Diel Dathirii strode into the Allastam Tower’s top garden with his chin high and his back straight. Great trees with white bark flanked the pathway, and their branches extended over his head, intertwined into a thick, natural roof. Their dark blue leaves matched House Allastam’s colours, and it gave Diel the impression night had fallen despite it being the middle of the day. Phosphorescent vines wrapped around their trunks, their pale blue glow compensating somewhat for the lack of sun. They didn’t help with the stuffy atmosphere, like the air itself had grown warm and heavy, but perhaps that was all in Diel’s heart and mind.

It seemed so long since he had last slept that Diel had forgotten what rest felt like. Horrible torture scenes featuring Branwen haunted Diel’s nights, keeping him wide awake. If only he had his Coalition! The other Houses’ refusal had poisoned his mind with bitterness. This city didn’t have a soul anymore. It welcomed invaders with an open heart, thinking only in terms of individual houses and profit. He wished he could make them see how horrible the Myrians were, but they were all too scared, and too obsessed with the dark elf about to be hanged for murder. They would make him pay for assaulting a noble house a decade ago, declare justice done, and ignore the much bigger threat now torturing Diel’s family under their nose.

He wasn’t done fighting, however. Diel intended to use every resource at his disposal. They had demanded soldiers, and he had come pleading for them.

He hated asking for Lord Allastam’s troops, but what other options were there? He needed them for the Coalition, and he needed them to extract Branwen from the Myrian Enclave. Kellian was already planning an assault. They would move after the winter solstice. Hit and run, if possible. Too many would die at the hands of the wizards as it was. Diel prayed Lord Allastam would agree—sending the Dathirii guards alone would result in a catastrophe. Diel didn’t often see eye-to-eye with the Allastams’ leader, but their respective families had been tacit allies since Lord Allastam’s grandfather had been Head of the House. Diel hoped it would be worth something today.

He reached the end of the pathway, where Lord Allastam waited as a king would on his subject. The subtle hint of superiority annoyed Diel, but he refrained his urge to stand taller, as his equal. The bigger and richer houses weren’t better despite what they often liked to think. Diel didn’t have the time and energy for power plays today, however, and he didn’t want to irritate Lord Allastam. He glanced at the other lord, meeting his eyes. His grey temples seemed to absorb the ambient blue light, giving them a darker shade. Perhaps that was intentional, to make him appear younger, but nothing could hide the angry wrinkles at his mouth. Decades of frowns and sneers had marked his skin. Diel nodded, then bent his head and looked down. The submissive position left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he endured. What was a little begging in exchange for Branwen’s life?

“Milord, thank you for the audience,” he said.

Lord Allastam answered with a derisive snort. “Cut to the chase, Diel. What do you want?”

Diel flinched. Allastam didn’t even grant him the courtesy of a title. He knew he was in a position of power here, and he seemed intent on enjoying every moment of it. Diel closed his eyes, breathed in deeply. The Allastams were the only House in Isandor with a decent standing military, and he didn’t have the funds to hire mercenaries. If he didn’t get their help, he would have nothing.

“Soldiers.” His voice was a whisper.

“You want to attack the Myrian Enclave.”

“Yes.” Diel spoke louder this time, his resolve hardening.

“They haven’t broken any laws.”

“They kidnapped my niece!”

He lifted his head and met Lord Allastam’s gaze. The other noble didn’t bother to hide his amusement. He clacked his tongue and shrugged.

“You have no proof of that. Master Avenazar was quite adamant in his denial, and I’m certain you’d have shown us anything that could support your claim.”

“You can’t be serious. I cannot find her. She was last seen at the very shop they burned to the ground. Where else could she be?”

“Dead.”

The possibility was like a punch to his gut. She wasn’t dead. He didn’t even want to consider it. Blood rushed out of Diel’s head, and the world blurred. Focus. He couldn’t let fear and exhaustion take over, couldn’t lose control like he had at the Coalition’s meeting.

“Then they killed her, and my point remains.” Diel squared his shoulders. “I need your help. You know I’d offer whatever support I could if they had your children. Please, milord. All I want is for Branwen to return home unharmed.”

Silence followed, and with every passing second, Diel grew certain he would be rebuffed. Lord Allastam had never intended to help. He was staring down at him, his sneer only half-concealed, enjoying his little power trip. Diel tried not to think of all the times he had cracked down on one of Lord Allastam’s immoral propositions at the Golden Table, of how often their opposing senses of ethics had put them at odds. How had Lord Allastam once expressed it? It’s not worth helping those who can’t help themselves, Lord Dathirii.

“I would never be in such a position,” Lord Allastam said. “I know not to make powerful enemies for the sake of a meaningless boy. You brought this on yourself, and I will not put my family at risk for your foolishness.”

“Ah, yes, my foolishness.” That’s what they always called it when he stood up for someone who wasn’t Dathirii. The despair building in Diel shifted, transforming into roiling anger. “If you had even an ounce of foresight, you’d realize the Myrians aren’t going to stop at a few influential trade deals. They own half the western lands, and we sit on a key position to move east. This is only the beginning. Once they’re done with my family, others will be next. Have you looked into what happened to other cities they conquered? We would lose all control, become puppets or be wiped out. We have to act now, but it seems I am foolish for trying to stop them before it is too late.”

“You are. Sometimes it’s best to bend rather than break.” Lord Allastam stepped forward and pushed Diel’s chest with his gold-tipped cane. “You never learned that lesson, and I’m glad I deal with Lord Yultes more often than with you. He’s more amenable to logic. I agreed to stay out of this affair rather than side with the Myrians and gain a great ally, so I suggest you quit your self-righteous lecture before I change my mind.”

Diel wrapped his fingers around the cane, his mouth dry and his head buzzing. Yultes had omitted to mention Lord Allastam had considered joining the Myrians. Did the Allastams want to upstage the Lorns, their biggest rival family and the holders of an invaluable trade deal with the enclave? How pointless would the Golden Table become if both of Isandor’s most powerful Houses sided with the Myrians’ interests? They wouldn’t need to have a seat of their own to dictate the city’s laws. Lord Allastam was too savvy a politician not to notice … which meant he didn’t care he’d be selling Isandor out. Diel lowered the cane with a sigh.

“You may be right. I’m wasting my time here.”

He cast a look around the beautiful garden. He remembered a time when the blue-leaved trees didn’t cover their heads entirely and sunlight shone upon the pathway. Lady Allastam had been alive, and she had spent many hours caring for the flowers spreading beyond the trees. He had visited once to find her slipping a crown of blue leaves onto her daughter’s head. Mia was a toddler at the time—they’d yet to learn chronic pain was what caused her to cry a lot and tire quickly—and Lord Allastam wasn’t as bitter and aggressive. Arrogant, yes. Self-serving, yes. But he still listened and smiled, and the household hadn’t seemed as dark as today. House Allastam had nothing left in it for Diel to ally himself with despite what Yultes might think.

“Let’s not make this meeting into a complete waste, then,” he said. “You have my personal congratulations for finally resolving your wife’s murder. I’m glad your loss can be put to rest, and this city can move on.”

The corner of Lord Allastam’s mouth stirred upward. “Ah yes, I bet you’re happy I won’t be attacking your friends the Freitz anymore. I hope we’ll see you at the execution, Lord Dathirii. Erik will be there.”

Diel wasn’t surprised to hear Lord Freitz would come. After a decade of enduring Lord Allastam’s violence on the assumption he was behind the murder, he must thank the gods that someone else took the blame. How ironic that Isandor’s bloodiest feud had relied on Lord Allastam’s baseless accusation, yet the very same lord had berated him for concluding Branwen was detained in the Myrian Enclave. But you couldn’t ask Lord Allastam to hold himself to the same standard as everyone else.

“Of course, milord. It must be an immense relief for Lord Freitz to see his name cleared, and to contemplate the reparations sure to come his way.” Diel almost regretted the last sentence. Almost. The anger flashing across Lord Allastam’s face erased any misgivings he had about infuriating him, burying them under intense satisfaction. “If you’ll excuse me, I have my own family to see to.”

He didn’t wait for approval and turned on his heel, striding down the blue-tinted garden without another word. It was a meagre victory, but he would not let Lord Allastam dismiss him like a vulgar servant.

Diel’s shoulders slumped the moment he left the Allastam Tower. That had gone worse than expected. He had no soldiers, almost a new enemy, and he had never felt more disconnected from Isandor before. His throat tightened as he hurried through vine-covered bridges to the tree-like tower of his home. Panic and exhaustion were crawling into his mind, turning his thoughts to dark torture again, and he needed Jaeger’s arms to keep it at bay. Stave off his rising despair long enough to prepare their last-resort attack on the Myrian Enclave.