Two days after the battle, Solstara still smelled like smoke.

  The fires from so many mages had been put out, but the scent had sunk into the stone. It clung to the alleys and market stalls, mixed with salt from the sea and the sharp bite of healing herbs. Priests and mages moved through the streets in pairs, robes hitched up, casting [Cleansing] and [Mend] over broken walls and broken bodies.

  I walked through it all with a skewer of grilled fish in one hand and Ragna at my side.

  “Mm,” she said around a mouthful, chewing happily. “Food here good. Not as good as volcano boar, but good.”

  “So you approve?” I asked.

  “It will do until we find dragon meat again,” she said. If only dragons were so easy to hunt.

  The square we crossed now had been a killing ground two nights ago as soldiers ran from Isolde’s arrows. There were still dark stains in the cracks. But now, a boy with a bucket scrubbed at the stones while his sister sprinkled something that smelled like lavender. Someone had already propped up a new stall against a scorched wall, the seller shouting about “Victory Stew” like nothing terrible had ever happened here.

  It was easier to break something than build it, true. However, this was another thing I’d learned. People rebuilt faster than they broke. Humans could thrive anywhere.

  “Think the Queen is still alive?” a woman whispered from a doorway as we passed.

  “She killed Kaelan herself despite being helped by a demoness,” another replied. “Of course she is.”

  “She didn’t,” a third muttered. “I heard it was the Pirate Prince. Or that barbarian with the white hair.”

  I took another bite of fish and decided not to correct them. Let rumors do their work.

  Isolde hadn’t had time to walk these streets. Since the coronation, she’d been trapped in meetings. Valtor and Marius were drilling her on Crown mechanics, leyline theory, succession laws, and half a dozen other things I didn’t envy.

  She had sent for me a few times, but Marius had pointed out – politely – that dragging barbarians and merchants into the high council would slow things down. He wasn’t wrong. I’d chosen to give her space to be a Queen first, friend second.

  Not that I minded being outside again. I liked the city more than the palace.

  Out here, people stared openly when they recognized me, the famous Valtherian. Some nodded while some looked away quickly. A few kids pointed at my hair and whispered, “undead slayer” like it was a curse or a wish.

  “You are smiling?” Ragna asked.

  I blinked. “Huh?”

  She pointed at my face with her skewer. “You smile. Like idiot. You like being a hero?”

  “Hey, better than being chased out of town like many of the other Valtherians surely are facing right now,” I said. “Big difference.”

  She snorted.

  A trio of knights in polished breastplates turned the corner ahead of us, pausing. They wore the Queen’s new colors, which were blue and silver, with a small Crown stitched at the shoulder. Their boots thudded on the stone in the way of men who hadn’t slept much but would not admit it.

  They spotted us, hesitated just long enough to remember their orders, then approached.

  “Sir Thorvyn Valteria?” the one in front asked.

  “Just Thorvyn is fine,” I replied.

  He cleared his throat. “Her Majesty has summoned you and Lady Ragna Valteria to the palace at once. A formal audience.”

  Ragna straightened at the word “formal,” then ruined it by licking the last bit of sauce off her fingers. “We in trouble?”

  The knight tried not to stare at her hands. “No, no, of course not, my lady. The… summon mentions honors.”

  Honors. That was new. I finished the fish in two bites and tossed the stick into a nearby brazier. “Lead the way, then.”

  We followed them up through the rising layers of the city. We walked past streets where washerwomen hung blood-soaked sheets in long rows and boys argued over who had seen the Undead King in the far distance to the wall. There was a Hospice, where St. Meriel’s priests were still chanting over the last of the Wasting Sickness victims.

  There was also a wall where someone had already drawn a crude picture of Kaelan hanging from a hook with the word “THIEF” under it.

  Ragna’s eyes tracked everything.

  “People look… less dead,” she said quietly as we neared the palace hill. “I was thinking humans were fragile and emotional, and it’d take a bit longer for them to cheer up since so many people died.”

  “That’d be the Crown working,” I said. “And probably the idea that no one is planning to sacrifice their children this week.”

  Ragna made a face. “Good idea.”

  We reached the palace gates. The massive brazen doors were open, and guards in fresh tabards lined up on either side. They saluted as we passed. I caught a few of them staring at my arms, at Ragna’s cheap new club, and at the faint cracks still running along the courtyard from the war.

  Inside, the air was cooler. High ceilings, banners freshly hung. The throne room doors loomed ahead.

  “Try not to say anything too barbaric,” I muttered to Ragna.

  “We are barbarians,” she whispered back. “Too late.”

  The knight at the door banged his spear on the floor.

  “Announcing Thorvyn Valteria, Son of Dragan Valteria, of the Valtherian Tribe! And Ragna Valteria, Daughter of Yrsa Valteria – the Crimson Storm, of the Valtherian Tribe!”

  I winced at the volume. Ragna puffed up a bit at the titles. Hey, where is my father’s title? Disappointed at their behavior, we stepped through.

  The throne room was full.

  Nobles filled the benches along the sides, silks and satins in neat rows. Off to one side stood captains and mages, armor still dull from the field. At the far end, on the raised dais, sat Isolde.

  She wore a high-collared royal dress in blue and silver, cut to allow movement but still rich enough to make some barons’ daughters seethe. The Crown rested on her head and glowed faintly, purple veins of light running through the metal. Her posture was straighter than I’d ever seen it, shoulders back, chin up.

  Valtor stood to her right, one hand on the pommel of his sword, Tidebreaker, like a bored bodyguard. Marius was to her left, in darker robes, face calm. Yasafina was behind them, a solid golden figure with a sword at her hip and her eyes scanning everyone.

  And Borric was already there, in the center of the hall, looking like someone had thrown him into a noble’s wardrobe and told him to swim.

  He wore a new coat, deep green, with a stiff collar and a crest I didn’t recognize on the breast. It looked expensive and sat on him like a slightly offended cat. His hands twisted nervously in front of him.

  His eyes lit when he saw us. He mouthed, Help, which didn’t inspire confidence.

  We walked up to join him.

  Isolde’s gaze tracked us all the way. When we stopped, she spoke, her voice carrying with a hint of magic.

  “Thorvyn. Ragna. I hope you have enjoyed the city’s… recovery.”

  “Food’s good,” Ragna said loudly.

  A ripple of restrained amusement went through the soldiers. A noblewoman near the front flinched.

  I bowed my head. “It’s been… educational, Your Majesty.”

  Her mouth twitched like she wanted to smile and then remembered where she was.

  “Come forward, please,” she said. “All three of you.”

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  We moved to stand at the base of the dais.

  Somewhere behind us, I heard a murmur:

  “Those are the barbarians?”

  “They say the white-haired one killed a Domain-Lord…”

  “They don’t look like courtiers.”

  Good. I would hate to.

  Isolde rose.

  “Thalassaria stands today because of many,” she began. Her eyes moved across the room. “Soldiers, priests, sailors, commoners who refused to give in. But there are some without whom I would not be standing here at all.”

  Her gaze locked on Borric first.

  “Borric,” she said. She did not call him “Mister” now. “You had no reason to involve yourself in my family’s affairs. You were a merchant. You could have kept your head down, sold your wares, and gone home.”

  Borric smiled. “Your Majesty, I did what I must.”

  “Most men wouldn’t,” she continued, “you bought back the stolen Crown Jewel from a foreign empire. You smuggled it across the seas. You endured poison meant for me. You stood between my enemies and the people I care for, again and again.”

  Borric was starting to look embarrassed now, he looked like he was trying to shrink and couldn’t decide which way to go.

  “I would be dead three times over without you,” Isolde said simply. “And my kingdom with me.”

  Marius stepped forward with a scroll case. Yasafina handed Isolde a seal.

  “In recognition of your service,” Isolde went on, “and in the hopes that your talents will continue to serve Thalassaria, I ask you to accept a title.”

  The room held its breath.

  “Borric of Seagard,” she declared. “You are hereby granted the noble family name of Goldhaven and raised to the rank of Marquis of Millhaven, with lands surrounding the town and its reclaimed fields, stretching as far as your home, Seagard. With all rights and burdens that entails.”

  The nobles erupted in whispers.

  “A marquis? A merchant?”

  “Millhaven is cursed land–”

  “Cleansed land now. And with leyline support…”

  Borric’s mouth opened and closed. For a heartbeat I thought he might faint.

  “Y-Your Majesty,” he stammered. “I… I am just… I sell grain… I don’t…”

  Isolde’s expression softened.

  “You fed a kingdom when others hoarded,” she said. “You already carry more responsibility than many men born to titles. Take this. With it will come headaches and taxes and petitioners. But also authority. And protection for your family.”

  “Zerina…” he whispered, almost too soft to hear.

  Isolde’s eyes warmed. “Zerina will inherit the Marquisate when the time comes,” she said. “If she wants it. She’s my dearest friend, and I miss her terribly. I look forward to seeing her again and telling her what her father did.”

  Borric’s eyes went wet.

  He dropped to one knee before he remembered what to do with his hands.

  “I… I accept,” he said, voice shaking. “For my daughter, I accept. I’ll… do my best not to bankrupt the kingdom.”

  A few chuckles broke the tension. Even Valtor cracked a small smile.

  “And,” Isolde added, “you will receive a Royal Charter. Authority to trade and negotiate in my name beyond our borders. You will be my factor in foreign lands.”

  At that, Marius’s head tilted approvingly. Throne rooms are good places to hide chains. A Contract Sovereign with a marquisate and royal license was a valuable—and dangerous—asset, but at least they’d chosen the right man for the job.

  Borric’s Contract Sovereign class almost hummed in the air. I imagined a System line somewhere quietly changing his job description.

  Isolde turned next to Ragna.

  “Ragna Valteria,” she said. “Daughter of the Crimson Storm.”

  Ragna straightened, chin up. Her cheap new club rested against her shoulder, the old volcanic-stone mixed with dragon-bone one shattered during Asharion’s rampage.

  “When I met you,” Isolde said, “you were trying to punch your way through every problem in your path.”

  “Still am,” Ragna muttered. A few soldiers snorted.

  “In some cases,” Isolde said, lips twitching, “that approach has proven… effective.”

  The room relaxed a little.

  “You slew a dragon on your island, as I’ve heard,” Isolde continued. “You broke the Concord’s enforcers in Veridian. You fought Vorlag in the grove. You stood against an Undead King when others fled. Thalassaria owes you a debt it cannot ever fully pay.”

  Ragna blinked. Compliments still hit her harder than punches.

  “I cannot offer you a title here,” Isolde said. “You have one already, in Valteria. But I can offer this.”

  She nodded to Yasafina.

  A pair of servants came forward carrying a long, wrapped object. They set it before Ragna and stepped back.

  “Open it,” Isolde said.

  Ragna tore the cloth away.

  A new club lay there.

  It was slightly shorter than her old one, but thicker, the head made from a dark, dense metal shot through with faint blue veins. Thalassarian motifs – waves, falcons, stylized crowns – had been carved along the shaft and then reinforced with bands of steel. Faint runes glowed along its length.

  Ragna’s eyes went wide.

  “This is forged from my father’s old armor,” Isolde said. “And tempered in the same fires that birthed our navy’s cannons. Our greatest enchanter and Blacksmiths have worked to improve it the best they can.”

  I believed her words.

  “With it,” Isolde went on, “I name you Valtherian Royal Ally of Thalassaria, if you’d allow. You will have the right of passage through our lands. Our ports will always have room for your ships. When the Princess of Valteria calls for help, the Queen of Thalassaria vows to appear by her side no matter who the foe is.”

  Ragna grinned. She picked up the club with both hands, testing its weight. The floor creaked. “It is… good,” she said finally. “I like it.”

  “That is high praise from a barbarian,” Valtor commented dryly.

  Ragna looked at him. “Better than your thin sword.”

  Valtor rolled his eyes, but there was no heat in it.

  Finally, Isolde’s gaze settled on me.

  “Thorvyn Valteria,” she said.

  I felt every eye in the room swing in my direction. I resisted the urge to adjust my shirt.

  “Am I getting a new axe too?” I waved mine, which made a few Knights flinch. Isolde giggled, shaking her head.

  “You know we can’t top what you hold. Jests aside, Thorvyn… When you appeared,” she said slowly, “you were a stranger from an island that my people consider savage, uneducated. I heard from Ragna that you used to have an attitude problem in your younger days, which took me by surprise.”

  “I can’t believe she’d spread such lies,” my remark had a few people laughing.

  “You stood between me and death more times than I can count,” Isolde said. “You slew beasts, pirates, dark mages, a Domain-Lord, and helped lay my father to rest. You fought for my kingdom when you had every reason to walk away and chase your own quests.”

  She took a breath.

  “If I could, I would offer you my hand in marriage.”

  The courtroom erupted in shock, but she spoke over them.

  “HOWEVER,” her voice was loud, cutting through the chatter, “I cannot bind someone as incredible as you to my tiny kingdom, which also means I cannot offer you nobility or knighthood,” she said. “You have your own path to walk, and the Crown tells me that… you’re destined for Godhood. People aren’t as wise as the Crown, sadly, so you’ll be prosecuted and judged for your tribe. But remember, I’m not people. I’m never people. Isolde Thalasson will never be a stranger to you. So as long as you are in this world, Thorvyn Valteria, I would have the world know you are not just some wandering barbarian.”

  That might as well have been a confession. The courtroom was filled with shocked, confused nobles. Yes, the barbarian was strong, but had their Queen gone crazy to be treating him like this?

  I continued smiling.

  Her hand moved.

  “Come closer.”

  I stepped up the last few stairs until I stood just below her.

  She reached out with both hands and placed something around my neck. A chain of simple worked silver, attached to a small emblem – a storm cloud carved in obsidian, streaked with three lines like lightning, set above the Thalassian Crown.

  The metal tingled against my skin.

  [You have received Title: Queen’s Stormblade of Thalassaria.]

  [Reputation with Faction: Kingdom of Thalassaria has greatly increased.]

  Nice.

  “With this,” Isolde said aloud, “I name you Queen’s Stormblade. You will have the right to audience with the Crown anytime you wish, even if there’s a national crisis going on. And all Nobles are to treat you as my own sword, wherever they meet you. You may speak in my name when necessary, inside and outside these borders.”

  Murmurs again.

  “That gives a barbarian more standing than Marquis?!”

  “Sure, but did you see what he did to the Undead King? Go argue with him.”

  “Queen’s Stormblade. Hmph! Dramatic.”

  Isolde’s eyes met mine. “Do not let it go to your head,” she said softly.

  I allowed myself a small smile. “We Valtherians are very humble, Your Majesty,” I said. “I’ll only brag when there are witnesses.”

  A few nobles gasped. Ragna snorted loudly. Valtor barked a short laugh before catching himself. Even Marius’ lips twitched.

  Isolde’s cheeks colored, just a little.

  “You are incorrigible,” she said.

  “We’re direct,” I corrected. “If you’ll allow me, Your Majesty… you look radiant today. I feel like a fool having ignored your call these past two days, I feel as if I’ve missed out on the most beautiful sunrise.”

  Silence.

  Then more whispers.

  “Barbarian flirting with the Queen?”

  “Maybe that’s how they are in the islands…”

  Isolde’s blush deepened. She straightened her shoulders, pretending she hadn’t heard, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her.

  “We are done for today,” she announced quickly. “Thank you, all of you. There will be more to decide, but… for now, rest. Thalassaria still stands.”

  The hall erupted into clapping, cheers, and muttered plans for who would try to approach which newly-minted marquis. Nobles began to file out. Soldiers drifted toward the exits, talking quietly.

  Ragna elbowed me with her new club. “You making trouble again.”

  “I only said the truth,” I said.

  “Your truth’s loud,” she said. “And stupid.”

  Borric was still staring at the seal in his hand like it might bite him.

  “I’m a Marquis,” he whispered to me. “This means I have to buy… better chairs, doesn’t it? And a manor. Ugh! Do manors come with instructions?”

  “You’ll be fine,” I said. “Just make sure the kitchens are good. Priorities.”

  He laughed weakly, then wiped at his eyes. “I should… probably find out where my lands actually are,” he muttered. Then, after a beat, “And which villages need food first.”

  Isolde stepped off the dais with Yasafina and Marius flanking her. For a moment, her eyes met mine again over the heads of the leaving nobles. There was something there. Gratitude. Tiredness. Something else I didn’t name.

  Then the moment passed and she was swallowed by advisors.

  “Come,” Ragna said, hooking her arm through mine. “Too much talking here. I want roof, wind, and maybe more food.”

  “Now you’re talking my language,” I said.

  We slipped out before anyone else could shove another responsibility in my hands.

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