Daithi cleared his throat, glancing around the hall as the townsfolk settled. Behind each council seat, clusters of people shifted, adjusting their cloaks, some moving to sit closer to friends, others whispering in urgent tones.
Leora had twisted around to face a group seated just behind her, her voice carrying above the ambient murmurs. “—and I’m telling you, Callen, it was three whole nets shredded to bits! If you don’t believe me, just go down to the docks yourself!”
Callen chuckled, shaking his head. “Leora, there’s always a story with you. Next, you’ll be saying the fish are carrying curses!”
“Curses?” she gasped in mock outrage. “Don’t get me started on the lake spirits.”
At this, Orla’s voice sliced through the noise, sharp and reprimanding. “Leora, we are not in the tavern. Kindly sit properly and show some respect for the council.”
Leora turned back around, stifling a smirk as she caught Daithi’s gaze, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Daithi only shook his head, a faint smile on his lips.
“Always so serious,” Leora muttered, barely audible, though loud enough for Daithi to catch.
“I will not have this meeting treated like some common gossip circle,” she said in a tone that brokered no argument, her eyes lingering on Leora.
Meanwhile, Finnian leaned back in his seat, his gaze fixed on the crowd, barely acknowledging the young fisherman who leaned in beside him. “Can you believe the size of the crowds tonight?” the fisherman whispered, glancing around. “Even Harlan’s here—though he was muttering about losing his boots to a dice game.”
“Tell him he’s always welcome to win them back at the Keg,” Finnian replied, his tone polite but clipped, his attention already moving on.
The fisherman nodded, looking hesitant. “Aye… well, I’ll be back there after this. Assuming this meeting doesn’t drag on forever.” He paused, casting an uneasy look around. “Everyone’s talking about it, you know—the nets.”
Finnian’s eyes narrowed, though he kept his voice even. “We’ll see to it, won’t we?”
The young man shuffled back to his seat as Daithi shifted his gaze to Selis, whose hollow, intense stare remained fixed on the ritual pool.
“Tonight,” Selis murmured, his words barely audible, “the lake will have its say.”
A brief silence settled, only to be broken by Leora’s laugh. “Oh, Selis, save it!” she called, twisting in her chair to face him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were performing for the crowd tonight. Your great ‘return’—as if you’re some kind of legend reborn.”
Selis’s gaze turned to her, cold and unwavering. “The lake is older than you and I, Leora. Perhaps it’s time you listened for once instead of laughing.”
Leora rolled her eyes. “Oh, forgive me for not kneeling to every shadow and stone. You’ve been gone for years, Selis. Did you expect a hero’s welcome?” She turned to the crowd, eyebrows raised, letting them in on the joke.
“I expected respect,” Selis replied, his voice as smooth as silk, “if not from you, then from those who understand that Halrest stands on ancient ground.”
Finnian’s voice cut in, smooth and firm. “Perhaps it’s about time he returned,” he said, leaning forward, his eyes fixed on Leora. “Selis knows things—important things about this town and the lake. We might be facing things that require his knowledge.”
“Oh, and what ‘knowledge’ would that be?” Leora quipped; arms crossed. “Cryptic murmurs and whispered warnings? We need action, not riddles.”
Daithi’s frown deepened, but he spoke calmly. “Look, none of us here know what the lake holds or what it could mean for Halrest. We’re here because things have gone from bad to worse, and if Selis can provide answers, then so be it. We’re past the point of turning down help.”
Leora snorted, clearly unamused. “So we’re welcoming him back without question, just because things are rough? I’m just saying, he wasn’t here for the worst of it.”
“Maybe it’s because some of us would rather not listen,” Finnian shot back, his voice sharp. “The lake hasn’t changed. It’s we who’ve changed—who’ve stopped paying attention, thinking we know better. Selis might not have all the answers, but he’s been closer to the lake than anyone in this room.”
“Oh, please,” Leora scoffed, smirking at him. “Do you mean to say the lake missed him, like a doting mother?”
Finnian’s grin grew cold. “Say what you want, Leora, but there’s power in traditions you’d rather mock. We don’t need everyone to understand. We need people to respect what’s beyond their understanding.”
Daithi raised a hand, his tone measured yet firm. “Enough. We’re all here to find a way forward. If that includes listening to Selis, then we’ll listen.”
Leora cast a sidelong glance at Daithi, still smiling, though it held a hint of mischief. “You sound awfully hopeful?”
[start]
“Hopeful? Perhaps,” Daithi replied, his tone as calm as ever.
Orla cleared her throat, her voice carrying a quiet authority. “Our goal here is to present issues and discuss solutions,” she said. “The Shorewalker will decide what happens tonight.” Her gaze drifted pointedly across the council members, lingering on Finnian and Leora.
Finnian inclined his head, his eyes flicking briefly to Selis, who met his gaze with a small, unreadable smile. “Unity, then,” he said with a slight nod. “We’ve all waited long enough.”
Daithi’s eyes swept over the council, taking in each of them in turn. “Agreed. The people deserve answers, and tonight, we’re going to give them that.”
But as the words left his mouth, a flicker of unease surfaced. His gaze drifted from the council seats to the dim edges of the hall, his mind racing. Where is he? he thought, his pulse quickening. Has he decided not to come?
A shadow shifted near the far wall, half-hidden from the lantern light. There—at the very back, just within view, stood Thorn. The outsider. Daithi felt a strange sense of relief flood him, yet it was tinged with unease.
Daithi rose abruptly from his seat, the sudden movement pulling all attention to him like a magnet. He barely had time to take a step before Orla’s sharp voice cut through the quiet, unusually tense. “Where are you going?”
He turned, his voice steady but resonant. “We will have another voice in this council tonight… Shorewalker willing.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
The statement hung in the air, heavy and jarring. The council members’ reactions rippled through the hall, each one reflecting the magnitude of his decision.
Leora’s mouth fell open, her eyes wide with disbelief. “An outsider?” she whispered, more to herself, her gaze darting between Daithi and the gathering crowd. She shot a quick glance at Selis, who looked equally stunned, his face paling as his fingers clutched at his robes.
Orla, typically composed, seemed visibly thrown. She stared at Daithi, her voice slipping with uncharacteristic uncertainty. “You… you can’t mean to… you intend to allow an outsider into our council?”
Heads in the crowd turned in growing confusion and interest, following Daithi’s steps as he moved toward the back of the hall. Murmurs arose, blending shock and unease, each hushed whisper amplifying the tension.
Finnian, who rarely seemed unsettled, narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he watched Daithi’s progress. There was a calculating intensity in his gaze.
Nearby townspeople added to the rising cacophony, their whispered questions echoing in the hall.
“Where is he going?”
“An outsider?”
“What does this mean?”
Daithi could feel the weight of their stares and the shock radiating from the council as he continued on, but he pushed it aside. There was no turning back now. He had made his decision.
Ignoring the whispers, Daithi made his way through the rows of benches toward the shadowed figure. Thorn’s gaze met his as he approached.
“You came,” Daithi said, reaching out a hand.
Thorn’s expression was unreadable, but he took Daithi’s hand in a firm, steady grip. “I did,” his voice low and resonant. “I wasn’t going to miss this… gathering.”
Daithi hesitated, realizing he had never asked the man’s name. “I need to introduce you properly, and I’ve just realized… I never asked your name,” he admitted, feeling a bit foolish.
“I am Daithi, Head store master and council member.”
A faint smile played at the corner of Thorn’s mouth as he inclined his head. “Thorn of Tribe Everwind.”
Daithi blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Everwind? Hm… Well, thank you for coming,” he managed, still surprised. He nodded slowly, releasing Daithi’s hand.
“I’m here for the same reason as you, I suppose,”
Daithi cleared his throat, “For now, you’ll need to remain back here,” he said, gesturing to the edge of the room. “Tradition requires us to offer thanks and reverence before any outsider can join us in the council circle. It’s an old practice, but…” he trailed off, glancing back at Thorn, “it’s important to us.”
Thorn’s eyes followed Daithi’s gesture, his expression inscrutable as he looked at the council circle, its shadows deepening in the flickering light. “I understand.”
“Good,” Daithi released.
“Once the Shorewalker opens the meeting, you’ll be called forward. Until then… observe.”
“Of course,”
“Thank you, Thorn Everwind.”
Daithi turned to make his way back to his seat, moving slowly, almost reluctantly, but halfway there, Thorn’s voice called out to him softly.
“Daithi.”
He turned, pausing mid-step. “Yes?”
“Be careful tonight,” Thorn said, his voice barely a whisper, but it carried an unmistakable warning. “There’s… more happening here than meets the eye.”
Daithi’s brow furrowed, unease tightening in his chest. “What do you mean?”
Thorn’s gaze grew distant, his expression unreadable. “Just… be cautious,” he replied quietly. “Things aren’t always as they seem.”
Daithi hesitated, but then nodded, offering Thorn a small, uncertain smile. “I will. And again… thank you.”
Thorn didn’t respond, his attention already shifting back to the council circle, his eyes distant. Daithi returned to his seat, a knot of tension coiling in his stomach as he caught the curious, puzzled glances of the gathered people.
Whispers filled the hall as he made his way back.
“Why would they allow him?”
“How long has it been since this last happened?”
“Strange times, strange people.”
Daithi felt the weight of those words. They rang true, after all. Outsiders were rare in Halrest’s council meetings, permitted only when the town itself agreed they needed an external perspective. One voice beyond the lake’s reach, allowed only in times of true crisis. For generations, the empty chair had been a silent symbol of the town’s unity—unused, unneeded. Until now.
And now, Daithi had filled it.
Uncommon measures for uncommon times. That’s how he’d justified it to himself, recalling the ancient, seldom-used rite that permitted a stranger to sit in council. But was it the right call? Was he right to have allowed this? His gaze drifted back to where Thorn stood, a still figure at the far edge of the hall, wrapped in the shadows. Even now, doubt gnawed at the back of his mind.
He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as he finally reached his seat. It was time. He had to see this through.
Settling into his chair, Daithi glanced around the circle of council members, reading each of their expressions in turn. The silence hung thick for a beat, and then, like a dam breaking, voices rose at once.
Orla was the first to speak, her arms crossed tightly, her expression as hard as stone. “I hope you understand what you are doing, Daithi,” she said. She adjusted her spectacles, still staring pointedly toward the back of the hall where Thorn stood.
Daithi met her stare, calm and unyielding. Orla would voice her true thoughts only when she had examined every angle, he reminded himself. For now, she would let her disapproval simmer.
To his left, Leora lounged back, entirely unfazed by the tension. “I wonder what he’s doing here,” she murmured, glancing toward the shadowed figure of Thorn with undisguised curiosity. “A rugged wanderer, all alone in the woods... I’d love to get him out of those drab clothes and see what else he’s hiding.”
She chuckled softly, tossing a playful wink at Daithi. “He’s got that mysterious air, don’t you think?”
“Leora, please focus,” he muttered under his breath. But her humour, even if misplaced, eased his nerves slightly, lightening the mood just enough to remind him why he valued her in moments like this.
Leora only grinned wider, leaning back in her seat with a carefree stretch. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. But I’m just saying—mysterious outsiders usually have the best stories. Might liven up this dry council of ours.”
“Or lead us into worse trouble than we’re already in,” Orla cut in sharply, “Keep your flirtations to yourself, Leora.”
“Oh, lighten up, Orla,” Leora sighed, waving a hand in mock surrender. “A little fun never hurt anyone.”
“Perhaps it might,” came Finnian’s voice, unexpectedly cold and laced with irritation. “Outsiders… they don’t belong here. Not in our council.” His gaze settled on Daithi.
Daithi blinked, caught off guard by Finnian’s intensity.
An uneasy murmur rippled through the room, and Daithi felt his own doubt creep in, almost against his will. But he pushed it back, his jaw setting with renewed resolve.
“An outsider’s perspective might be exactly what we need,” Daithi replied firmly, his gaze not wavering from Finnian’s. “We’ve ignored the signs too long, and maybe someone beyond Halrest can help us see what we’ve missed.”
Finnian’s expression didn’t shift, though his eyes flicked over the other council members, as if gauging their reactions. “Outsiders only see what they want to see, Daithi,” he said, his voice low. “What makes you think he’ll offer any insight worth risking our traditions for?”
Selis, who had been muttering softly to himself, grew louder, his words spilling into the conversation as though seeking reassurance. “Traditions, yes… the old ways, the ways we trust, the ways we know…” His fingers twitched at the edge of his robe, and he repeated softly, “We don’t break from the ways of old lightly.”
Leora chuckled, tossing her hair back as she looked between Selis and Finnian, clearly amused. “Traditions, traditions,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “We’re all so bound by tradition that we’re practically strangling ourselves with it! Maybe Thorn here will breathe some fresh air into this musty council.”
“Leora, enough!” Orla snapped, her patience visibly waning. She straightened, her gaze sharp as a blade. “This is not a decision made for entertainment. We’re here for Halrest’s future, not your amusement.”
“Then let’s consider the future clearly,” Daithi countered, his tone steely, but there was no mistaking his resolve. “We’ve been circling these issues for far too long, and all we’ve managed is to grow further divided. Thorn might help us see what we’ve refused to.”
Finnian’s eyes lingered on Daithi, a faint frown tugging at his brow. But after a moment, he inclined his head, his mouth curving into a restrained smile. “If the council believes it’s necessary, then who am I to argue?”
A sliver of tension slid from Daithi’s shoulders as he nodded, though he kept his expression neutral.
Whatever reservations he’d had, it was too late to turn back now. The meeting had begun, and he had already committed himself to this unprecedented choice.
His gaze drifted toward the back of the hall, seeking out Thorn once more. For a fleeting moment, Daithi wondered what Thorn thought of all this. Did he feel out of place? Did he see the tension simmering beneath the surface, the unspoken conflict that threatened to tear the council apart?
Whatever Thorn had discovered on his way here—whatever theories he held about the lake and the town—it would all come to light soon enough. But for now, Daithi needed him to remain calm. To wait.