Chapter 95 Dinner and Diplomacy
Dinner in the Grand Hall felt less like diplomacy and more like a carefully staged ambush. The chandeliers burned brighter than at the earlier reception, reflecting off the plates and glasses until the whole place shimmered like the inside of a jewelry box. Lady Willow presided at the far end, a picture of effortless grace, every motion deliberate. Even when she smiled, Daisy felt as if the expression was painted on.
Daisy sat to her right, as the guest of honor, but tonight she’d have traded the seat for a crawlspace in a heartbeat. Oliver occupied the spot at her left, a half-pace behind in the classic position of a bodyguard or, if you asked him, an accessory to mischief. The rest of Brightwater’s council filled in the spaces, and at every interval, an Eldergrove envoy interleaved with local staff, their attention never quite leaving their host’s reactions.
It was Oliver who first noticed. He always did.
He leaned close, voice pitched so low only Daisy could hear: “The ones serving the wine, watch their hands. Too clean for kitchen work. And see that one, near the entry? He never blinks.”
Daisy pretended to laugh at something Lady Willow said, but her eyes followed the line of sight Oliver had indicated. Sure enough: the wine bearer’s wrists were marked with what looked like scar tissue, rings of pale skin where manacles might have been, and he poured with a steadiness that bordered on eerie. The guard by the entryway stared ahead, unblinking, every muscle taut as if waiting for a starting bell.
She whispered, “They’re not staff, are they?”
“Guards. Or worse,” Oliver replied, lips brushing her ear in a way that made her shiver for reasons entirely unrelated to security. “They’re here for show, but also to see who’ll challenge them.”
Lady Willow set down her fork with a click and fixed Daisy with a serene gaze. “Is the food not to your liking, Chainbearer?”
Daisy blushed, realizing she’d been caught. “It’s perfect. I never tasted mushrooms like these before.”
Willow’s eyes gleamed with something like amusement. “They grow only in the oldest groves. Very sensitive to blood in the soil.” She let that hang for a moment, the rest of the table quieting to catch the subtext.
Daisy smiled, but felt the warning. She returned to her plate, only to see Xeris watching from further down, his expression a study in boredom. He toyed with his wine glass, swirling the liquid but never drinking.
Conversation ebbed and flowed: pleasantries about trade routes, stories of old magic, comparisons of Ironclaw and Eldergrove. Through it all, Oliver kept up his running commentary, each whispered observation sharpened to a razor.
“Their shoes don’t match. Means they marched here, changed into court clothes in a rush.”
“That guest, two down from the end, keeps counting the exits. Ex-mercenary, by the look.”
“I think Lady Willow’s watching you to see what scares you.”
Daisy risked a glance at Willow, who met her gaze with perfect composure. She had a knack for being beautiful in a way that felt dangerous, like a lioness stretched out on a sunlit stone, ready to pounce if the mood struck.
It was during the second course, some elaborate tart brimming with pickled roots and thin slices of bright orange fruit, that things went from tense to explosive. Lady Willow raised her glass for a toast.
“To Brightwater, city of chains. May your links always be strong, and your people unbroken.”
The hall echoed the toast, but Xeris raised his own glass last, and when he did, he let the glamour slip just a touch. His hand, reaching for the wine, flickered from human to scaled, the talons gleaming obsidian in the candlelight. The change was so quick Daisy almost doubted she’d seen it, but the gasp from one of the Eldergrove envoys confirmed it.
Lady Willow’s smile froze for half a heartbeat, then thawed into something even smoother. “And to the allies who bring new fire to old struggles,” she said, eyes locked on Xeris.
He inclined his head, the picture of politeness, but his next words cut through the warmth. “Some chains are meant to be broken.”
That got a murmur from the Brightwater side, and even Lady Willow’s mask slipped a notch. Daisy’s heart hammered, partly from fear, partly from the sense that she was about to become the cause of a very public disaster.
As the meal continued, tension ratcheted higher. Every compliment between delegations was barbed; every laugh had an edge. Even the air felt brittle, as if the walls themselves might snap from the pressure.
When the final plate was cleared and the guests filed out to the reception antechamber, Daisy excused herself and made for the stairs. She needed air, perspective, or just a place to pace where no one expected her to have the answers.
She found herself on the castle’s highest tower, the city sprawling below like a broken mirror. The sky was clear, and the stars pulsed with an intensity that suggested someone might be watching back.
Daisy gripped the stone, the cold anchoring her. She tried to order her thoughts: the threat of the Veilseekers, the offer from Eldergrove, the knowledge that at any moment Ironclaw’s assassins could try again. And always, the memory of blood magic burning in her veins, its cost growing heavier with each use.
Footsteps scuffed behind her. She didn’t turn.
“I expected Xeris,” Daisy said. “Didn’t think you’d follow me.”
Oliver sidled up, posture loose but ready. He offered her a flask; she took it, sipped, felt the sharpness bite down her throat.
“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to jump,” he said, trying for humor.
She smirked, though her heart wasn’t in it. “Not my style.”
Oliver leaned on the parapet, staring out at the city. “What do you think they want? Eldergrove. The fey. They don’t need us.”
Daisy rolled the flask between her hands. “No one offers help without a price. Maybe they’re scared. Maybe they want leverage against Ironclaw. Or maybe they want to see what happens if the chain breaks.”
Oliver studied her, and she felt his gaze like a warm hand. “What if they want you?”
That surprised her. “Me?”
He nodded. “Chainbearer. You’re the wildcard, the one thing no one can predict.” He paused. “You’re starting to scare people, Daisy. Not just the city. The world.”
Daisy felt the truth in it, raw and unvarnished. She set the flask down, palms pressed to the cold stone.
“What if I’m not enough?” she whispered. “What if I break first?”
Oliver’s hand found hers, fingers interlaced, his thumb tracing a nervous circle over her scarred knuckle. “Then we fix it. Or we burn it down. That’s what we do.”
Daisy looked at him, really looked, and saw the fear and hope mingled in his eyes. She wanted to lean in, to close the space between them, but before she could, another voice cut through the quiet.
“Forgive the interruption.”
Xeris stood in the doorway, outlined by the pale torchlight. For once, he looked uncertain, or as close as he ever came. He stepped forward, boots ringing on the stone, and halted a few feet from them.
“I wished to speak to Daisy,” he said, tone clipped but civil. “Alone.”
Oliver straightened, not letting go of her hand. “Anything you have to say to her, you can say to me.”
The air bristled. Daisy pulled her hand free, stepping between them. “We’re not doing this. Not now.”
Xeris’s eyes flashed. “Forces are moving you cannot see. Eldergrove’s offer is poison. They want to bind you, use you, and when you are spent, discard what’s left.”
“Then tell me what to do!” Daisy snapped, voice echoing down the tower. “Because all I see are threats and secrets and people expecting me to save a city I barely understand.”
Xeris hesitated, then did something she’d never seen before: he knelt, head bowed. “I only wish to protect you. Even from yourself.”
Daisy’s chest ached. She looked at Oliver, who’d gone pale and tight-lipped.
“I don’t want protection,” Daisy said. “I want choices.”
She turned, staring at the city, trying to slow the rush of her thoughts. Behind her, neither man moved, both locked in their separate agonies.
Above, the stars spun slowly and indifferently.
And in the darkness below, Brightwater trembled, waiting for her to decide.
Daisy stayed on the tower until the cold forced her inside. By the time she descended, the halls were empty, but she felt the ghost of every conversation hanging in the air. In her room, she found a daisy chain on the pillow, real flowers, woven with impossible skill. There was no note, but she knew the message.
You are the link.
She didn’t sleep. She waited for dawn, ready to face the world as it was, not as they wished it to be.
In the pale morning light, the city looked almost peaceful.
But Daisy knew better. She always did.