CHAPTER 89

JARRETT'S pov

The morning sun hit the stone walls of the shrine like a pale blade, breaking through the high arches and scattering light across the floorboards.

Helena was still asleep in my arms. Her face was soft, unclenched from the constant, grinding stress of the last few months. No golden fire flickered beneath her skin; no tight, defensive line pulled at her mouth. For a few fragile hours, she had just been a girl sleeping off bone-deep exhaustion.

I didn't move. My right arm was dead asleep beneath her shoulder, but I would have let it go numb entirely before I risked waking her.

A heavy knock rattled the iron hinges of the heavy oak door.

Helena flinched, her eyes snapping open instantly. For half a second, the wild, disoriented panic of a hunted wild animal flashed across her face before her gaze found mine. The tension bled out of her, replaced by a slow, groggy sigh as she sat up and pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes.

"Enter," she called, her voice raspy from sleep.

The door swung inward, revealing Kael. He held two heavy wooden mugs of steamy chicory tea, the rich, bitter scent filling the cold draft of the room. He stepped inside, nudging the door shut with his heel.

"Blackriver got the first three sleds an hour ago," Kael said, handing one mug to Helena and tossing a second toward me. I caught it smoothly with my good hand. "The local council's already distributing the grain. The kids are eating, Jarrett."

Helena took a slow sip, letting the heat of the mug warm her bruised fingers. "And Julian?"

"Tova took twenty riders back up to the Frostfang outpost at dawn," Kael said, leaning back against the heavy stone mantle. "Not to fight. She brought trade tools, iron rations, and two medical kits. The boy didn't draw his sword this time. He let them in."

A quiet breath escaped Helena's lips—a sound so full of relief it seemed to physically lighten the dark room.

"Good," she murmured. "Good."

"Don't get cozy just yet," Kael warned, his sharp gray eyes turning hard as he looked between the two of us. "You bought us goodwill with the northern packs, Crown-Bearer. But you turned Lucian's remaining zealots into quiet allies overnight. That makes the Southern Council terrified."

"Let them be terrified," I spoke up, setting my mug down on the bedside table and swinging my legs over the frame. "They've spent nineteen years sitting in marble halls while northern wolves ate bark to survive the winter. They lost the right to dictate how Helena handles this war."

"They have the gold, Jarrett," Kael replied plainly. "And more importantly, they have the Southern Vanguard sitting three miles south at the River Bend. Lord Vane sent a courier while you two were sleeping. He wants an audience. Today."

Helena set her cup down. The warmth in the room evaporated instantly.

"Vane," she repeated. The name tasted like poison in her mouth. Lord Vane was the oldest noble on the High Council—a man who had funded Lucian's campaign just enough to profit from it, then switched sides the second the wind blew toward the Crown.

"He says he wants to discuss the 'taxation of the northern granaries,'" Kael said with a cynical twist of his mouth. "He brought forty heavily armored heavy cavalry with him. Just to make sure the conversation stays... polite."

I stood up, adjusting the leather harness of my sword belt and pulling my coat tight around my shoulders. "He wants to see if the rumors are true. He wants to know if you're a weapon he can control or a queen he needs to kill before you take his land."

Helena stood up beside me, pulling her heavy fur-lined cloak over her shoulders. The subtle, human vulnerability of the morning was gone, replaced by the stoic, dangerous composure of a leader who had walked through fire and come out the other side forged of iron.

"Tell Lord Vane I'll meet him at the old stone bridge," Helena said, her voice dropping into that terrifying, icy pitch that made even seasoned warriors sit up straighter. "Not in the shrine. Not on his terms."

Kael raised an eyebrow. "The bridge is open ground. No cover. If his archers decide to take a shot—"

"They won't," Helena interrupted smoothly, looking up at me with a quiet, knowing flicker of brown in her eyes. "Because Jarrett will be standing right beside me. And he doesn't miss."

Kael looked at me, gave a single nod of begrudging approval, and turned toward the door. "Thirty minutes. Don't keep the fat lord waiting; he gets irritable when his velvet robes get damp."

When the door clicked shut, Helena stepped up to me, reaching out to fix the buckle on my chest guard. Her fingers were steady now.

"Same team?" she asked quietly, her eyes searching mine.

I reached up, covering her hands with mine, squeezing them tightly against my chest.

"Same team," I promised. "Always."