. Still wary. Still evaluating. “What sort of work?”

“There is an organization operating out of Caldris known as the Covenant of Mercy.”

His expression remained neutral.

“Have you heard of them?” I asked.

“Only rumors.”

That was a lie.

I resisted the urge to smile. “Then you've heard the same things everyone else has. Traveling healers. Relief efforts. Food distribution. Blankets. Medicine. Assistance for the poor.”

He nodded.

“They've cultivated an excellent reputation,” I continued. “Unfortunately, it's undeserved. The Covenant's charitable work is real. It's also a front for something nefarious.”

His fingers tapped once against the desk, then stopped.

“We've recently discovered they've been expanding their operations northward. Establishing waystations. Moving supplies. Recruiting ers.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “Within Arvellia?”

“Yes. They're already here.”

The room grew a little quieter.

“I've personally uncovered several of their facilities. And documents suggest they may be moving goods through your territory.”

“I assure you,” Bram said evenly, “I have no knowledge of such activities.”

Another lie.

I let the silence linger for a moment.

“You know,” I said thoughtfully, “that's actually the part I find hardest to believe.”

His eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”

I folded my hands together. “You have a reputation as a capable governor. I've spent the last few days speaking with people about town.”

That wasn't technically true - it was more like a day.

“I've heard you're fair. Practical. Involved. The sort of lord who knows what's happening in his own lands.”

His expression softened slightly. People always liked compliments. Especially when they believed them.

“So help me understand.” I leaned forward. “How does a competent governor fail to notice a foreign organization moving people and supplies through his territory?”

The softness vanished. His shoulders stiffened.

“I said I had no knowledge of-”

“Which leaves me with only two possibilities.”

His mouth closed.

“Either you're lying. Or you're incompetent.”

The second option landed harder than the first. I could see it. The offense. The indignation. The need to reject it.

“I am neither,” he said, his voice tight. His jaw clenched. He rose abruptly. “You come into my home and accuse me of-”

“Sit!” The word left my mouth before I'd fully thought about it. My Faith flared.

Bram's knees buckled. His eyes widened and he dropped back into his chair.

We both stared at each other.

That was new.

Was that something to do with Aurelion’s Faith? I know he’d given me commands like that before. Commands that couldn’t be ignored.

He’d given me some of his Faith in the attempt to help me ascend to divinity. All of the of the High Witan had. And I’d noticed little things that could have been a result of that. My resistance to extreme temperatures. My ability to sense lies. My ability to see in the dark. It seemed like there were still things about my borrowed Faith I still had to learn.

“You misunderstand me,” I said quietly.

His face had gone pale.

“I don't think you're stupid.” I rose from my chair and rested my hands on the desk. “I think you're aware of at least some of what's happening.”

He didn't answer.

“I don't think you know everything, but I think you've seen enough to recognize the Covenant is operating here.”

I leaned forward. “And you've chosen not to look too closely.”

His gaze drifted away.

“So here's what happens next.” I returned to my chair. “You help me.”

His eyes snapped back to mine.

“You tell me what you know. Who they've spoken to. What you've seen. What you've heard.”

I crossed one leg over the other. “And when I write my report to the Queen, I mention your cooperation.”

The room was silent.

“She'll probably be grateful.” I shrugged. “Maybe even generous.”

Then my expression hardened. “But if I uncover all of this myself? If the truth comes out and people learn their governor knowingly aided slavers?”

His face tightened.

“People can forgive incompetence.” I shook my head. “They don't forgive betrayal.”

I leaned forward one final time. “And when they learn that the Covenant feeds people to Weeping Gallows?”

His expression faltered. There it was. Fear.

“They'll never forgive that.”

The room went still.

“So tell me, Governor.” My voice remained calm. “What exactly is your involvement?”

* * *

“No,” he said. “They wouldn't.” The disbelief on his face was genuine.

“What makes you so certain?” I asked.

He snapped. “Because I've seen what they do!” He pushed himself forward in his chair. “They've healed people. Delivered food. Treated injuries my own healers couldn't. They...” His voice caught. “They saved my son.”

My chest tightened. There it was. The real reason. He didn't know they were monsters.

Maybe part of him suspected. Maybe he'd seen enough to wonder. But every doubt had been buried beneath the same simple truth - they had helped his child.

What did a few murderers and rapists matter compared to that? What did a handful of condemned men matter if his son got to live?

The Covenant preyed on desperation. They always had. The hungry. The grieving. The hopeless. The people who had run out of options.

Once they'd learned about his son - once they'd found a way to ease whatever was killing him - they'd wrapped their fingers around Bram and never let go.

“How many prisoners?” I asked.

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“How many people did you hand over to them?” I held his gaze. “Convicts. Troublemakers. People no one would miss. How many?”

Something in him deflated. He sank back into his chair and dragged a hand across his face.

I softened my voice. “They aren't just feeding people to the Weeping Gallows.”

His hand stopped.

“They're spreading them. They're infecting entire villages. Innocent people are dying, Governor. Or worse.”

His eyes closed. “You think I don't know how this looks?” he asked quietly. “You think I haven't asked questions?” He laughed bitterly. “You think I wanted any of this? If I do this, they stop my son’s medicine. My son dies.”

When he looked up again, the confidence was gone. All I saw was a tired father. A desperate one. His fingers tightened around the arm of the chair until his knuckles turned white.

“Three nights from now,” he said. The words sounded dragged from him. “There's a shipment. I've never seen the destination. I've never been invited. But I know where they gather beforehand.”

He reached for a quill. The scratching of ink on parchment seemed unnaturally loud in the room. A few moments later he shoved the paper across the desk. “Here.”

I picked it up and glanced over the notes. With any luck, this was exactly what Amberleigh needed.

Bram stared at the far wall. “Now please,” he said quietly. “Leave.”

I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket. “Thank you.”

He didn't answer.

“One more thing.”

His eyes shifted back to me. “What?”

“Tell me about your son.”

Confusion flickered across his face. “Why?”

I thought of Tib. Morien. Elarion. Of all my children. “I’m a father too,” I said softly, then smiled. “And I happen to know the best healer in the world.”

* * *

Mirri stepped out of the room and pulled the door closed behind her. The exhaustion on her face told me everything before she said a word.

“It’s bad,” she said.

My stomach sank.

“His body's fighting itself. I can't cure it because there's nothing to cure.” She rubbed at her eyes. “It's just... how he's built.” She let out a long breath. “But I think we can manage it.”

Hope flickered back into her expression. “I gave them a recipe for something that'll trick his body into accepting itself. He'll need to take it for the rest of his life, and he'll need a dedicated healer whenever he gets sick. A cold, the flu, anything like that could become dangerous.” She shrugged. “But he should be alright.”

Relief washed through me. I stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. “You're the best, you know that?”

She snorted.

“No, really.” I squeezed her tighter. “An incredible healer. Brilliant. Kind. Caring. Heart of gold.” A smile tugged at my lips. “And smokin’ hot.”

She rolled her eyes. “Tonight, hero.” Her expression softened as she looked up at me. “You can make it up to me tonight.”

Her eyes searched mine. “Assuming you're actually coming home?”

“Absolutely.” I kissed her. “I'm just meeting Amberleigh first. After that, I'm all yours.”

Mirri smirked. “I'm willing to share.” Her hand drifted down and smacked my ass. “But only if you're good.”

Before I could come up with a reply, she stepped away.

I shook my head, grinning.

A moment later the stone floor rippled.

Iolite emerged from it like a ghost rising from still water, stone and clay flowing and reshaping themselves into her familiar form.

I pulled her dress out of my satchel and handed it to her.

She slipped it on while I watched.

“Ready?” I asked.

She nodded.

I leaned in and kissed her. “Let's go.” I smiled. “And on the way, you can tell me what you found.”