Eryshae

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Sam

The halls of Emberhold shimmered in the late morning light, its pale stone walls etched with carvings of ancient Eryshae lore. Sam adjusted the front of his ceremonial jacket, the deep emerald color matching Vael's gown perfectly, threaded with golden stitching that caught the sun like firelight. The fabric was stiffer than he liked. Formal clothes always felt like armor without purpose.

He glanced to his left. Vael moved with practiced grace, her hand resting lightly on his arm, her bearing regal and composed. Every detail of her appearance was meticulous; her braid pinned with mother-of-pearl beads, her gown flowing like river water, her gaze steady. And just a step behind her, Mira followed quietly, dressed in hunter green and black, her posture straight, her eyes carefully lowered. She looked every bit the obedient handmaiden.

And yet Sam hadn't forgotten.

The bars. The cells. The way she had looked at him when the vines had surged from his body and the air had turned sharp with power. She had been frightened. Rightfully so.

He hadn't expected the bark to rise so quickly, nor the green fire that still haunted the edge of his vision. It had been primal. Protective. Ancient. His instincts had screamed to protect Vael, no matter the cost. Not just screamed; commanded. For a heartbeat, he'd seen what would have happened if he hadn't held back. Blood. Fire. The cell soaked in gore. Guards torn asunder.

And Vael, standing in front of him, her back to his fury, whispering, "Trust me." It was her voice that calmed the fire. She hadn't flinched. Not once.

He flexed his fingers now, still remembering the way the green flame had danced in the spaces between bark-covered knuckles. That power was his, yes. But it wasn't fully human. It wasn't even fully him. "You alright?" Vael asked softly, barely above a whisper. Sam blinked, dragged from his thoughts. He gave a small nod. "Yeah. Just thinking."

"Don't get lost in your head," she murmured. "We have politics to dance through." He gave a dry smile. "I'm not much of a dancer." Vael tilted her head toward him, smirking. "You keep up with me, you'll be fine."

Ahead, the grand meeting hall came into view. Massive doors carved from white oak stood open, revealing the gathering within: Vice-Chief Farouq and the tribal elders, all robed in colors of forest and flame, waiting with measured curiosity. As they approached, conversations hushed. All eyes turned toward them.

Sam straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and stepped forward beside his bride-to-be. His fingers brushed against hers briefly, grounding him. Behind them, Mira walked in silence.

The moment they stepped through the archway, the air changed. Weighty. Observing. Sam had faced criticism before; on Earth, in Eryshae; but the scrutiny of elders was a different kind of battle. Less blood. More blade behind the eyes.

The meeting hall of Emberhold was vast and sunlit, a dome of woven root and crystal skylights that dappled the marble floor in shifting patterns of leaf-shadow. A long table curved at the room's center like a crescent moon, where twelve elders sat robed in shades of autumn; ochre, moss, and burnished copper. Their expressions ranged from curious to cool.

At the head sat Vice-Chief Farouq, his posture relaxed but commanding, his salt-and-stone beard neatly combed, his dark eyes unreadable. "Princess Vael," he said, voice a slow rumble. "Vice-Chief Sam. Welcome to our home."

Vael inclined her head with grace and affection. "Uncle." The word held warmth; but also caution. Sam caught it in her tone. Family or not, Farouq played his role carefully. Every gesture was calculated. Farouq's gaze slid past Sam to Mira. "And the girl?"

"My handmaiden," Vael answered, her tone neutral but firm. "She is under my protection." A murmur passed between a few elders; some skeptical, others merely curious. One, a wiry man with leaf-patterned tattoos along his neck, leaned forward. "She looks young."

"She's proven herself," Vael replied, "and deserves a place among us." Sam glanced briefly at Mira. Her posture was perfect; modest, respectful, and controlled. No trace of fear. No deception he could sense. Just discipline.

Farouq raised a hand, cutting off further comment. "Enough. She is the Princess's attendant. That is all that matters." Sam felt the tension subtly shift as they were gestured to sit. He offered his arm to Vael again and helped her into the curved wooden chair set for honored guests. Then he took his place beside her.

Mira remained standing behind them, quiet and composed. Farouq leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Let me be plain. The people of Emberhold are stirred. After what happened in the market, the guards talk. The city listens. There is respect… but there is also fear."

"They should fear injustice," Sam said, not unkindly. "Not those who defend against it." Farouq gave a quiet nod. "And yet, fear has never been rational. The bark, the vines, the glow in your eyes… These are things of legend, Sam. Not all legends are comforting." Sam sighed through his nose and flexed his fingers beneath the table. "I didn't mean to lose control."

"You didn't," Vael said, voice soft beside him. "You chose control. That makes all the difference." Farouq's expression warmed slightly. "Still. You walk among people who do not know your story. It would help to walk gently, even while wearing power."

"I'll try," Sam murmured. "We need you," the Vice-Chief continued. "And not just as Vael's future husband. The peninsula shifts beneath us. Emberhold must remain a pillar of stability. That means diplomacy. Symbolism." Sam nodded slowly. "You want us to appear strong. And unified." Farouq smiled faintly. "Exactly."

Sam could live with that. Pretending he didn't still feel bark crawl beneath his skin, or green fire threaten to spark in his gaze, was a small price to pay for peace. He glanced once more at Vael. Her presence grounded him. Her love steadied the current inside him.

Behind them, Mira remained the picture of loyalty, her hands folded neatly at her waist. And for the first time since the cell, Sam allowed himself to believe; truly believe; that maybe… they could manage this.

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Together.

The hush in the chamber broke as Vice-Chief Farouq raised a hand and gestured toward the central dais where twelve figures were seated in a semicircle behind him; each one draped in robes dyed to represent their domains.

"Before we proceed with tribal affairs, we are midway through a civic discussion," Farouq announced. "As you are to be Chief and Chieftess of Eryshae, I believe it would serve you both to observe how Emberhold is governed."

Vael nodded graciously. Sam said nothing but inclined his head. Mira remained silent behind them, the perfect shadow. Farouq motioned to the elders to continue. One stood; a stocky woman with earth-toned robes and calloused hands, likely from years spent in soil. Her voice carried no hesitation.

"I, Elder Halan of Agriculture, support the bid from Ashroot Imports. They've shown investment in local herb farming and promised to collaborate with our growers. The other bidder imports synthetic blends from the City-state of Shi; cheaper, yes, but it undercuts our harvesters."

Another elder, robed in dusky blue with a stylized quill brooch at his collar, leaned forward. "Elder Solen, Culture and Civic Morale," he said, touching his chest. "I'm more concerned about image. Emberhold's central square is our most visible landmark. Do we want our cultural heart flanked by a pipehouse, no matter how polished the branding?"

Each elder oversaw their domain, offering expertise and guidance to the Vice-Chief. Among them sat Cardinal Serene Liri, elegant and commanding, her high collar and violet robes marked her out sharply from the others. Her voice, when she spoke, was like bells wrapped in velvet.

"I would like to offer my support for Ashroot Imports," Serene Liri announced. "Their proposal has included not only a balanced approach to sustainability, but also integration with the Emberhold artistic district. Their patronage of our sculptors and calligraphers will lend far more long-term cultural value to the city than a simple mercantile outlet."

That sparked a murmur of conversation across the chamber. A thin elder with bright yellow robes and ink-stained fingers tapped the table in rhythm. "Regulation states only one smokehouse per city square," said Elder Nima, head of Records and Law. "We must vote."

Another voice joined in, softer but resolute. "And we should not pretend the citizens won't partake regardless. Better to approve the one with oversight and community ties," said Elder Verun of Health and Wellness, his expression unreadable beneath long lashes.

Elder Rhun of Trade and Guild Affairs, gray-bearded and gold-braided, sat back in his seat. "Ashroot's offer includes three apprenticeships for local glassblowers. ShiSmokes offers better revenue share as they claim their industrial base can handle an increase in production. Choose carefully."

Farouq turned toward Sam and Vael then, inviting them with an open hand. "What say you, honored guests from Eryshae? No need to weigh in formally, of course. But we welcome your counsel. Emberhold values transparency and reason, even in matters of pipeweed."

Vael lifted a brow, half-smirking as she turned toward Sam. "Well, Vice-Chief, what are your thoughts on smokehouses and civic compromise?" Sam chuckled under his breath. "I think anyone offering apprenticeships for local artisans has their heart in the right place. Revenue's important; but roots matter more."

The room quieted, and Farouq inclined his head in approval. "Spoken like a man with bark in his soul." The other elders smiled; some faintly, some sincerely. Mira's expression behind them did not shift.

Vael leaned closer, her voice barely more than a whisper as another elder rose to comment on zoning laws. "Did you know," she murmured, lips just brushing the shell of Sam's ear, "that the city-state of Shi is the leading expert in chocolate production on the entire continent? They host a cocoa festival during the waxing moon every harvest season."

Sam kept his eyes forward, his posture composed, but his lips tugged into a crooked smile. He angled his head slightly toward her and whispered back, "Then we'll go."

A beat passed.

"But only so I can prove their best chocolatiers can't touch my chocolate-making skills."

Vael smothered a laugh, one brow arching in amused disbelief. "You can make chocolate?" He grinned. "I am magic! Chocolate's just one of the ways I am magical."

She shook her head slightly, trying to focus on the discussion, but the warm curl of his words lingered in her chest like the melt of sugar on the tongue. Behind them, Mira lowered her gaze, hiding a flicker of emotion that passed too quickly to name.

At the dais, Elder Nima called for a formal vote, returning the room's attention to the matter at hand. But for Sam and Vael, something lighter threaded between them; subtle, rich, and bittersweet as the promise of shared cocoa under another sky.

The elder of commerce cleared her throat, a sharp sound that echoed in the domed chamber. "Twelve votes, one voice. As dictated by the Charter of Emberhold, each elder will cast their decision by placing a marked token into the council basin. Green stone for Ashroot Imports. Blue glass for ShiSmokes."

An attendant stepped forward, holding two velvet-lined trays. Each elder rose in turn, selecting their token solemnly. The first to vote was Elder Halwen, a gaunt man with soil-stained hands; the agriculture chair. He chose green stone without hesitation.

Next came Elder Sylphae of culture. Draped in colorful silk, she selected blue glass, her lips tight with quiet disapproval. Construction, trade, sanitation, and education followed. Whispers filled the space between each vote, the weight of legacy and influence apparent in every movement.

When the final token fell into the basin, the commerce elder stepped forward once more and poured the tokens into a clear crystal bowl. "One... two... three..." she began counting, holding each token aloft.

"Green for Ashroot: five."

"Blue for ShiSmokes: four."

"Three abstentions."

Vice-Chief Farouq tapped his cane against the stone floor, the sound bringing immediate hush. "The decision is made," he said. "Ashroot Imports is granted a license to establish the smoke shop at Sunstone Crossroads."

A few elders nodded. One muttered under her breath. Another scowled faintly, clearly displeased with the outcome. Still, the vote was done, and Emberhold's laws were law. Vael leaned in toward Sam and whispered, "That was closer than I expected." Sam's mouth twitched. "Politics always is."

Elder Mareth, a wise woman with stone-gray hair and a voice like wind through ancient branches, now addressed the group. "Before we adjourn, there is one final matter." All eyes shifted to her as she stood, lifting a carved wooden staff from beside her chair.

"The Solstice draws near," she said. "And with it, the Rite of the Heartwood Flame." At that, several elders straightened.

"Princess Vael Eryshae," Mareth continued, turning to face her with reverence, "as the chosen scion of your bloodline, you will partake in the ceremony, yes?" Vael nodded respectfully, her voice calm and assured. "Yes, Elder Mareth. I am ready."

Mira, standing behind her, bowed her head silently. Sam, beside her, felt the moment shift; become sacred. Elder Mareth raised her staff, tapping it once against the floor. "Then the temple shall prepare the altar. The song will be sung, the fire lit. May the Eryshae Guardian bear witness, as your ancestors once did."

Another elder added, "You will walk barefoot across the Ashwalk." "And offer your vow before the flame," said another.

"What's the Ashwalk?" he whispered. Vael answered softly, "A path of burnt offerings. Coal and ember. To walk it is to carry the memory of those who came before. It's... tradition. It hurts." He didn't like that. But her hand gripped his in reassurance. "I'll walk it," she said, voice steady. "And I'll carry them all."

Farouq stepped forward. "We'll begin preparations immediately. The Solstice is only days away." Sam's jaw tightened. He would let no harm come to her. Even if it was sacred fire.

The meeting transitioned into rounds of official business; permissions, market regulations, civic calendars; but Sam and Vael remained attuned to each other, sharing quiet glances and subtle grins as the framework of trust grew around them.

Farouq rose and moved through the elders, offering personal remarks. Around him, Emberhold stirred under the light of common purpose. Sam squeezed Vael's hand, letting their joined fingers carry a promise: no matter how many chapters remained; political bids, cultural ceremonies, or war; he would hold steady by her side. Even if a thousand years were to pass, his love for her would remain.