Dragon Touched

The morning mist clung to the horses’ legs as they descended the narrow road from Fort Dawnhold. The sun had yet to clear the ridges, and the air was sharp with pine and cold stone.

Al shifted in his saddle, still uneasy under the heavy House Vaughn cloak. “Where are we headed?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral but wary.

Catrin glanced back over her shoulder. “We were assigned to Aelthar’s Maw by decree of the Triumvirate,” she said. “Rumors spoke of a cult — dragon worshippers, necromancers, or worse. It was deemed significant enough that no single House was trusted with the task.”

Pryce gave a dry laugh. “Be fair, Catrin. They thought we’d fail. Sending heirs from three rival Houses was convenient—no one House would lose face when we died. If we lived, they’d all take credit.”

“That’s politics,” Evan muttered from behind them. “Same wherever you go.”

Rhyosyn’s expression was distant, her red hair catching a glint of sun through the fog. “We return now to report to our Lady Mothers—each of whom serves the Triumvirate’s will in her own way.”

Al frowned. “So you’re part of this Triumvirate?”

Catrin shook her head. “No. Our mothers serve them, but are not of them.”

Pryce adjusted her reins, her tone shifting to something almost academic. “Think of the Triumvirate as three crowns balanced on one head. They share rule: one of Blood, one of Law, one of Faith. Together they embody what remains of the old Crown.”

Al frowned. “So who’s actually in charge?”

Rhyosyn smirked. “No one. Which is why everything takes twice as long as it should.”

Catrin shot her a look, then sighed. “Let me try to explain more plainly. The Triumvirate sits above all — three Ladies Sovereign who govern jointly. Beneath them are the Courts — the noble Houses who enforce their decrees and administer the provinces. And beneath the Courts, the Clergy — the temple orders, the healers, the keepers of records and faith. Each claims to serve the Crown.”

Al squinted. “And the Crown is… what, exactly?”

Rhyosyn’s voice took on that smug lilt she used when she thought someone slow. “The old royal bloodlines — what’s left of them. None of the current Houses carry enough pure lineage to claim the throne outright, so they share the illusion of unity.”

“So basically,” Al said dryly, “you’ve got three rulers pretending to take turns, a bunch of nobles pretending to listen, and priests pretending to keep them honest.”

Rhyosyn turned in her saddle to look at him, brows arched. “You put it crudely, but… yes.”

Evan chuckled. “He learns quick.”

Pryce’s tone turned chilly. “Cynicism suits you poorly, foreigner. You live because we protect you—remember that.”

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“Hard to forget,” Al said.

The group fell silent again, the only sound the steady clop of hooves and the occasional creak of leather. The mist was burning away now, revealing rolling ridges below them, and the long valley road that would lead back toward the Triumvirate’s heartland.

Al glanced sidelong at Rhyosyn. “So we’re going to report to your bosses.”

She gave a small, humorless smile. “Our mothers,” she corrected. “And through them—to theirs.”

He nodded slowly. “And I’m guessing none of them are going to be happy about what you found in that Maw.”

“No,” Catrin said softly. “Nor about what we brought back from it.”

Al didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. They all knew exactly what she meant.