Chapter 85 We Bow to No One
The council chamber smelled of old fabric and older grudges, the air thick with the kind of tension that required neither shouting nor swords to cut. Daisy kept her hands folded atop the lacquered table, fingernails stained with ground ginger and soot. She watched a column of sunlight drift through the patched window glass and crawl up the faded crest of House Merrin, the gold thread now as dull as tin. The room had belonged to a nobleman once, maybe three or four successions ago, before they’d all either fled or bled out, but the sense of trespass never quite left her skin.
She counted twelve heads at the table, though only half seemed to listen at any one time. Mira Stone sat near the end, face mostly shadowed by her hood, pale lips pressed in a line. Samuel Thompson, white-bearded and built like the city’s last surviving oak, thumped a fist when he disagreed and stroked his beard when he did not. Oliver had drifted to the perimeter, standing by the warped glass panes as if they might need to make a sudden escape. Delia hovered close to Daisy’s right, hands still sticky from mortaring bandages onto the wounded all morning.
The meeting had started as a briefing but had soured into an argument, like milk left too close to the fire.
“We’ve had no fewer than three confirmed breaches of the perimeter,” Samuel was saying, voice sandpapered from decades of yelling at students. “And still you insist we keep our forces hidden. Explain that, please, in terms that make sense to someone who values his life.”
Daisy met his eyes and tried to ignore the tremor in her own hands. “Because if we show them everything, they’ll know exactly what to bring next time.” She pitched her voice just above the room’s mutter. “Surprise is the only advantage we have.”
Samuel scoffed. “Restraint is not a strategy. It’s an apology for weakness. You saw what happened in Ravenshire…”
“That wasn’t the same,” Daisy snapped. “Those mages walked in, torched the whole block, and left the survivors picking teeth out of the river.” She felt the room tighten around her words. “This isn’t about pride. It’s about making sure there are survivors.”
“You would rather they believe us cowed?” Samuel pressed, leaning in. “We can hold the gates for a week, a month. If they think we’ve nothing left, they will come with fire and blood. Our only hope is to convince them that whatever monster they fear is real, and that it walks these halls.”
Daisy’s mind flashed to Xeris, to the way even his human form radiated a kind of hungry violence. She didn’t want to be anyone’s monster.
From the shadowed end, Mira Stone cleared her throat, a small, deliberate sound that cut through the rising tempers. She moved like someone who’d spent a lifetime watching for traps, every gesture calculated and spare.
“There’s another matter,” Mira said. “Two of my informants have disappeared. One returned with his tongue cut out. The other…did not return at all.” She set a folded piece of paper on the table. “Reports of unfamiliar faces. People asking questions about the blood witch, about the creature in the keep. Some call it the Crimson Devourer. Word spreads faster than fire.”
The phrase made Daisy’s stomach tighten. “Do you know who sent them?”
“I have my guesses,” Mira said, her eyes never leaving Daisy. “But their methods are foreign. Not from any of the old houses.”
The room fell quiet. Dust floated through the light, settling on glass and velvet and the hands of those who had once owned nothing but were now charged with running a city.
Daisy saw Oliver’s reflection in the window: a wary, taut line of a boy who’d grown up measuring every risk. He caught her eye and gave a tiny, infuriating shrug, as if to say, “You wanted this, didn’t you? It was the closest thing to a joke anyone had managed since breakfast.
Someone at the far end, a former merchant whose name Daisy always forgot, spoke up. “Why not show them what we can do? A parade. A demonstration. Let them see that Brightwater bows to no one.”
Samuel nodded. “A display of strength. Announce our new order. Invite the enemy to look us in the eye.”
Daisy gripped the edge of the table. “Or you invite them to slaughter us in the street.” She scanned the faces, searching for an ally. “We’re not the only ones with secrets. If they’re sending spies, it’s because they’re afraid. Let them keep being afraid.”
Mira’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Fear is sharp, but so is desperation. Sooner or later, it makes people do stupid things.”
Delia murmured, “We could use the time. The infirmary is full. There’s not enough food for a siege, let alone a festival.”
Daisy glanced down the table, and the faces turned to her: some hungry for direction, some hollowed out by months of fighting and famine. All of them are waiting for a verdict.
She drew a breath, steady as she could. “We double patrols. We keep the gates watched and the signals ready. But no displays, no magical pageantry. Not yet.” She looked straight at Samuel, then Mira. “If they want a monster, let them keep imagining it. It’s safer than giving them a map.”
Murmurs rippled, but nobody rose to challenge her. Daisy felt the exhaustion buzz at the back of her eyes, but she locked it behind her teeth.
The meeting ground on. They argued over bread shipments and who would handle the refuse pile near the western wall, as if the mundane could offset the dread gathering outside. Daisy answered each point, sometimes agreeing, sometimes overruling. She found herself unconsciously seeking Oliver’s gaze whenever her resolve wavered; every time, he was watching her, and every time, he gave a nod that was barely a movement at all but made the air in her lungs feel less heavy.
Finally, Mira Stone rose, the folds of her cloak brushing dust from the floor. “I’ll follow up on the spies,” she said, voice cool and clipped. “If there are more, I’ll root them out.”
Samuel glared, then relented. “Fine. But if we’re overrun, I expect the courtesy of a told-you-so.”
Daisy mustered a crooked smile. “You’ll be first in line.”
The council members filtered out, some in knots, others alone. Delia lingered, hand on Daisy’s shoulder, for a quick squeeze before she excused herself to tend the sick.
Oliver waited until the room was nearly empty before crossing to her side. He leaned on the table with both palms, head cocked. “You handled that well,” he said, low and close.
Daisy picked at the wood grain. “I just told them to do nothing. Doesn’t feel like leadership.”
Oliver gave her a look she couldn’t parse, equal parts admiration and sadness. “Sometimes not burning down the city is all the leadership anyone needs.”
She let that settle, watching dust sparkle in the late-morning sun. The city beyond the window looked almost peaceful, if you ignored the barricades and the burned-out shells of old noble houses.
“Think they’ll listen?” Daisy asked, finally.
Oliver shrugged. “Not all of them. But enough, I’d wager.”
He reached out, then thought better of it, letting his hand hover just above hers on the table. “They look to you because you know how to survive,” he said, softer. “Doesn’t matter if you’re scared. Means you’re not a complete fool.”
Daisy snorted, which made him smile. For a moment, the worry lines on his face softened, and she saw the Oliver she’d known before the city changed them both.
She gathered her notes and stood, the new weight of the daisy pendant shifting against her throat. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s check on Mum before someone sets the hospital on fire, arguing about soup rations.”
He fell into step beside her, and together they left the room, Daisy walking just ahead, but not so far that he couldn’t catch up if she stumbled.
The city was holding its breath, and so was she. But for a little while longer, that was enough.