Chapter 105 Decisions Must Be Made Part II
The meeting broke into smaller groups: some argued, some planned, and some just sat in quiet exhaustion. Daisy stayed standing until the room was nearly empty, then went to the council table and sat down, resting her chin on her hand as she watched the nervous flickers in the murals above.
She let herself drift, just for a second, into the haze of old exhaustion. The council’s voices merged into a low background hum, punctuated only by the occasional raised voice or the brittle snap of glass. She could almost imagine she was still a child, crouched in the city’s hidden passages, listening to adults argue about problems she would never have to solve.
It didn’t last. As the last few councilors shuffled out, Xeris peeled himself from the wall and closed the distance to her in three strides.
He didn’t speak at first, just looked at her with an expression she didn’t recognize, a mix of hunger and hesitation. Daisy could smell the dragonfire on his skin, faint but always present, mixed with a sharper hint of fear. The air around them seemed to buzz with heat, a gentle warmth creeping over the stone floor and cooling suddenly with a soft hiss. The stark contrast heightened her senses, making the moment feel suspended between breaths.
She opened her mouth, ready to say something, anything to keep the world steady. But Xeris caught her wrist and leaned in so close she could feel the warmth coming from him.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he murmured, voice pitched low for only her. “The city needs you alive, not martyred.” Daisy’s gaze drifted momentarily, her voice softening as she replied, “I’m terrified of winning dead, Xeris.” The words hung in the air, raw and edged with the fear she had tried to hide. “What’s victory worth if I can’t share it with anyone?”
Daisy tried to jerk her hand free, but his grip was unbreakable, and the heat of it sent a shock up her arm. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to pull away or lean in until something snapped.
“You going to protect me?” she whispered, voice raw.
His eyes narrowed, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her, right there in the aftermath of revolution, with the murals showing every sign of her shame. Instead, he let go and stood up straight, the gold in his eyes burning even brighter.
“Weakness is contagious,” he said. “Don’t let them see you bleed.”
He turned and left her with only the memory of his touch and a faint red line on her wrist where he had held her. For a moment, Daisy sat motionless, her heart pounding as she tried to steady her breathing in the sudden quiet that followed his departure. Then, a shadow fell across the table, interrupting the stillness. Oliver Greenfield, hair still damp and clothes half-torn, slipped in from the corridor with the same effortless insolence he brought to every room.
He glanced at Daisy’s wrist, then at Xeris as he walked away, and something dark passed through his eyes.
“Problem?” he said, his smile brittle.
Daisy shook her head, then watched as Oliver’s expression shifted from anger to concern.
“Thought you should know,” Oliver said, voice pitched just above a whisper, “Lady Willow’s back. Brought half the Eldergrove with her. They’re waiting in the diplomatic chamber. She’s likely going to demand a significant concession this time—perhaps an oath of alliance, control over the southern forests, or even a tribute from the council. Her past negotiations have always tipped the scales in her favor, leaving her adversaries with unexpected consequences. Be prepared; she won’t have come without a price.”
Daisy blinked, trying to force her brain into the next disaster. “She wasn’t supposed to return for another week.”
Oliver’s hand found the small of her back, a gesture so old it felt like muscle memory. “She changed her mind. And she brought gifts.”
Daisy stood up, her joints aching. She noticed her shirt was on backward and there was dried blood at the corner of her mouth. Oliver, always quick with his hands, was already fixing her collar and straightening her pendant.
“She’s not here to kill us,” he said, softer. “But I think she could, if she wanted.”
Daisy smiled, this time showing her teeth. “Then let’s hope she wants something better.” She straightened her posture, feeling the strength return to her legs with each step. Her stride became purposeful, as if each movement carried the weight of her renewed determination—an outward sign of her resolve to shoulder not only her own burdens but those of her fractured city. As they left the chamber, Daisy caught a glimpse of Xeris at the end of the hall, still and watchful. The dragon’s gaze lingered not on her but on the place where Oliver’s hand had touched her, underscoring the pervasive tension between vulnerability and strength that defined her role as both protector and potential casualty in the looming conflict.
Daisy kept walking without looking back, Xeris’s words burning in her mind, brighter than any hope the council had.
The world wasn’t ending—not yet. But she could feel the anchor-locks of Brightwater, famous for holding even the strongest tides, suddenly tightening their grip around her city, one link at a time. These formidable devices, crafted by the city’s ancient architects, served as both physical and magical barriers, intended to withstand not only floods but also invasions. It was said that each anchor-lock was forged with a thread of spiritum, binding them to the very bedrock of the city. This time, she wasn’t sure who was at the other end.