The Night Before
Evelina found Lioran on the wall long after midnight, standing watch where no guard was posted.
"You're brooding," she said, climbing up to join him. Frost formed delicate patterns on the stone beneath her feet—an unconscious manifestation of her power that happened more often now, since their Soul Binding.
"I'm thinking," Lioran corrected, though his slight smile acknowledged the truth of her words. "There's a difference."
"Not much of one." She stood beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched. Through the Soul Binding, he could feel her exhaustion—three weeks of barely sleeping, of holding her own kingdom together while committing resources to Thornhaven that her council increasingly questioned. "I leave at dawn."
"I know."
"My people need to see their queen hasn't abandoned them for southern causes. The northern lords are already whispering that I'm compromised, that I care more about—" She stopped.
"About what?" Lioran asked gently.
"About you," Evelina finished quietly. "Than about them. Than about the Frost Kingdoms. They're not entirely wrong."
The ember pulsed in Lioran's chest, but this time with something warmer than hunger. Something that felt almost like the old him, the boy who'd chased chickens in Ashvale before fire and destiny had consumed everything simple.
"The Continental Council," he said. "Valorian's invitation. I could use your presence there. Your voice would carry weight, show that this isn't just southern rebellion but a true alliance between nations."
"I know." Evelina's breath misted in the cold air. "But if I go, if I stand beside you before every ruler on the continent, I'm declaring formally that the Frost Kingdoms support the Dragon Lord over the established Church. That's an act of war, Lioran. Not a skirmish or a crusade, but full continental war."
"And if you don't go?"
"Then you face them alone, and they'll see Thornhaven as an isolated anomaly to be crushed rather than a legitimate political entity to be negotiated with." She turned to face him. "Either way, we're choosing between bad options and worse ones."
Lioran reached for her hand, ice meeting fire in the way that had become natural between them. The Soul Binding thrummed, sharing not just power but emotion—her fear for her people, his fear for his, both of them terrified of making the wrong choice and destroying everything they'd built.
"When we did the working during the battle," Lioran said slowly, "when fire and ice merged into something new—I felt something I hadn't felt since Kyrris died. I felt complete. Like I wasn't alone inside my own power."
"I felt it too," Evelina admitted. "It was terrifying and perfect and I don't know how to explain it to my council when they ask why I'm bleeding resources for a southern settlement."
"Tell them the truth. Tell them you're investing in a future where the Frost Kingdoms don't have to stand alone against the next crusade, or the next political upheaval, or whatever fresh hell the continent decides to unleash." Lioran squeezed her hand gently. "Tell them you found someone who sees you as more than just a crown and a throne."
"That's not very regal reasoning."
"No," Lioran agreed. "But it's honest."
They stood in comfortable silence, watching stars wheel overhead. In the settlement below, fires burned low in makeshift shelters. Guard patrols made their rounds.
Someone sang a lullaby to a crying child. Life, stubborn and persistent, refusing to be extinguished.
"Promise me something," Evelina said finally. "At the Continental Council, when you're standing before kings and dukes and people who want you dead—don't let the ember decide your words. Don't let ancient power speak when you need human wisdom."
"I'll try."
"Not good enough." Her grip tightened, ice crystallizing around their joined hands. "Promise me, Lioran. Because if you walk into that council and unleash fire when diplomacy fails, you'll prove everything they believe about you. That you're a monster wearing human skin. That power is all you understand."
The ember stirred, recognizing the challenge. It whispered that fire had ended more arguments than words ever would, that fear was the only language power understood, that mercy was weakness waiting to be exploited.
But Lioran pushed back against those whispers, using the techniques Evelina had taught him in the frozen north. Control. Balance. Humanity over hunger.
"I promise," he said. "Fire as last resort, not first response. Even when they provoke me. Even when they call me demon and monster and heretic. I'll keep the ember chained."
"Good." Evelina rose on her toes and kissed him—brief, cold, carrying the taste of winter and promises neither was certain they could keep. "Because I'm not ready to lose you to what you might become."
...
Dawn Departure
The Frost Guard assembled at first light, four hundred strong now, having lost sixty-three in the battle and gained none in replacement. They were grim-faced but professional, veterans who'd seen the cost of southern politics and were ready to return home.
Evelina stood before them in full armor, every inch the Ice Queen. The woman who'd whispered fears to Lioran in the darkness was gone, replaced by a ruler who commanded absolute loyalty.
"You fought with honor," she told her soldiers. "You stood beside allies not of our making, in a war not of our choosing, and you proved that the Frost Kingdoms' word is iron. When we return home, know that your sacrifice mattered. That the alliance we forged here will echo for generations."
"For the Queen!" her soldiers roared. "For the Frost Kingdoms!"
"And for the Dragon Lord," Evelina added, meeting Lioran's eyes across the courtyard. "Who reminded us that strength isn't just in ice and steel, but in standing together when the world demands we stand apart."
The cheers were more uncertain this time, but they came. Southern and northern voices mixing, Flamebound and Frost Guard acknowledging something that transcended old boundaries.
As the northern column prepared to march, people emerged from shelters to watch. Children who'd been fed by northern supplies. Wounded who'd been healed by northern magic. Refugees who'd been protected by northern steel.
One by one, they knelt.
Not in submission, but in respect. In gratitude. In recognition that something new had been born from the ashes of the old.
Evelina's composure cracked for just a moment as she saw thousands of people kneeling before her soldiers. Through the Soul Binding, Lioran felt her emotion—pride and sorrow and hope all tangled together.
"Rise," she called out, her voice carrying across the courtyard. "You kneel to no one. That's the whole point of what we're building here. Stand on your own feet and remember: the Frost Kingdoms came when you needed us. We'll come again if you call."
The column began to move, horses and marching soldiers creating a river of ice-touched armor and frost-blue banners. Evelina rode at their head, but she looked back once.
Lioran raised his hand, fire dancing briefly across his palm—a farewell, a promise, a reminder of what they'd created together.
She answered with ice crystallizing in the air, patterns that caught sunlight and threw it back transformed.
Then she was gone, disappearing over the northern hills toward mountain passes and a kingdom that needed its queen back.
The Preparation
"Three weeks," Kaelen said, spreading maps across the command table. "That's how long until the Continental Council convenes in Accord. Which means we have two and a half weeks to prepare, accounting for travel time."
The reduced council gathered—Lioran, Mira, Renn, Kaelen, Torven, Henrik, Elara, and Duke Aldren. Evelina's absence was a palpable void.
"Prepare for what?" Henrik asked. "Diplomacy isn't exactly our strength. We're farmers and soldiers, not courtiers."
"Then we learn quickly," Aldren said. "The council will be politics at its deadliest. Every word will be weighed, every gesture analyzed. King Valorian is dying, which means the kingdom is vulnerable, which means every other power will be positioning for advantage."
"And we're walking into the middle of it," Renn said. "Great plan."
"The alternative is waiting here while they decide our fate without us," Lioran countered. "At least if I'm there, I can speak for Thornhaven directly. Show them we're not the monsters Crane painted."
"You're a boy who commands fire and survived a crusade," Torven said bluntly. "To them, that's exactly what a monster looks like. No offense intended."
"None taken. Because you're right." Lioran stood, moving to the map that showed the route to Accord. "Which is why I can't arrive as the Dragon Lord of legend. I need to arrive as Lioran Vale—a leader who built something worth defending, who chose construction over destruction, who represents an alternative to the cycle of crusades and counter-crusades."
"Pretty words," Aldren said. "But you'll need more than that. You'll need allies, evidence, testimonies. You'll need to demonstrate that Thornhaven is sustainable, that it's not just held together by your power."
"The satellite settlements help with that," Elara suggested. "They prove we're growing, organizing, becoming something more than a refugee camp around a fire mage."
"We need someone who understands court politics," Mira said suddenly. Everyone turned to look at her. "Someone who can teach Lioran how to navigate that world.
How to speak to nobles without triggering their pride. How to—"
"How to be someone I'm not?" Lioran asked.
"How to be yourself without letting the ember speak for you," Mira corrected. "You have fire, yes. But you also have intelligence, compassion, and the ability to inspire people to follow you. Those are the weapons you need at the Continental Council, not flames."
Aldren nodded slowly. "Your mother is right. I can provide some instruction in court protocols, but the fundamental challenge is that you're asking people to accept a complete reimagining of power structure. That's not something you can achieve with clever words alone."
"Then what do I need?" Lioran asked.
"Proof," Aldren said simply. "Bring people who've been transformed by Thornhaven. Bring testimonies from former crusaders. Bring evidence that distributed governance actually works. Make them see that this isn't revolution—it's evolution."
"And if they don't want to see?" Renn asked quietly. "If they've already decided we're too dangerous to exist?"
The question hung in the air like smoke.
"Then I defend us," Lioran said. "Not with fire, but with truth. And if truth isn't enough..." He touched his chest, feeling the ember pulse. "Then I'll have three weeks to decide if I'm willing to burn the world to save what we've built."
"That's exactly what they expect you to say," Kaelen warned. "The moment you threaten force, you prove them right."
"I know," Lioran said. "Which is why I won't threaten. I'll simply go to Accord, speak my truth, and trust that somewhere in that gathering of rulers and power-brokers, there are people who want something better than endless war."
"That's a dangerous amount of trust," Torven observed.
"Yes," Lioran agreed. "But what's the alternative? Trust nothing, burn everything, and become the monster they fear? I've been down that path. It ends with me dying alone in fire, having destroyed everything I touched."
He looked around at his council—former refugees, former enemies, former doubters who'd become believers.
"I have three weeks to prepare a speech that might determine whether Thornhaven survives or becomes a cautionary tale. Three weeks to prove that power can serve people instead of consuming them." He smiled, thin and determined. "No pressure."
The council dispersed to their tasks, leaving Lioran alone with the maps and the weight of impossible expectations.
Three weeks until the Continental Council.
Three weeks to prepare for the moment when words would matter more than fire.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, the ember whispered that no speech in history had ever solved what fire could end in minutes.
But for the first time in months, Lioran had a response to that whisper:
Watch me.