Rivermouth

The townhall of Rivermouth was crowded, the air thick with smoke from the hearth and the smell of damp wool cloaks. Benches creaked under the weight of farmers, fishermen, and traders, all pressed close to hear what the envoys had brought back from Gatewick. At the long table in front sat the village leaders, their expressions grave. Aldric Fenlow, chief of Rivermouth, sat stiff-backed, his weathered hands folded before him. Garron Thist from Highhollow leaned forward, elbows on the wood, already restless. Marlen Drosk, the young merchant, kept her gaze on the floorboards, twisting a silver ring around her finger. And at the head of the table, Master Selwin Carrow, the old mage, stood to speak.

The murmur of voices died as Selwin lifted his hand. His face was lined, older still under the torchlight, but his eyes carried the weight of experience. "We have returned from Gatewick," he began, his voice calm but carrying easily through the hall. "As you know, we were granted an audience with the Princess Imperial herself, Lady Grace of Ashford. That alone is no small thing. Many nobles would not spare a glance for folk like us. But she listened. She heard our grievances."

Aldric gave a slow nod, as if to lend weight to the words, but Garron's lips pressed thin. "Listening is one thing," Garron muttered, loud enough for the front rows to hear. "Did she agree to act? Or did she send us away with sweet words and nothing else? I really couldn't tell."

Selwin's brow furrowed slightly. "She did more than listen. She declared she would deal with the problems herself. With her own knights."

The hall stirred at that. Some voices rose in surprise, others in disbelief. One farmer spat into the rushes on the floor. "A little girl deal with bandits and beasts? What's she going to do, glare at them until they fall over?" Laughter rippled through the benches, though it was uneasy laughter.

Marlen looked up sharply, her voice clear despite her youth. "You weren't there. You didn't see her. Grace of Ashford may be small, but she's no ordinary child. The way she sat on that throne… it was like the hall belonged to her and always had. Even the knights bent to her will." She glanced at Selwin, seeking confirmation.

The mage gave a slow nod. "It is true. She is… different. I felt her presence myself. There is power in her, old and new. Dangerous power. It felt as if I was standing again in front of the old Lady Ashford." His eyes flicked to Aldric, who looked away quickly, unease tightening his jaw. A hush fell over the hall. Everyone knew the name. The old Lady had ruled Gatewick with an iron hand for three decades, feared as much as she was respected. Some still whispered her ghost walked the walls, judging the living. To compare the young princess to her was no small claim.

One of the elders from the back raised his voice. "Then what do we do? Trust her to deal with it? The draft has already taken our men. The bandits cut the roads. The beast prowls at night. Can one girl, even a princess, truly solve that?"

Garron slammed a fist against the table. "At least she's doing something! The steward before her did nothing but line his purse while our people starved. If she wants to march into the woods and face the bandits, let her. I'll take any noble who raises a hand for us over one who hides behind walls."

Murmurs rose again, this time louder, half the hall agreeing with Garron, the other half muttering doubts. Aldric stood slowly, raising both hands for quiet. "Enough. We came here to discuss, not to shout like fishwives. The princess gave her word, and she has knights behind her. Whether she succeeds or fails, she has shown us more respect in one audience than the steward did in years."

Selwin leaned on his staff, his expression weary. "Aldric is right. It may not be the help we imagined, but it is help. And there is something else. When she looked at me, I felt it—her mana. Stronger than I expected. She is young, but her power is real. I believe she means what she says."

Silence followed his words. The people shifted uneasily, weighing them.

Finally, Marlen spoke, softer but firm. "Then we prepare. If she comes, we must be ready to guide her, to show her what we face. The princess cannot fix what she does not see. When she arrives, we'll stand beside her."

Aldric gave a curt nod. Garron muttered but did not argue further. The elders exchanged glances, then slowly the crowd began to rise, filing out of the hall with voices low, carrying the news to the rest of Rivermouth.

When the last of them had gone, only the four remained at the table. Selwin sank heavily into a chair, his hands trembling slightly. Aldric frowned at him. "Are you all right, old friend?"

The mage managed a tired smile. "I am fine. Just… drained. That girl… Grace of Ashford… she is not what I expected. I only hope she knows what she is walking into."

The fire crackled in the hearth, throwing long shadows across the hall. None of them spoke again for a long while.

--::--

Morning in Gatewick came cold and gray. The courtyard smelled of horses and iron. Knights moved in neat lines, checking tack and tightening straps. Hooves clattered against stone, swords knocked against armor, and Ser Calen barked orders like a drillmaster who had not slept. Ten knights stood ready, their black plate polished, their shields stacked in a line.

Grace stood near the carriage with her arms crossed. She was dressed differently than usual. Today she wore trousers of dark blue, tailored slim, tucked neatly into polished boots that gleamed like mirrors. A fitted riding coat of charcoal grey hugged her small frame, lined with silver stitching that caught the light. A high collar, white cuffs, and a ribbon binding her hair into a neat, low ponytail completed the look.

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She tapped her fingers against the carriage door, impatient. She had promised the villagers she'd send word when she was ready. She hadn't. Why waste time? She'd told them she'd handle it, and handle it she would. Staying in the castle another day, pacing the halls while Elyne doted over Clara, would drive her insane.

Oh, Clara, Grace thought sourly, her teeth gritting. Locked away with Elyne like some fragile glass figure. And me? Left out of the loop. Nobody tells me what's going on. Nobody trusts me with the details. Am I the fucking princess or what? Fine. Then I'll carve out my own details.

Rin stood near her, wrapped in dark leather armor that looked as if it had been stitched out of shadows. Trousers, boots, a jacket that left her arms free. Practical, sharp, and completely at odds with her age. Grace gave her an approving glance. Good. At least she looks like a proper assassin-in-training. Not that she is one yet. But we'll fix that.

Ser Calen marched over, helm under his arm. His face was as stiff as ever, his blond hair damp with sweat from shouting at men. He bowed his head slightly.

"Your Grace, the knights are ready. Ten, as you requested. Horses packed. Supplies loaded. The road to Rivermouth should be clear."

Grace tilted her head. "Good. I would hate to think you dragged me out here for nothing."

Calen stiffened but said nothing.

Grace stepped closer to the carriage. The driver straightened, reins in hand, waiting. She placed one boot on the step and looked back at Calen.

"We leave now. The villagers complained of their men being taken for the draft, of bandits in the woods, and of some beast stealing their cattle and some other shit. I said I would deal with it. Today is as good a day as any."

A few of the knights glanced at one another, but none dared speak. Calen straightened immediately; "Yes, Your Grace," he answered. Then he turned and barked the command. Knights mounted up, shields strapped, banners folded tight to their sides.

Grace climbed into the carriage, settling on the velvet seat. Rin slipped in after her, pale and quiet, moving like someone who had left too much of herself on the floor last night. She sat across from Grace, hands folded in her lap, back straight, eyes fixed on the window.

Grace tilted her head, studying her for a moment. Oh, poor little Rin. Guess "training" was a bit too much for you, huh?

Last night had been interesting. Grace had walked her through how to condense mana, how to force it tighter, denser, until it actually started shaping into something real. It was the same method Corax had once shoved into her head years ago, except Rin wasn't Grace. Rin was older, already halfway through building her core the "normal" way. Which meant more flaws, more strain, and more pain.

Grace almost smirked. Not my fault if your foundation is trash. I just gave you the upgrade package.

Rin looked so stiff, so carefully quiet, and Grace had to bite back a comment. Something sharp, like don't break too early, I still need you useful. Because that was the truth. Rin was here for a purpose, nothing more.

She probably dreams of killing me one day, Grace thought, her lips twitching. Of course, she does. Train with me, take my lessons, then stab me in the back and call it justice. Sure. Go for it. I'll let her build herself up, make her strong, and when that day comes… well, I'll just take everything away from her. Strip her down until she realizes she was only ever mine to begin with.

The thought made her chest feel weirdly light, almost like amusement. If she actually tries, it'll even be kind of funny. If she doesn't… well, whatever. I'm not someone who holds grudges. At least I think I'm not. Right?

Grace leaned back against the velvet, stretching out her legs. Rin didn't look at her. She just stared out the window, pale and silent, as if pretending she wasn't trapped in a carriage with the girl who owned her life now.

Grace exhaled slowly. At least this was better than sitting in the castle, waiting for scraps of news. If no one wanted to tell her what had happened with Clara, she would make her own work. Missing men, bandits, and beasts. Sounds simple. Probably isn't. But simple enough for today. And Elyne wanted her to handle things alone.

The wheels creaked as the driver flicked the reins. The horses snorted and leaned into the harness. The carriage began to roll, the knights falling into formation around it.

Grace rested her chin on her hand, watching the gate come closer. Her lips curved into a faint smile.

"Finally," she murmured. "Something worth doing."

The carriage rocked gently as it rolled down the cobbled street. Grace sat with her chin propped against her hand, eyes drifting to the window. Rin was across from her, silent, stiff, and ignoring her as if staring at the scenery hard enough might erase Grace's existence. Fine. Grace wasn't exactly a chatterbox either, but the quiet between them wasn't comfortable. It was the heavy kind, the kind that scratched at the edges of her patience.

She shifted, pulling her gaze to the streets of Gatewick as the city stirred awake. Merchants were already shouting from their stalls, children darted barefoot between wagons, and the air smelled faintly of baked bread and wet stone. Grace's lips quirked faintly. Normal life went on. People laughed, worked, and complained as if the empire wasn't changing by the day. As if none of them had a clue what was boiling under the surface.

The city gate loomed ahead, dark and iron-bound. The guards bowed quickly as the knights passed through, not daring to meet her eyes. Grace's carriage rolled under the arch, the sound of hooves echoing briefly before fading into open air. Fields stretched wide beyond, pale with morning mist, the road ahead winding like a scar toward Rivermouth.

They'll never expect me to show up this soon, she thought.

Her mind wandered back to the four who had knelt in her throne room. The old mage especially—Selwin Carrow. He was a Void mage. And not a subtle one either. His core had leaked mana like a cracked jug, clear as daylight to her eyes. A shame she hadn't had time to corner Elyne afterward. Elyne would've known exactly why his core was leaking, what it meant for him, for her. She had even said she'd explain it later, make a lesson out of it.

But Elyne was busy. Busy with Clara, Grace reminded herself, sour heat curling in her chest. Her lips pressed thin, and she forced her gaze back out the window.

Why does it bother me so much? Normally she didn't care what others thought, didn't care about anyone's little secrets or whispers. A few months ago, she had entertained thoughts of poisoning her governess, and the only thing that stopped her was that it sounded like too much effort. So why now? Why did Elyne hiding things grate on her nerves so badly?

Her eyes narrowed as the mist thinned over the fields. Because things are different here. Because I'm different.

It had started when she met her older self on the road to Gatewick. When she met herself again, Grace Blair, smug and broken, sneering through the veil of death like she had all the answers. What a pain in the ass. Did she really need to untangle who she truly was? Did it matter? Probably not. She just needed to keep moving, keep being. Whether she was Blair, Ashford, or both didn't matter. The world would bend either way.

She leaned her head against the window frame, closing her eyes for a brief moment. At least on one front, things were quiet. The void's pull hadn't gnawed at her in days. For now, at least, the influence lay still.

Grace let out a slow breath and opened her eyes again, watching the horizon stretch before them. All right then. Missing men. Bandits. Beasts. Let's see what you've got for me, Rivermouth.

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