Last time Ashlynn had shocked the hall, silence seized the tongues of most. This time, a team of horses couldn’t hold back the words that burst from people’s lips.

"The Vale of Mists? We’re supposed to join with the Vale of Mists?"

"Did I hear that right? She said that Airgead Mountain had already fallen?"

"What is Fortress Peak? And where is the High Pass? Are these demon realms too?"

"The Demon Lady of the Vale... We, we’re making a deal with, with demons?"

Baron Erling Fayle had already moved past that shock while his mind grappled with something greater. When he had first become the Baron of Fayle, he’d made a bargain with a raven. He promised to keep his forces north of the river Tuilig and in exchange, the villages of his barony had not suffered a single raid in the decade since he’d made his promise.

Ten years of peace with the demons to the south of his barony.

To Erling, Lady Ashlynn’s words weren’t a heretical fever dream. Peace was possible, so long as they could respect each other’s territories and leave each other alone. He was living proof of this.

It was only a few nights ago, before Lord Owain’s Stag Feast, that he’d learned that the power behind that raven had sent other messengers, and one of those messengers had moved Loghlan Dunn like a chess piece on a board. Now, Lord Loghlan was to be promoted to a count at the same time Lady Ashlynn spoke of a new nation, born in the Vale of Mists.

"So it was the Demon Lady of the Vale all along," Erling whispered as he watched panic spread through the hall. "But if she could keep the peace all the way in Fayle..." he murmured as he rapidly assembled the scattered pieces he had.

Lady Ashlynn hadn’t mentioned the lands to the south bowing down to this new nation, only the lands to the west... so were they allies? Or were matters to the south still in flux? Erling didn’t know, and much, he supposed, would depend on the wishes of their new monarch.

"Your Grace," Erling said, speaking loud enough to be heard over the din of the hall that had fallen into frightened whispers, shocked exclamations and rampant speculation. But speculation wouldn’t help anyone; only answers would.

"Your Grace," Erling repeated when voices at the lower tables began to quiet down, giving him the opportunity to speak. "You said that this new nation would submit to a single ruler. Does that mean we’ll be ruled by the Vale of Mists? By the Demon Lady of the Vale?"

"Her name is Nyrielle," Ashlynn said in a voice that held a surprising amount of warmth. "And neither she nor any of our allies in the west are partial to the term ’Demon’," Ashlynn added. "The word you should use is ’Eldritch.’"

"But to answer your question, yes, and also, no," Ashlynn said cryptically. "There are two thrones in the Vale of Mists, one light, the other dark, one to rule the day and one to guard the night. Nyrielle is the Harbinger of Death, a vampire every bit as powerful as the Church’s own saints, and her seven progeny hold just as much power as the Exemplars of the Church."

"Seven..." Tybal whispered, his eyes going wide in shock. At most, if he recalled his scripture well, the Church held fifteen Exemplars, divided between the old countries across the sea and the Kingdom of Gaal. But that was only if every position was filled... Oftentimes, several weren’t, and even if they were, some Exemplars were old enough that they rarely appeared in public any more.

But this ’Nyrielle’ had seven progeny, vampires every bit as powerful as the Exemplars of the Church...

"You’ve already met one of Nyrielle’s progeny," Ashlynn added, smiling as she watched the people in the room grappling with what she’d just said. "Ignatious first came to the march as an Inquisitor during the Brothers’ War more than eighty years ago. He’s been a vampire ever since he ’disappeared’ during the war."

"Impossible!" Sir Garrik Maeril blurted. As the knight who ruled the village that held the Inquisition’s abbey, he knew its forces better than most anyone, and he’d heard plenty about the Holy Flame Blades like the one Ignatious used the night before.

"A vampire could never hold a Holy Flame Blade," Sir Garrik said fiercely. "They’re monsters. Creatures of the night, born of darkness and deceit. They could never..."

"You need to set aside the simple and comforting lies the Church has told you in the past, Sir Garrik," High Priest Aubin interrupted. "Brother Ignatious is a vampire, yes, but his faith is deep and true. You saw for yourselves last night how he acted. When Abbot Recared attacked recklessly, it was Brother Ignatious who protected all of us from the Inquisition’s Holy Flames. And when Lady Ashlynn passed judgment, it was Brother Ignatious yet again who sought mercy on their behalf."

"These aren’t the actions of a monster," Aubin said. "They’re the actions of a friend. The first of many I hope we will find among the people we once called enemies."

"Your Grace," Erling said, holding up a hand and gesturing impatiently at Sir Garrik to remain silent. He wasn’t the other man’s lord, but at the moment, he didn’t care. His heart was hammering in his chest as he stared at Lady Ashlynn while he pressed forward to ask the question he had to have an answer to in order for the pieces of the puzzle to fit together the only way they possibly could after everything he’d heard, today, last night, and so many years ago when he’d first spoken to the raven to make a pact with the Eldritch.

"The other throne in the Vale of Mists, it belongs to you, doesn’t it?" Erling asked, though he was seeking confirmation more than he was asking a question. "Lord Owain told the truth about at least one thing last night... You bear the mark of the witch, don’t you? Is that... is that why you refuse to be called a Saintess? And why you were able to do everything that you did?"

"Wolstan didn’t choose poorly when he made a bargain with you, Baron Fayle," Ashlynn said, nodding at the youngest baron of the march. "I am a Great Witch, the Mother of Trees," she said, holding out her hands to gesture at Ollie and Isabell.

"The ones who helped defend you last night are Ollie, the Cypress Witch and Isabell, the Hemlock Witch. They are half of my current coven, but I’ve only had a few months to search for worthy witches. Soon, there should be more," she said to a room that had gone silent once again.

"The second thing I desire for our new nation is prosperity," Ashlynn said. "It is my sincerest hope that we can find ways to work together, just as it happened in ancient times, to lift up the people of this nation so they can live better lives than they would have found before. The Lothian throne snuffed out more than a century of hopes and dreams..."

"Now, it’s time to find new hopes, new dreams, as numerous as the leaves on trees, and then to see those hopes blossom and grow..."