Soren felt a chill at this, his brow knitted. "What do you mean?"
"Knight-Commander Soren Vane Delve has been chosen!" The envoy declared, his voice echoing across the frosted stones. "You possess the only spirit and marrow dense enough to act as the Vessel. The Mother Tree has designated you as the Bearer for the royal lineage."
Everyone fell silent as they listened to the envoy's words.
Over the snow-covered courtyard, thirty Vanguard archers all drew their bows at the same time. The creaks of wood and the clatter of iron arrowheads aimed squarely at the imperial envoy bounced off the fortress walls.
Marquis Dragan Vane Delve stepped forward with a heavy stomp, his hand gripping the hilt of his broadsword so tightly his knuckles turned white. His eyes flashed with a deadly, paternal rage.
"How DARE you storm in here and demand that my son throw his Vanguard forces to become a broodmare for your child-king?"
The High Alchemist, who was holding the glowing golden leaf, took a step back without even thinking about it. He never lost his poker face, but this time he looked a bit pale. He looked a bit uneasy as he saw the three dozen iron arrowheads aimed at his chest.
"Marquis Dragan! This is a divine decree! You'll be considered a traitor if you defy the Mother Tree's choice! Veridia will completely destroy everything in your domain!"
"The North has been at death's door for eleven years, while your capital's survival this long winter has relied on magic. We'll make sure your blood is all over this snow before my son gives up his sword." Dragan was beginning to lose his temper, pulling his sword out to within three inches of its sheath.
"Drop your weapon."
The voice wasn't loud, but it had a serious weight to it, like an avalanche.
Soren didn't raise a hand or draw a weapon. He just stepped between his father's sword and the shaking messenger. The Knight Commander's golden eyes checked his troops, and with a quick gesture of his gloved fingers, the thirty Vanguard archers dropped their bows straight away.
"Soren! Have you lost your mind?" Dragan snapped, his voice loaded with disbelief. "You can't possibly be seriously thinking about these insults!"
"Put your weapon down, Father," Soren said quietly, keeping his eyes on the royal alchemist.
"We don't exactly slaughter messengers in the snow, that's not how you behave." Soren moved closer to the envoy, his imposing presence was so intimidating that the capital official felt a cold sweat break out.
Soren lowered his eyes to the golden leaf sitting inside the velvet-lined box. The magical silver characters forming his name glowed brightly against the golden veins of the leaf.
Viscount Soren Vane Delve.
He felt a bit sick at the thought.
Soren knew that the Mother Tree's decree was absolute. This wasn't the first time it had happened, and everyone in Arboris knew that whoever was chosen as Queen of Arboris couldn't decline their position.
He looked from the glowing leaf on the ground to the high stone balcony within the residence where his mother stood watching, then along the corridor to the room where Mordessa lay, gasping for breath.
"What can you offer me?"
"Soren!" Dragan snapped at him quite strongly.
Soren didn't move a muscle, he stood there, staring at the Alchemist.
The silence in the courtyard felt like a dagger slowly scraping against the skin, before finally snapping like a broken shinbone.
"The King offers the Sap as a gift of mercy for Lady Mordessa." The envoy spoke up, putting an end to the silence.
Sap, Soren thought to himself.
"This is the sap of what is known as the Mother Tree's sap, which may be of use in addressing the issue of crystallization present in Lady Mordessa's body." Malakor's statement left Soren and his parents pretty taken aback.
That's the sap people are always talking about…
The kind you can only find in the capital and it's all stored in the central vault.
"The sap that's used to cure crystallisation is extracted from the time marrow-pear that's ripened, a fruit that only ripens once every ten years. The King bestowed this gift with the intention that, upon Commander Soren's arrival at the palace, the unfortunate events surrounding Lady Mordessa will no longer weigh heavily on your hearts." After Malakor finished explaining, he asked the guard carrying the small velvet box to open it.
Inside was a small, sealed bottle, filled with a thick, glowing golden tree sap.
Soren looked at the tree sap.
The High Council controls the grain supply. If he refuses, Veridia will declare open war, cut off the remaining shipping routes and force Dreadmoor to surrender due to starvation within three months. Even before Veridia takes action to wipe out the region.
Dreadmoor was never taken over by Veridia, even though it's in Arboris. It's still its own independent, tax-free region. If he refuses, there could be some pretty serious consequences. On top of that, Mordessa would turn to stone and die in her bed within that timeframe.
He remembered what had happened to Mordessa, like the hardening of the skin on her neck, chest, and fingers since she was a child. He also remembered her constant coughing, the sound of her breathing like glass scraping against each other which gets worse with age.
The disease, for which there is no cure, is in fact widespread among the North's population.
However, if he accepted, he would become part of the heart of imperial power. He'd be sat next to a weak, uneducated puppet king, with access to the capital's financial records, and just a few steps away from the pure sap that could save his younger sibling's life. It wasn't a death sentence, it was a siege from within.
Soren moved towards the Alchemist, looking like a marble sculpture, stiff and cold.
"No, Soren... please, no!" A trembling, icy hand clamped around his forearm. Soren turned to see his mother, marchioness Hilda, tears streaming down her pale cheeks as she squeezed his wrist with desperate strength. Hilda was pleading, "We can find another way, my son... trust me, there must be another way!" But as Soren's golden eyes remained fixed ahead, cold and resolved, Hilda's voice broke.
"Please let the Palace know my acceptance of the Mother Tree's decree."
Dragan looked like he'd just been slapped quite hard. His mother was bawling her eyes out, clutching her hands desperately.
"No! No! Soren!" Hilda screamed, Dragan was hugging her tightly to calm her down. Soren was still on his feet, turning his back on his parents, his hands tightly clenched into fists.
Overcome by grief, her knees gave out and Dragan caught her as she collapsed into his arms. He ordered the servants to take her into the manor. He was livid about Soren's decision, but he also wanted to understand what had been going through his son's mind when he made it.
"The Rite of Severance," Soren stated, his voice dropping into an icy, unyielding rumble as he loomed over the Alchemist. "For centuries, no region surrendered its chosen child without the ancient release ritual. You and your fifty knights will remain in Ironhold for two full days as our guests. You will witness the North release its Commander or you will not leave at all."
An hour later, inside the warm, pine-scented private study of House Vane Delve, the iron door was firmly locked. Marquis Dragan paced around like a caged beast, while Marquisess Hilda sat in an armchair. Hilda's knuckles were white as she pressed a handkerchief to her lips.
Soren and his father argued in the room, his dad thought Soren had overstepped the elders by making a decision on his own. But Soren believed he was allowed to do it because he'd thought about all the possible outcomes.
"Lucian Sol Veridian is just twenty-one," Soren said in a cold, calculated tone. "He's spent his whole life in a seminary, studying church law. He doesn't know anything about military tactics, politics or logistics. He's just a timid, fragile youth who got dragged into this by the High Council." He looked at his dad closely, trying to persuade him with what he was saying.
"A puppet king who's blind to power isn't a threat, is he, Father? He's just a shield. While Malakor and the Grand Council are busy preparing me for the court, I'll stand right beside the throne. I'll get the pure sap of the Mother Tree for Mordessa, and I'll find a way to funnel Veridia's wealth straight into our granaries."
"You're sacrificing your honour, your name, your identity as a commander. It's my job as a Marquis, Soren…"
"Honor doesn't put food on our people's tables, Father. And it doesn't heal my sister," Soren replied quietly.
Hilda cupped her eldest son's face in her hands, her thumb gently tracing the skin on his cheek. Tears ran down her eyelashes as she felt the weight of his loss. It broke her heart to let her thirty-year-old son go to become a Queen, a bearer of the royal lineage chosen by the Mother Tree.
"Come back to us safe and sound, my son. Don't let that cold city turn your heart to stone." Soren closed his eyes, savoured the silence and felt his mum's warm touch for a moment before finally standing up.