Asteria sat with her tea untouched, her hands resting lightly as she allowed the silence to settle. Orion understood, with a strange flicker of pride, that she had built this moment up as a trap long in advance.
They already knew, in broad strokes, what had happened. The witches had scried ahead before engaging with the flock and had seen that the fighting in Stillport was just a result of wider chaos affecting the entire faction.
The Crimson Wheel Consortium was built on contracts and leverage, on steel and coin. Orion had always believed that made it safer in its own way, immune to the grand melodramas mages and witches often favored, but he was learning otherwise.
“First, my lady, let me extend my gratitude to you,” Marcellus said, his voice warm enough to seem sincere. “Truly. We will not forget who helped us at such a dangerous moment.”
Asteria did not take the bait and let Marcellus speak his pleasantness before she turned her eyes to Havel.
“And you?” she asked.
Havel’s jaw tightened in the smallest way. “Stillport stands because you chose to intervene, Veil Priestess. The Consortium will remember that.”
Again, it was a non-answer. They really don’t want outsiders to poke their noses into their affairs, huh?
Asteria nodded as if she expected nothing else, then went for the jugular. “Which of you let Behenien into the southern Belt without sending word ahead?”
The question landed like a bomb, stealing Marcellus’ smile. “That is an extraordinary accusation,” he said carefully. “We are merchants, my lady, not dragon riders. We are that monster’s unlucky victims.”
Havel’s eyes flicked toward Marcellus, sneering. “If you want the answer, Veil Priestess, you should ask the men who broke the chain of command during an active siege for petty reasons.”
Marcellus spread his hands. “Ser Havel would rather you believe this started with me. He’s always had a fondness for lies; that’s how he earned his first coins, you see.”
Havel didn't twitch at the accusation, but something in him hardened as he watched the younger man speak.
“This all started when the council’s old men refused to adapt, refused to fund patrols, and refused to honor the contracts that kept this stretch of river thriving. I have been bleeding money for two years to make up for their absence, and that is just a small portion of the damage they’ve done to the Consortium.”
“And so you decided to take over the city while monsters were in the sky,” Asteria said mildly.
Marcellus gave a small shrug, as if the whole situation were unfortunate. “I decided to prevent Stillport from being strangled by a council that has lost its nerve. If you want to talk about timing, ask Sir Havel why his people tried to seize my ships last month. Ask him why they threatened my ironworks shares when every forge in town would have gone cold without them.”
“You mean they overreached, and you decided to plunge the city into civil war,” Orion said before he could stop himself.
Both men looked at him then—Havel with a flicker of reluctant interest, Marcellus with a quick assessment—and while Orion wasn’t afraid of them, he had to admit he could see why they were leaders of their respective groups. They had an aura that clearly set them apart from the masses.
Asteria’s hand touched his forearm in warning, and he quieted down.
Havel answered him, eyes glinting. “They are the ones who overreached, using the grants we gave them to enrich themselves. They took men meant for the river patrols and sold them as private guards, diverted ward-stone shipments to their own estates upriver, and leaned on the Brine League for protection payments without any intention of following through beyond the occasional patrol.”
Marcellus scoffed. “That is such an egregious lie. The Brine League is an independent faction with whom I have business. I never promised I’d protect them, especially not when Stillport’s safety was at stake.”
Asteria’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I happen to know for a fact that the Brine League thought there was one such arrangement.”
Marcellus hesitated, and Orion noticed the careful calculation behind his gaze. “I am telling you,” Marcellus said slowly, “I was not the one responsible for it.”
Havel’s lip curled almost imperceptibly. “There. That is the truth of it. He speaks as if the Belt were his to take, and as if contracts only matter when they bring him wealth.”
Marcellus turned his head toward Havel with lazy contempt. “You old fossil, I can see now why you never amounted to anything.”
Asteria let them exchange barbs for a while, and Orion felt like he was watching a duel, both probing and pushing each other into missteps, trying to win without exposing their vulnerabilities.
It was all pretty plausible, too.
An old council clinging to power. A merchant prince pushing for consolidation. Mercenaries torn between loyalty and pay. A port city caught in the middle, turning inward even as monsters attacked its walls. Orion could easily piece those elements into a coherent story, and he suspected that was the goal. They were giving her a story she could accept, while simultaneously deflecting attention from her accusation.
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After a few minutes, Asteria appeared to have had enough. “You were saved from certain death.”
Havel inclined his head. “Yes.”
Marcellus smiled again, but he did not quite meet her eyes. “Yes.”
“And yet you sit before me and squabble like children without answering my very reasonable questions.” She ground out, as the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Orion had witnessed his mother angry before, but never so deeply nauseated.
“You are being uncooperative,” she continued, "there are consequences to that. I feel like you should know that.”
Marcellus’ throat bobbed as his confidence finally faltered. Havel maintained his composure, but Orion noticed the tension in the man’s hands, how his fingers pressed too hard against the tabletop.
Still, neither broke.
Havel gave a slight bow. “With respect, Veil Priestess, Stillport answers to the Wheel’s charter, not to Silverpeak.”
“That charter didn’t seem to do much of anything to save you from dragonfire," she replied, unamused.
Marcellus sat up straighter, apparently finding some backbone. “If you wish to make demands of the Wheel, you can do so at the proper seat. I’m sure Carat will fulfill your wildest dreams.”
They are still playing the game, but it’s not because of stubbornness. The fighting in the capital may not have been settled yet.
Asteria looked at them for a long moment. Orion expected her to use her power and try to make them talk, but to his surprise, she exhaled and leaned back. “Very well,” she said.
Both men blinked, as if they too had expected things to turn ugly.
Asteria tapped her fingernail on the table. “Since you seem determined to make sure I don’t trust you, you will sign a temporary transfer of defensive authority over the city, active until our departure.”
Marcellus’ smile returned, but more carefully this time. “That is a significant request. Your people have already seized much of our infrastructure.”
“And that’s the price you pay for being alive,” Candra finally said. “You think you can drag your little knife fight into open war and then hide behind other people’s dead? Sign whatever she needs, boys.”
Both seemed strongly opposed to doing it, but they understood that refusing now would release the witches from the responsibility they had assumed for the city, and that conflict could erupt at any moment.
Asteria passed a roll of parchment to everyone present, including him.
Orion read it quickly and felt a slow, surprised admiration. It was clear his mother had written this with merchants in mind and had prepared it beforehand.
The Sanctum would control Stillport’s defenses until the army completely left, or, if that didn’t happen, until the next full moon, whichever came first. If the signatories broke the agreement, the entire Consortium would be in violation of a contract under the seal of the Moon Mother.
Even Orion, who cared little for oaths and rites, knew the significance of that.
Havel’s lips thinned. “The next full moon is weeks away.”
“Then make sure we are gone before it,” Asteria replied. “Or learn to be patient.”
Marcellus leaned back, his massive frame causing the reinforced chair to creak. “And if we refuse?”
Asteria’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Then I will leave you to face the consequences of your own cleverness, and more importantly, I will remember you.”
That did it.
Havel signed, and Marcellus followed, slower, his pen lingering as if he wanted to make the act feel voluntary.
“You are dismissed,” Asteria said once she’d taken the parchment back.
The two merchants left looking displeased, clearly unhappy with the current situation, but they had brought it on themselves.
Orion exhaled a breath once they were out with their soldiers.
Candra clicked her tongue. “We should have just broken their minds.”
Asteria snorted, shaking her head. “We could have,” she said. “But I suspect they had artifacts to prevent a quick jaunt.”
“It would have still been less effort than this,” Candra grumbled.
Asteria’s eyes went distant for a moment, and she gave a graceful shrug. “Breaking minds is messy and leaves traces. And I’m becoming surer that those two only knew a portion of the truth anyway.”
Orion frowned. “So we have to go see for ourselves what’s really going on.”
“Exactly,” Asteria nodded, favoring him with a smile.
Orion hesitated, then asked what had been bothering him. “And Stillport?”
Asteria’s mouth quirked, a smirk as sharp as a knife edge. “Stillport will be safe and sound.”
“Because of the contract. I knew there was something more to it.”
“Because of the contract,” she agreed, and there was satisfaction in her tone that Orion did not often hear. “We shall leave a single flight here, just enough to keep the defenses under our hand.”
“Will they accept that? I doubt a single flight can hold the city without enacting a massacre.”
“They don't have to like it,” Candra muttered. “They just have to do what they're told.”
Asteria was silent for a moment too long, and he turned to see her smiling expectantly. He shrugged, unsure of what she was waiting for, and she finally gave him the answer. “We will also not be alone. The Collegium has concerns about the current situation.”
Orion blinked. “You’ve managed to speak with them.”
Asteria didn't give a direct answer, which in itself was an answer. “They are not blind,” she said. “If the Wheel starts to fall apart, the instability of the trade lines will only increase, and no one wants that.”
When did she become this good at politics? he wondered with faint admiration.
The witches moved through Stillport’s arteries, inspecting towers, securing ward anchors, and providing free healing to those in need, making themselves known to the citizens as more than scary faces. Orion spent some of the time observing from the fortress walkways, watching the city begin to stir again.
He expected anger, and he saw it too in the crimson-coated soldiers staring up, whose eyes were full of resentment, but he also detected relief.
No one wanted the killing to go on, and as long as the witches remained, safety would be guaranteed.
Some of that changed when the Collegium arrived.
It started as a distant hum, a low vibration that made the banners on the battlements sway. Orion looked up from the courtyard and saw a shape moving through the fading clouds, long and sleek, a vessel suspended in the air by runes that glowed faintly beneath its belly.
It moved confidently along the inner wall, and soon the courtyard vanished beneath its shadow. Ropes dropped and tied themselves to the parapets, while a gangplank unfolded, releasing robed figures in disciplined lines.
Stillport’s soldiers bristled, as did some of the merchants’ retainers, and Orion heard the first shouted objections, but no one paid them attention.
The witches did not even turn their heads, and the mages did not slow their descent.
Asteria stood in the middle of the courtyard with her hands clasped behind her back and greeted a young man in fine robes with a nearly friendly nod. Orion couldn't hear what was said, but he saw a quick exchange, followed by a look of shared understanding.
The mages took control of the positions quickly and efficiently, starting their own assessments of wards and damage, while a flight of witches broke away from the main force and hovered above the towers in a holding pattern, clearly intending to stay.
By late afternoon, the army was ready to move again. Supplies were redistributed, brooms checked, and formations reorganized. The rain had finally stopped, but a mist lingered from the basin, where the water vapor rose faintly, still heated by divine judgment.
Orion mounted his broom and joined the other witches in flying over the city, while the Collegium’s ship hovered at a respectful distance.
Orion's final glance at Stillport revealed a city holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen as the Sanctum’s silver tide withdrew.
Then the formation turned west, heading toward the Consortium’s capital.
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