7. Calla
CALLA
Commander Vhoros leads me along a winding stone path before leaving without a word, and I find myself alone in a place that feels less like a garden than a carefully crafted illusion.
Silver vines climb black trellises in elegant spirals, their metallic leaves trembling whenever the mountain wind slips over the high walls.
Branches of polished bronze arch overhead, each bearing flowers hammered from gold so delicately they scatter every flash of lightning into shards of living sunlight.
Desperation brought me here.
The city supplied the rest.
For weeks, Lord Rothgar's name has followed me through Galmoleth. The King wanted his most trusted lord married. Noble houses competed for the honor, while Lord Malakor pursued the match more openly than anyone else. Everywhere I went, people wondered who would become Lady Stromgarde.
I had expected nothing more than another evening spent behind my lute while nobles discussed futures that belonged only to people like them.
But Lord Rothgar glanced my way across the crowded hall.
His acknowledgment lasted only an instant before his attention returned elsewhere, yet that quiet courtesy stayed with me even after the music ended.
Perhaps I have mistaken simple kindness for something greater. Perhaps desperation has persuaded me to build hope upon a single moment.
Even so, I believe this was the door I was meant to knock upon.
If there is anyone in this city willing to hear an impossible proposal before dismissing it, I pray it is Lord Rothgar Stromgarde.
I hold onto that belief as I walk forward until the path opens into a broad courtyard where a fountain pours liquid mercury over sculpted black stone. Its silver surface remains perfectly smooth despite the endless motion, reflecting the storm-dark sky above with uncanny clarity.
I find Lord Rothgar waiting beside it, one hand folded behind his back, his attention resting on the flowing mercury.
He possesses the same stillness as the mountains surrounding Ti’lith. The world does not seem to move around him so much as accommodate his presence. Even the quiet rustling of flowing mercury feels subdued, as though reluctant to disturb his thoughts.
He wears no ceremonial armor today. A charcoal coat embroidered with restrained silver rests easily across broad shoulders, but nothing about him appears less formidable because of it.
His eyes lift from the fountain as my footsteps reach him, and I remember with startling clarity how they held mine across the banquet hall.
I stop several paces away, suddenly conscious of how small I must appear.
He offers neither greeting nor invitation. His attention settles on me with the same unhurried gravity he had given the fountain moments before, and it gradually becomes clear that he has no intention of rescuing me from the silence. If this conversation is to begin, it must begin with me.
The speech I rehearsed all morning loses some of its conviction beneath his gaze. I bow respectfully.
“Lord Rothgar, thank you for agreeing to receive me.”
He acknowledges the greeting with a slight inclination of his head.
“I realize my request is unusual,” I continue. “I also know I have no right to ask for your time, so I will speak plainly.”
His expression never changes.
“I believe Lord Malakor intends to continue pursuing a marriage alliance with House Stromgarde.”
Whether my words have reached him remains impossible to tell, but I force myself onward before doubt steals the rest of my courage. “The rest of Ti'lith believes it as well. The markets are full of speculation over who will become your wife."
“Your people seem remarkably invested in a decision that belongs to someone else.”
I manage the faintest smile despite the absurdity of the conversation.
“If Lord Malakor cannot secure an alliance with you, another lord eventually will.” The mercury continues its endless descent beside us, filling the quiet whenever my own voice hesitates.
Something shifts at the corner of his eyes, almost too slight to notice, yet I seize upon it before hope can dissolve into imagination.
“My family has nothing anyone could exploit. We possess no influence, no alliances worth courting, and no ambitious relatives hoping to profit from my marriage. No one could use me to place a hand upon House Stromgarde.”
The next words have waited beneath everything else since I entered the gardens. There was never going to be a graceful way to speak them, and hesitation serves neither Father nor me.
“I would like to offer you a proposal,” I continue, drawing a breath once to steady myself. “I will become your wife.”
Lightning flashes overhead, turning the mercury into flowing silver fire.
“The arrangement would last only until the pressure against House Stromgarde has passed,” I explain, careful not to rush now that the hardest words are behind me.
“A contractual marriage. You gain a wife no rival house can use against you, and Lord Malakor loses the alliance he has been pursuing. Once your position is secure, we end the agreement.”
“You have given this considerable thought.” His voice is quiet, yet it carries through the gardens with effortless authority.
“I have,” I answer. “I’ve had very little time to think about anything else.”
His attention never leaves me. It reminds me less of a noble weighing a proposal than a scholar examining an unfamiliar text, searching each line for meanings hidden beneath the obvious. It leaves me acutely aware that every unnecessary word weakens my position. So I arrive at the reason I came.
“In return, I ask only two things.” My throat tightens despite every effort to keep my voice steady. “The first is that you settle my family’s debt to House Malakor immediately.”
He gives no indication of what he thinks, forcing me to continue.
“My father received the final writ of seizure this morning. They will return for him in three days, but he is too ill to survive labor service. I am asking you to prevent that from happening.”
Speaking Father’s fate aloud nearly steals my voice, and I pause to take a deep breath.
“My second condition is your protection. My father remains under House Stromgarde’s protection for as long as our agreement lasts. Lord Malakor relinquishes every claim against him.”
When the final words leave me, I realize there is nothing left to add. Every argument worth making now belongs to him. The absurdity of what I have asked hits me all at once, and I fight to keep my legs from giving way.
I have walked into the heart of one of Galmoleth’s greatest Houses and asked its lord to exchange his name for my father’s life.
The gardens fall quiet again. The metallic leaves whisper overhead as another roll of thunder drifts across the mountains, and the steady hum of mercury over polished stone fills the space between us.
My own pulse beats loudly enough that I start to wonder if he can hear it.
I want to tell him about Father—about the hands roughened by decades spent repairing noble conduits or about the stubborn dignity illness has never managed to steal from him. I want him to understand that I am not bargaining for ambition.
But I remain exactly where I am, my fingers curled tightly inside my cloak, refusing to speak again unless he asks.
Lord Rothgar doesn’t.
The storm rolls overhead, silver light washing across the mercury before fading into shadow once more. When the brightness passes, he stands exactly as I first found him—calm, unreadable, as immovable as the fortress surrounding us.
I came here believing courage meant asking the impossible.
Now I discover the harder task is standing still long enough to hear the answer.