Chapter Sixty-One: The Neutral Badge
Jothere calls you before the Hall with the courtesy of a lord who expects obedience. The order is public, deliberate. You are to gather the House’s forces for muster—his forces, his sons’ forces, the merchants who answer his seal. He names you neutral, steward between bloodlines, bearer of his authority.
The badge he gives you is old silver, worn smooth by other men who thought neutrality meant safety. It grants command over Cael’s druidic rangers, Toren’s marines, and the Hall’s legion. It also binds you to every failure that will follow.
Cael receives the muster as sacred duty. His rites will protect the House, he believes; his bowls and beads will steady men in battle. Toren sees leverage—routes secured, rivals cowed, commerce wrapped in the language of defense. Neither son sees the altar yet. Both are walking toward it.
You move fast. Camps are placed where witnesses can see. Scribal tents stand in plain sight. Theron’s clerks sharpen quills and prepare slates. Yahmes is positioned as merchant-coordinator, a mask that keeps him alive while drawing oligarch captains into the open. Your brothers ride the perimeter, counting men who think they are unseen.
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Mira returns from the north with quiet urgency. Lyra’s hands tremble, she reports. The medicine has been gathered faithfully—and wrongly. Doubt has begun its work.
The counterfeit folio rests in Oakhaven, recorded and sealed. Elara stands ready to produce it at need. Heyshem’s watchers slip into harbors and market rows. Everything is prepared except the moment itself.
You ride toward the muster with the neutral badge heavy on your chest. You understand the choice narrowing like the false rite’s clause. If Jothere orders a sacrifice, you can expose him publicly and pray law moves faster than blood—or you can stop the act with your own hand and bear the consequence.
Ahead, tents rise and banners snap. Men believe they have been called to defend the realm. The House of the Boar moves toward order, and you take your place where all lines meet—between prophecy and proof, between father and son, between the law that must be seen and the violence that may be required to keep the kingdom from becoming a monument of ash and bones.
The hour before the muster ends. After this, there will be no neutral ground.