Chapter 86: The Silver Dawn

The tournament had ended for the day, but the city hadn’t. Vendors hawked roasted meat and cold ale. Bards played in tavern doorways. Children ran through the crowds, reenacting their favorite moments from the qualifiers with wooden swords. Beggars rattled cups. Nobles gossiped behind fans.

Emeric moved through it all. Unnoticed. Just another warrior in a city full of them.

He found a quiet tavern.

The sign above the door read The Broken Wheel. Small. Dim. Half-empty. Exactly what he wanted.

He pushed through the door. Found a table in the corner. Sat with his back to the wall.

The barmaid appeared. Middle-aged. Tired eyes. A rag over her shoulder.

"Ale?"

"Please."

She brought it. He paid. She left.

He drank.

The door opened.

Emeric didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. The footsteps were heavy. Confident. The kind of footsteps that expected the room to move out of the way.

A man approached his table.

"You fought well today."

Emeric looked up.

The man was tall. Broad-shouldered. Scarred. He had the face of a soldier—hard, weathered, seen too much. His eyes were cold. Calculating. He wore fine clothes, but they didn’t hide the fighter beneath.

"Thank you," Emeric said.

The man sat across from him. Uninvited.

"I’m Garrick. Garrick Finn."

Emeric’s expression didn’t change.

"I don’t know you."

"No. You don’t." Garrick smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. "But I know you. Emeric Halden. The Unblessed one. The one who won the Hunt. The one who married the Storm Marchioness."

He paused.

"The one who killed my brother."

The tavern seemed to go quiet.

Emeric set his ale down.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Don’t lie to me." Garrick’s voice was low. Controlled. "Beeran. My brother. He was a C-rank Vessel. He and his party went missing three months ago. The last person to see him alive was you."

"I met him once. At the Guild. He tried to start a fight."

"And then?"

"And then I left."

Garrick studied him. His eyes were cold. Unblinking.

"You’re lying."

"I’m not."

"My brother didn’t vanish into thin air. Someone killed him. Someone killed his entire party." He leaned forward. "I’ve been looking for answers for months. And every thread leads back to you."

Emeric met his gaze.

"I don’t know what happened to your brother."

"Then why do you look so calm?" Garrick’s voice sharpened. "Most men would be sweating right now. Most men would be begging. But you—you’re just sitting there."

"I have nothing to hide."

"Everyone has something to hide."

They stared at each other.

Then Garrick leaned back. Smiled again. That cold, empty smile.

"The Trials are not over. We’ll meet again. In the arena." He stood. "I’ll be watching you, Halden. Every match. Every move. And when we face each other—"

He paused.

"I’ll make you tell me the truth."

He turned and walked out.

Emeric sat there for a long moment.

His heart was pounding. His hands were steady. He didn’t move. He didn’t react.

Then he picked up his ale. Drank.

So that’s Garrick Finn.

He had heard the name before. Beeran’s brother. The S-rank Vessel who had been hunting him for months. He had never seen his face. Never known what he looked like.

Now he did.

He would need to be careful. He finished his ale. Left the tavern.

The streets were quieter now. The crowds had thinned. The vendors were packing up. The bards were playing their last songs. The children had been called home.

He walked.

He passed a group of warriors arguing in the street. Their voices were loud. Drunk. They were debating who would win the Trials.

"The Halden boy," one said. "He’s got something. You saw him in the qualifiers."

"He’s nothing," another said. "He got lucky. He’ll be out in the first ro"You’re a fool. I saw him move. He’s dangerous."

They didn’t notice him. He passed them by.

He continued walking and noticed a man and a woman. Dressed in silk and velvet. They were walking arm in arm. Talking quietly.

"The King looked terrible today."

"I heard he’s not expected to last the month."

"And the Queen? Did you see her? She looked radiant."

"She always does. She’s been running the kingdom for years. The King is just a figurehead at this point."

"What happens when he dies?"

"The crown passes to the heir. But there is no heir. The Queen will likely continue as regent."

"Or she’ll marry someone else. She’s still young. Beautiful. She could have anyone she wants."

The woman laughed. "Who would she choose? Her uncle?"

The man laughed too. "Don’t be ridiculous."

They walked on.

Emeric watched them go.

They weren’t wrong.

He reached the inn.

The Silver Dawn was quiet. The common room was empty. A single candle burned on the counter. Behind it, the innkeeper—the plump woman with kind eyes—was writing in her ledger.

She looked up when he entered.

"My lord. You’re back."

"I am."

She set her pen down. "Can I get you anything?"

"What do you have?"

"Beef stew. Some bread. It’s not much, but it’s hot."

"That sounds perfect."

He reached into his coat. Pulled out a few silver coins. Set them on the counter.

"Send it up to my room."

She nodded. "Right away."

He turned toward the stairs.

He was halfway up when he heard the crash.

Glass breaking. Wood splintering. A voice—the innkeeper’s—raised in fear.

Emeric stopped.

He turned. Crept back down the stairs. Peeked around the corner.

Three men stood in the common room.

The first was tall. Lean. Dressed in dark leathers. A tattoo coiled up his neck—a serpent, black and green. His fingers crackled with faint lightning.

The second was shorter. Stocky. His arms were thick with muscle. His eyes glowed faintly orange. Fire magic. He held a club in one hand, tapping it against his palm.

The third was a woman. Pale. Gaunt. Her hair was a tangled mess. She carried a staff of gnarled wood. Frost gathered at its tip.