A kingdom of Ash and Echoes

Chapter 23 - A letter from Varyndal

The northern borders of Avaranth were no longer peaceful. Smoke rose in thin, black columns over distant hills, a grim announcement that the rebellion had spread across the lands. The kingdom, still raw from the death of King Aelric and shaken by Callum's grievous injury, teetered on the edge of chaos. Within the castle, the air was heavy with fear and expectation. Callum sat on his stool in the great hall, the weight of the crown pressing down on him despite the frailty of his body. Though he was now officially King Callum, the injury that left him unable to ride or fight was a secret he had carried with stoic pride.
The council had gathered, their faces taut with worry. Generals debated strategy, their voices sharp and authoritative. Nobles urged diplomacy, fearing to risk the kingdom's troops on a reckless campaign. Some demanded retreat; others insisted on immediate action to push the rebels back. All shared the same concern: risking men and treasure for a king who could no longer stand at the forefront of battle.

Lyriana watched silently, her mind racing. Every lesson she had endured in secret—sword in hand, hours of training in the courtyard, late nights studying tactics—now seemed essential. Yet none of her preparation had prepared her for the delicate, dangerous politics that could make or break the kingdom. The council's indecision gnawed at her. Avaranth's enemies would not pause, and the kingdom could not afford hesitation.

A royal messenger arrived, bowing deeply as he presented a letter. "Your Majesty," he said, his voice tinged with urgency, "Prince Cedric and his father have replied. They will provide aid, but they insist that you personally lead the army into coordination with their forces."
Callum's hands clenched around the armrests of his stool. His voice was quiet, almost fragile. "They expect me to ride and fight... as if nothing has changed," he murmured. His eyes were filled with a mixture of pride, fear, and frustration.

Lyriana stepped forward, her gaze unwavering. "Then I will go in your place," she said firmly. "I will ride as you, command the army, and maintain appearances. Cedric must never see your condition. You are king, but you cannot fight. The kingdom depends on this deception."
Callum's eyes widened in shock. "Lyriana... I cannot allow this! It is far too dangerous!"

"You cannot ride, you cannot fight," she replied, her voice calm yet resolute. "If Cedric arrives and sees you now, he will doubt Avaranth's strength. The army may falter, and the kingdom could fall. I will go—for you, for the kingdom, and for every soldier who trusts the king to lead them."
Elowen stepped forward, her hands trembling but her gaze firm. "Be careful, my daughter," she said softly, eyes glistening. "Courage must guide you, but wisdom must temper it. Protect yourself, and protect the kingdom above all."

Lyriana nodded, swallowing the anxiety that had formed a lump in her throat. She moved to her desk and began drafting the letter to Cedric, carefully choosing each word. The letter stated that the king and his army would meet Cedric's forces at the northern border. Cedric's reply promised support—his army would join them, but he insisted that the king personally lead the troops. The stakes were immense: every word, every gesture, and every movement had to be calculated with precision.

The council continued to debate troop deployments, unaware of the secret plan forming in Lyriana's mind. Some questioned the wisdom of sending soldiers to fight alongside a foreign prince; others worried about the king's condition. Lyriana observed each voice, each argument, analyzing the politics, the personalities, and the potential outcomes. The northern horizon burned with the smoke of advancing rebels. Time was slipping through their fingers, and hesitation could prove fatal.

Callum's voice broke through her thoughts. "If you go... you carry the weight of all of Avaranth. Every decision, every command... I am leaving everything in your hands." His voice faltered, and he lowered his gaze, struggling against the fear he could not speak aloud.

"I will not fail," Lyriana said firmly, placing her hand on his. "I carry not just your strength, but the hopes of our people, the honor of our family, and the loyalty of every soldier who will follow us into battle. I will ride, I will command, and I will protect our kingdom."

Night fell, shrouding the castle in darkness. Lyriana paced the corridors, her mind moving through every detail: the armor, the training, the army, the journey, the negotiations with Cedric, the potential for betrayal, the threat of discovery. The northern horizon, even through the tall windows of the castle, glimmered faintly with smoke, a reminder that war had already begun.
At dawn, the preparations would commence. Soldiers would assemble, and Lyriana would step into the role of king. Every command she gave, every word she spoke, would have to mirror Callum's presence. The kingdom depended on the illusion, the deception, and the courage she would carry into the coming storm. The fate of Avaranth rested on her shoulders, and she would not falter.