Chapter 26: Of Faith, Ash and Fire
As Corvin continued refining his knowledge and expanding his magical affinities within the halls of the Arcanum, trouble far more mundane, yet equally dangerous was beginning to fester across the sea. In the heart of the Gilded Dominion, another envoy had just arrived at the palace gates, bearing the unmistakable seal of the Holy Verranate.
The letter was ornate, trimmed in gold and sealed in crimson wax, but its message stank of condescension and veiled threats. Duchess Yvanna Vellgard sat on her throne, posture perfect, features carved from ice, as the Verranate priest-ambassador read aloud the ’invitation.’ His voice was slow and soaked in that sanctimonious confidence only the devout truly mastered.
They were once again demanding her submission. Not in words that named war outright, but in language so carefully woven with doctrine that it couldn’t be mistaken for anything else. She was to abandon her claim on the throne of the Gilded Dominion and pledge herself to the divine laws of the Gilded Vessel. That, or she and her people would be forced to bear the burden of a crusade.
It was the third such envoy in just three months.
To the Holy Verranate, her position was inherently offensive. A woman with political power, ruling without the approval of the Patriarchal Sanctum, was considered a walking blasphemy. Their doctrine left no room for ambiguity. Leadership belonged to men chosen by divine sanction, and women were to be silent, obedient, and ruled. Her defiance wasn’t political, it was heretical.
Yvanna’s knuckles whitened as she tapped the armrest of her throne, nails drumming on polished marble. Around her, the nobles and advisors remained silent. They had seen this scene play out before, and they knew better than to interrupt her storming thoughts.
She dismissed the envoy with a cold nod. The robed man bowed with mock humility and left the chamber with the self-satisfied look of someone who believed they had delivered a warning from heaven itself.
Yvanna rose.
She paced the wide circular floor of her council chamber, tall windows behind her letting in the soft golden light of late afternoon. Her heeled boots clicked sharply on the inlaid stone, echoing off the domed ceiling. In her mind, the words of the letter twisted into a threat. One that might become real if she didn’t act swiftly.
Her capital, Viremond, stood like a crown jewel of the coast. The sea shimmered behind its walls, and trade flowed like blood through its veins. Every major city in the Gilded Dominion, Cymoril, Brayvine, Dorethel all of them had a port, each tied together by gold and sea routes. Only the inland border to the Iron March was lined with stone and steel. Fortresses there were old, sturdy, and never meant for expansion, only to hold the line.
She wondered, bitterly, if those forts would soon face a crusading army.