Chapter 100 There are Always Choices Part II
Daisy felt a flash of irritation, or maybe envy. She had learned to read the world through scars and city maps, but Xeris seemed to remember every battle as if he had been there. As she made herself focus, the warmth from his side of the table nagged at her awareness, hinting at an unspoken question she couldn't quite shake: What if she wasn't up to the task? This question pressed in like the static that tingled her skin whenever he leaned in to fix her markings, taunting her with its persistent intrusion.
She finished shading a patch of land, then glanced up to find Xeris watching her. His eyes, always unreadable, seemed to soften for a moment—then went hard again.
“Your energy is frayed,” he said, low enough that only she heard.
Daisy set the quill down. “I haven’t slept in a day and a half. It’s not a problem.”
He reached out, fingers brushing hers. The contact was brief, but the heat lingered. "You're the chainbearer. They can sense it now." The title of chainbearer did not merely connect Daisy to the city’s magic; it forged a relentless bond that shaped every thought and every heartbeat. Each strand of the chain that tethered her to the city’s power also drew the weight of its expectations and the constant anxiety of exposure. The responsibility to guide the city’s magical currents and sustain hope in the face of imminent peril pressed on her relentlessly, turning even moments of comfort into reminders of the threat she carried. It was a role both vital and harrowing: those attuned to the chain’s magic recognized in Daisy not just a potential savior but also a vulnerable target, forcing her to bear the dual burden of hope and fear with every step.
She tried to pull her hand away, but he held it for a moment longer before letting go. Samuel pretended not to notice, turning pages in the ledger and muttering numbers to himself.
“You think the old patterns will repeat,” Xeris said, eyes locked on the map.
Daisy shook her head. “They always do. People don’t change.”
He half-smiled. “Empires don’t, maybe. People can.”
Before Daisy could answer, the door slammed open again. Lady Eleanora Ravensworth walked in, her presence making the room feel colder. She wore a plain black dress with a single chain of pearls at her neck, and her silver hair was pinned in a tight bun. She looked over the map and then at the people, as if judging a set of ugly artifacts.
“I see the revolution hasn’t improved your taste,” she said to Samuel, who answered with a grunt that was part insult and part surrender. Eleanora placed a velvet box on the table and opened it, showing several signet rings, each with a different family crest.
“I’ve had these brought from the vaults,” she said. “They might buy us a day or two. Some of the border lords still recognize old authority.” She looked directly at Daisy, her gaze like a knife. “You might not care for the ways of power, but you’re wearing my family’s history on your neck.” She gestured at the pendant, the only fine thing Daisy owned.
Daisy touched it, suddenly self-conscious. “What do you want?”
“To survive,” Eleanora said. “Just like you. But I know what should be given to the enemy and what must stay hidden.” She put her finger on the map, right where Xeris had marked a new Ironclaw barracks. A distant bell tolled, resonating through the still air, as if marking the approach of destiny. The tension in the room thickened. A shadow flickered under the door, dancing briefly in the magelight, hinting at unseen dangers lurking just beyond the threshold. "They’ll strike here, at night. Not with an army, but with assassins.”
Samuel looked up, surprise cracking his poker face. “You’re sure?”
Eleanora nodded. “It’s in the way they move. The lack of supply trains. The absence of advanced bombardment.” She looked at Daisy. “They want your head. Or what’s in it.”
Daisy felt the eyes of the room shift to her. She resisted the urge to shrink.
Xeris, quiet and still, finally spoke. "The Ironclaw's method of expanding hasn't changed in centuries," he said, speaking so only the three of them could hear. "They offer protection, demand tribute, and then slowly take over their allies from the inside. Their real strength isn't their armies but the networks they choke off before any fighting starts." He reached into his cracked leather satchel and pulled out a parchment, its edges worn and stained with what appeared to be old blood. "This," he continued, unfolding the letter to reveal its contents, "was found on a strangled messenger, intercepted at Grimtown's border. It was a tribute demand. Compliance wouldn't guarantee anything, but it would delay their grip. They gleefully execute those who resist too early, leaving these copies as warnings." The chilling artifact, once just a rumor, now lay tangible before them, solidifying the menace of an unseen enemy.
Eleanora gave him a look of calculated skepticism. “And what would you suggest, ancient one?”
He nodded, the gesture both mocking and polite. “I’d break the chain. Move before it tightens. Make them fight for every inch, and let their enemies notice.”
Eleanora smiled, cold as granite. “The Ironclaws may be brutal,” she said, her eyes raking Daisy, “but at least they understand the natural order of power.”
A heavy, uncomfortable silence followed.
At the far end of the hall, footsteps echoed: hurried, uneven, and punctuated by the offbeat rhythm of someone favoring a newly injured leg. The door crashed open, and Oliver Greenfield stumbled in, his coat torn and his hair dripping water onto the floor.
He grinned, wild-eyed and exhilarated. “Miss me?”
Daisy exhaled, only then realizing she had been holding her breath.
Oliver crossed the room in two strides, ignoring Eleanora entirely, and dropped a bundle of damp papers onto the table. "They're massing at the bridge," he said, pointing to Samuel's map with a dirt-smudged finger. "But they're not sending men. Not yet. They've got witches, the old kind. And they're using the chain magic we saw in the city last night." His voice dropped, urgent: "Chain magic doesn't just strengthen spells—it can bind or amplify magical energy over whole districts. When the witches cast it, shields fail and defenses crumble, sometimes before you even realize they've been breached. If they channel it through the city's heart, they'll drain our strength to fuel their own. That's why it's so dangerous—every barrier we have can be turned against us if the chain magic takes hold."
Eleanora raised an eyebrow, her skepticism apparent. "Witches? Are you certain that's where our focus should be, Oliver? Defending the city requires more than fairy tales."
Oliver's expression hardened, his eyes locking with hers. "These aren't tales, Lady Ravensworth. They're a real threat. If the chain magic takes hold, it'll be worse than any army."
Daisy nodded in agreement, feeling the urgency pulsing in her chest. "We can't ignore this. The witches could dismantle our defenses from within."
Eleanora let out a sigh. "Very well, but remember, the old powers are unpredictable. We can't let fear dictate our strategy."
He glanced at Daisy, his hand resting on the small of her back in a way so familiar it made her cheeks flush. Xeris tensed, his nostrils flaring, but he stayed silent.
“Did you see them?” Daisy asked. “The Veilseekers?” Veilseekers were a mysterious group shrouded in dark magic and whispered rumors, said to have powers that enabled them to navigate both the material world and the hidden magical realms. Known for their ability to blend into shadows and strike without warning, they were both feared and reviled by those who understood their capabilities.
Oliver nodded. "And something worse. They're leaving those ceramic daisies everywhere. In the bread, at the water stations, even tucked into the pillows at the flophouses." He looked at her, a seriousness anchoring his usual swagger. "It's like they want to turn the whole city into one big bomb." Daisy's mind raced to comprehend their purpose, her thoughts landing on a chilling theory: the daisies could be amplifying the chain magic, turning everyday objects into channels for dark spells. If true, every daisy was not just a marker but a fuse, ready to ignite at a moment's notice.
Daisy pressed her palm to her eye, feeling the pressure build behind the socket. “Then we have to move tonight.”
Eleanora snorted. “You don’t even know what they want.”
“They want the city broken,” Daisy said, “and if they can’t take it, they’ll burn it so no one else can.”
Samuel began pacing, his stride uneven but gaining energy with each loop. The magelight flickered above, casting jagged shadows across the walls, as if echoing the tension pressing in on them. The air felt thicker, as if the room itself had begun to react to the encroaching danger. "We can evacuate the east quarter. Move the noncombatants to the inner wall," he said, his voice steady against the unsettling shimmer of the light. He shot a glance at Daisy. "If you can hold the Veilseekers here, at the river's bend, we might stand a chance."
Oliver looked at Xeris, then at Daisy. "You'll have help. The old man's got friends, and," he hesitated, voice dropping, "and so do you."
The magelight flickered above, and the shadows in the corners seemed to move. Daisy stared at the map, at the golden daisy ringed in black. The emblem felt like a burden, a constant reminder of the weight she carried. She thought about the chain in her blood, the city’s heartbeat pulsing through it, and how every hope and fear felt tied to her. As memories surfaced—moments of hesitation in past battles where she had nearly faltered—her internal conflict sharpened: the pressure to lead warred with the doubt that she might fail when needed most. Even with Xeris’s guidance and Oliver’s easy kindness, the recollection of her prior uncertainties fueled an ongoing sense of inadequacy. Yet, recalling Eleanora’s sharp focus and the support at the table, Daisy found a nascent strength rising to meet her fear. Inside, the dread of letting everyone down twisted her stomach, but now, instead of paralyzing her, it channeled her determination. For the first time, she resolved that despite uncertainty, she would accept the responsibility of chainbearer and face the storm outside, refusing to let doubt define her actions.
Outside, the night pressed against the glass. In the distance, she heard the first bell of alarm: one long, two short.
Samuel grabbed his cane. “Time to see if the new order holds.”
The room broke into motion, everyone moving with urgent purpose. Daisy remained at the table for a moment, her fingers poised above the gold-leafed flower. As the urgency of the others mounted around her, she recognized that this emblem, whether a shield or a warning, symbolized the choice she now faced. With a steadying breath, Daisy closed her hand over the daisy, her uncertainty hardening into resolve. She stood, clear-eyed and determined to accept her role, prepared at last to confront whatever awaited beyond the door.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, low and private.
She turned, meeting his eyes.
“I’m not,” Daisy replied. “Not anymore.”
The night waited outside, and so did the war.