Exiles
The council hall felt different the second time.
The same columns flanked the entrance, natural stone, shaped but not cut.
The same crystals lit the corridors, aetheria made visible in the mountain rock.
But where Lark had once found the architecture beautiful in its severe way, now it only felt cold and unwelcoming.
A place that had already decided what it thought of them.
They arrived at midday as instructed, all four of them plus Noctis, who refused to be left behind.
The wolf padded at Rion’s side with an air of dignified menace that Lark suspected would not endear them to the council, but could not bring herself to discourage.
If they were going to be judged, they might as well be judged accurately.
The functionary who met them at the entrance was the same young man who had led them through these corridors weeks ago. He didn't meet their eyes.
That was the first sign.
The council chamber was as she remembered it: circular, tiered, designed to make petitioners feel small. Seven figures occupied the highest tier, their faces grave, their postures formal.
Lark scanned the lower tiers for Morena but didn't find her. Her aunt’s absence was notable, one more sign she didn’t want to read.
“Visitors from Autumncrown,” Councilor Martyn said, her voice carrying the same cold clarity it had before. But the councilwoman’s tone had changed, some finality sitting beneath it.
“We are,” Lark said, stepping forward. “You summoned us. We assumed you had reached a decision.”
“We have.” Councilor Martyn didn't look away from her.
“We have permitted you to remain while your injured companion recovered and extended the hospitality of our healing halls and guesthouse. We allowed you access to our archive.” Her eyes moved to Rion.
“You have made extensive use of that access, I understand.”
“I have, and I’m grateful for the opportunity.
” Rion’s voice was calm, but Lark could hear the tension beneath it.
“The archive is a remarkable collection. Springhope should be proud of what it has preserved.” He paused, and she knew he was about to make their last attempt.
“And I’ve found information there that bears directly on your decision.
Evidence that dark aetheria can be transmuted, cleansed, but only through the combined power of multiple witches working together.
It proves that no enclave can stand alone against what’s coming. If you would allow me to present …”
“We aren’t interested in what you found.”
The words cut through the chamber like a blade. Rion stopped mid-sentence, the hope draining from his face.
“We’ve made our decision,” Councilor Martyn continued. “And we’re informing you that your time in Springhope has come to an end.”
Lark felt the words land, leaden and disheartening. They had believed. They had actually believed. She had lain awake last night imagining what it might mean if Springhope said yes, if they finally had allies, if the tide might finally turn in their favor.
Foolish. She should have known better.
“You promised to consider,” she said. Her voice came out harder than she had intended. “You said you would send inquiries. Verify the threat.”
“We did. We have.” The councilor’s expression did not soften. “And we’ve decided that Springhope’s interests are best served by maintaining our neutrality. We will not be joining any alliance, and we will not be involving ourselves in conflicts that do not concern us.”
“This conflict will concern you eventually.” Rion’s voice was tight with urgency, his politeness cracking. “The research I found proves it. The corruption that Duskwood is spreading requires the combined power of multiple witches to cleanse. A single enclave can’t …”
“You speak of cooperation,” the weathered councilor said, the same man who had voiced skepticism at their first appearance.
“Of enclaves working together. Yet Autumncrown could not hold its own borders. Wintersorrow fell in a single night. If the lowland enclaves cannot protect themselves, what makes you think dragging us into their wars will change anything?”
“This war will come to you soon enough.” Lark heard the edge in her own voice and forced herself to moderate it.
Anger would not help them here. Nothing would help them here.
“Theron Duskwood doesn’t want territory or resources.
He wants to control all magic in Ianorrah.
Every obelisk, every witch, every drop of aetheria flowing through every enclave. Including yours.”
“So you have said. Repeatedly.” Councilor Martyn’s tone made clear how little she appreciated the repetition.
“And yet we see no evidence of this threat at our borders. No armies amassing in the lowlands. No corruption creeping up our mountain paths. What we see is four refugees from a conflict that has nothing to do with us, asking us to abandon centuries of successful policy based on their word alone.”
“You have Councilor Thornwood’s word as well,” Pippa said. “And the evidence Rion found in your own archive. How much more do you need?”
“More than you can provide.” The councilor rose from her seat, and the other council members rose with her.
The motion had a terrible resoluteness about it.
“You will leave Springhope by tomorrow morning. The goat trails will be clear for travel, and provisions will be supplied for your journey. That is the extent of the hospitality we can offer.”
“You’re expelling us,” Lark said flatly. “After promising to consider. After giving us hope you might actually see reason.”
“We're asking you to leave.” Councilor Martyn met her eyes without flinching. “And we made no promises. We said we would consider, and we have considered. The answer is no. To the alliance and to your continued presence here.”
“And if we refuse?” Darian’s voice was quiet, dangerous.
“Then we will escort you out ourselves. We don’t wish to be inhospitable, but we will protect our people. Whatever the cost.”
The audience was over. The functionary reappeared at their side, gesturing toward the exit, and Lark understood that there would be no further discussion. No appeal. No second chance. The council had decided, and nothing they said would change it.
Their expectations had been built around the transmutation discovery, the proof that cooperation was not just helpful but necessary. But none of it mattered. The council had never intended to listen. They had only been waiting for a polite interval before showing them the door.
She turned and walked out of the chamber, her companions following in silence. The beautiful corridors were colder now, the glowing crystals harsh instead of welcoming. They had come to Springhope seeking allies and found only a closed door. A place that would rather hide than fight.
Behind her, she heard Rion’s frustrated exhale, felt Pippa’s hand touch her arm in wordless solidarity. Darian said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes.
They had been exiled.
The guesthouse felt smaller. More temporary. A place they had almost thought of as home revealed itself to be merely a waystation on a longer journey.
Lark sat oat the dining table and tried to think clearly through the anger still simmering inside. They needed a plan. Somewhere to go. Someone who might actually listen to what they had learned.
“Summerbright,” Darian said. He stood by the window, arms crossed, his expression grim. “It’s the obvious choice. There is an enclave there, and even with the broken obelisk limiting their power, they should have reason to be worried about Duskwood’s expansion.”
The room went quiet. Lark felt everyone’s eyes shift toward her.
“You want to go to Summerbright,” she said flatly.
“Want is a strong word. But it makes strategic sense. The enclave stays behind its walls and doesn’t involve itself with the guilds that run the rest of the city. They might be more receptive to a warning about magical threats than the thieves who control everything else.”
“And how am I supposed to walk into Summerbright? The city where I’m still wanted for murder?” Lark shook her head. “The guilds have long memories. Isolde’s people are still out there. The moment I’m recognized …”
“You won’t be recognized,” Pippa interrupted, “because you won’t be the one going in.”
Lark looked at her.
“Think about it.” Pippa leaned forward, her expression intent.
“The enclave keeps to itself. They don’t mix with the rest of the city.
Whatever happened between you and the Order of Blight, the witches behind those walls probably don’t know or care.
Rion is a scholar from Autumncrown with information about dark aetheria.
I’m …” She paused, searching for the right words.
“I’m someone who can talk to people without threatening to stab them. That’s not nothing.”
“She’s right.” Darian’s voice was thoughtful.
“We don’t all have to go in. As witches, Rion and Pippa can approach the enclave officially, present what we’ve learned, and try to convince them that cooperation is in their best interest. Meanwhile, you and I stay out of sight, somewhere inside the city where the guilds won’t think to look. ”
“You want to split up.” Lark didn't like it, not any part of it. “After everything that’s happened, you want to split up?”
“I want to give us the best chance of actually being heard.” Rion crossed to where she sat and lowered himself into the chair beside her.
“The enclave probably won’t listen to someone the guilds are hunting.
But they might listen to outsiders who have no history with the city’s politics.
Especially if we have something valuable to offer. ”
“And if they don’t listen? If something goes wrong?”
“Then you and Darian get us out.” He took her hand, his fingers warm around hers. “You’ve done it before.”