Chapter 109 The Ambassador Returns
The grand council chamber still smelled of smoke, a reminder of the attack the night before. Though rebuilt, cracks and scorch marks remained. Footsteps echoed off the walls, mixing with quiet conversations and making the air feel tense. The old noble dais was gone, replaced by a round table and mismatched chairs salvaged from ruined homes. Cold seeped up from the stone floor, as if the chill itself had joined the meeting. Overhead, crystal orbs of different sizes and colors glimmered, pulsing in time with the heartbeats of those present. Daisy Smithson spotted three new cracks along the east wall, left by last night’s bombardment. The crews would fix them by evening, if the war didn’t use up all the mortar.
Brightwater’s council met in full. Union leaders from the outer wards wore frayed sashes, showing the long struggles they’d faced. The merchant quarter’s top negotiator sat in a place of honor, an ornate trade seal on his chest. Two river guild members stood watchfully, as if one might need to report back if the other didn’t make it, their water-stained gloves showing their hard work. Lady Eleanora Ravensworth wore a severe black dress, looking almost like stone, though her cuffs and collar still showed her wealth. To Daisy’s right, Delia Moss sat stiffly with white-knuckled hands. Next to Delia, Samuel Thompson fiddled with a pocket watch, glancing at the door every fifteen seconds, which made Daisy uneasy.
No one spoke louder than a whisper. Conversations drifted to everyday problems like the shortage of mortar and the rising price of flour. Council members traded brief, forced smiles, hiding their worry behind small talk. The uneasy calm broke when the great doors swung open with a loud boom.
“Announcing Ambassador Thorne, voice of the Ironclaw Empire and sworn hand of His Imperium.”
Thorne walked in with six others: two guards in black helmets, two scribes in long robes, a thin man in blue holding a locked case, and a girl with a shaved head covered in sigil tattoos. Her eyes showed a sharp intelligence, hinting at some deeper power tied to her markings. The Ambassador looked plain, not tall or broad, with short hair and an ordinary face that Daisy almost missed. But when he reached the table, everyone’s attention turned to him.
He stayed standing. He put a folded parchment on the table and pushed it toward the council’s unofficial leader without looking up. The scribe in blue set the locked case on the table and waited, head bowed. The girl stared at Daisy, unblinking.
Thorne spoke in a calm, clear voice, filling the room. “I will not waste your time. The Ironclaw Legions are now one day’s march from your walls. Their commander asks only one thing: surrender the Chainbearer and the forbidden knowledge she carries, and the city will be granted clemency. Refuse, and you will become an example for every other province with similar ambitions.”
A tense silence filled the room. Daisy felt her name hanging in the air, like a drop of sweat before a blade falls.
Samuel coughed. “If you mean Miss Smithson, she is a citizen of Brightwater and under our protection.”
Thorne gave a tiny, professional smile. “We have the list of her crimes, if you require it recited. Murder of military personnel, destruction of state property, illegal possession of dragon-bonded magics—”
“We don’t,” Lady Eleanora cut in, voice slicing the words clean. “If Brightwater surrenders her, will you honor your terms?”
Delia’s hands jerked open, palms flat on the table. “You can’t be serious—”
“Will you?” Eleanora repeated, ignoring Delia.
Thorne nodded once. “Your city will be spared. The Chainbearer and her circle will be remanded to the custody of the Legions for transport and study. All other citizens will be permitted to retain property and rights under Imperial Law.”
Delia rose, knocking her chair into the table’s edge. “You’d give up a person to those butchers? You’d give up Daisy?”
Eleanora met her gaze coldly. Her hand shook for a moment, but she quickly steadied it, gripping the chair’s armrest tighter. “If the choice is the survival of this city or the safety of one person, the answer is clear.”
Samuel pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I may—”
“You may not,” Eleanora snapped. “Not until the child learns her place.”
Daisy felt the chain humming in her blood. She hadn’t expected the offer so soon and wasn’t ready with an answer. She looked for Oliver at the end of the table. He sat in the gallery behind the council, legs dangling over the stairs and hands in his coat. He seemed relaxed, but his eyes stayed on Thorne, alert and ready.
Their eyes met. Oliver raised an eyebrow, and Daisy understood he was ready for anything—running, fighting, or even dying. The thought comforted her, but it also hurt.
Lady Eleanora pushed the parchment across the table with two fingers. “You have your answer, then, Ambassador. Give us one hour to confer.”
Thorne nodded again. “Of course.” He gestured to his retinue, and they retreated to the chamber’s edge. The sigil-marked girl stayed, her eyes unblinking, fixed on Daisy.
The door closed quietly behind Thorne. Eleanora spoke right away. “We must accept. I have read the files. The Ironclaw will destroy us if we refuse, and everyone here knows it.” She looked around the table, daring anyone to argue.
Delia pounded her fist on the wood. “She is not a weapon. She is a person. Daisy has done more for this city than any ten of us—”
“That is precisely why she is valuable,” Eleanora cut in. “And precisely why the enemy will not stop until she is in their hands. If we resist, we lose everything.”
A council member spoke up, “But what about our conscience? Should we put safety above the principles that define us? How do we weigh one life against the survival of our community?” The room fell quiet for a moment, the question hanging over their practical worries.
The council fractured into argument: merchant voices rising in panicked counterpoint, the union heads shouting about loyalty, the river guild wrangling for “special exceptions” if it came to a siege. Above the din, Samuel’s voice finally penetrated: “Enough.”
They all turned. Samuel looked old, the lines in his face deep as trenches.
“We cannot outfight the Ironclaw,” he said. “But we have a duty to try every option. We owe the city that much.”
He glanced at Daisy. She was surprised to find herself standing.
She remained silent, attuned to the room and her own heartbeat. The chain occupied her thoughts, emblematic of the burden it imposed on her and all those connected to her since meeting Xeris. Images surfaced—Delia’s trembling hands, Oliver’s unwavering gaze, and the silent vigilance of the city beyond. Each of them seemed like a fragile light suspended in uncertainty, anticipating whether the world would persist or collapse at any moment.
When she spoke, her voice was quiet but hard. “I know what they want. But if you give them to me, it won’t save you. Ironclaw never leaves witnesses.”
Eleanora looked at her like a parent forced to scold a favorite child. “You know nothing of history. The Empire was built on these choices.”
Daisy shook her head. “The Empire is dying. That’s why they want the chain. They can’t hold the world together unless they find new links.”
Samuel nodded, slowly. “What do you propose?”
Daisy took a breath. “Don’t surrender me. Instead, let me propose an alternative: I can teach others—your council, militia, and healers—the specific practice of blood magic for defense. Blood magic is the process of channeling one’s own life force into spells, enabling the user to perform powerful, albeit highly risky, enchantments. This practice is traditionally considered taboo due to its reliance on the blood of oneself or others to amplify magical effects. Rather than relying on a single chainbearer, we could establish a group trained in this skill. If I remain the sole target, the city will fall to obtain me. However, if there are a hundred of us,” she said, pausing to let the idea take hold.
A heavy silence followed. Across the table, Delia’s face was wet with tears, but she smiled, either proud or just relieved to hear Daisy speak. Eleanora looked stunned.
Samuel folded his hands. “It’s never been done. Blood magic is… singular. It’s dangerous.”
Daisy nodded. “So is Ironclaw.”
At the end of the table, a merchant barked, “What if it kills them? What if they turn on us?”
“Then you’ll have lost nothing but a few more hours,” Daisy said. “But maybe you’ll have a chance.”
Eleanora stayed silent, lips pressed tight. She looked at Samuel, then Delia, then Daisy, as if she wished she could turn back time. When she finally spoke, her voice was almost gentle.
As she deliberated, the crystals above flickered, casting shifting shadows across the room. The orbs seemed to mirror the gravity of the decision confronting the council.
Daisy nodded. “If it fails, I’ll turn myself in. Personally. You have my word.”
Eleanora’s smile was brittle. “How noble.”
Delia stood, reached across the table, and squeezed Daisy’s hand. “We’ll make it work. We have to.”
Samuel tapped the table once. “The council votes, then. All in favor of Smithson’s proposal?”
A chorus of ayes, low but growing. Even the merchant raised his hand after a delay.
Opposed?
Eleanora was the only one opposed. Her fingers lingered on the edge of the table, as if she couldn’t let go. Her eyes were determined, but she trembled with each breath. In that moment, her silence stood out more than the chorus of ayes, as if she were fighting a private battle.
It was done.
The chamber emptied in a rush, arguments continuing down every corridor. Delia lingered, as did Samuel, and Oliver found his way to Daisy’s side before the echo of the door had faded.
“You sure about this?” he said, not quite whispering.
“No,” Daisy replied, “but I don’t see another way.”
Oliver squeezed her shoulder. “If you need to run—”
“I know,” she said. “You’ll be there.”
Delia hugged her, fierce as ever. “You’re not alone, Daisy.”
Daisy looked over her shoulder at Xeris, who stood partially concealed in the shifting shadows cast by a nearby crystal orb, arms crossed and expression unreadable. She recalled how they had once fought side by side against overwhelming odds, the same tension and silent understanding linking them then as now. That familiar connection remained: pride, approval, and an undercurrent of something more ambiguous—an unmistakable echo of the moment they became allies. Daisy wondered whether she had just saved the city or condemned it.
Either way, the next move was hers.