Chapter 37: The Failed Dreams of a Merchant

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~One months ago~

Coming from the capital, there were only two types foolish enough to travel to the borderlands. The incredibly unfortunate… or the Ice Prince. For some, there was little distinction between the two.

The merchant inhaled deeply, letting the crisp, cool air fill his lungs. It smelled of harvest, wildflowers, and something untamed. He closed his eyes, savoring the freshness. For a fleeting moment, the ache of homesickness faded slightly.

Staring at the sprawling green before him, the lonely ache was replaced by a sharp thrill of excitement. This was the spot. He could feel it in his bones.

Here, he would accomplish every merchant’s dream. To build the perfect trade post.

Under the shade of the willow, Byrn sat contentedly, surveying the small village nestled in the valley.

The fields seemed to stretch endlessly, a patchwork of gold and green rising towards the snow-capped mountains. Irrigation channels snaked through the land, cleverly redirecting the melted streams. Byrn marveled at the ingenuity. For a people often dismissed as uneducated, the borderlands were remarkably resourceful.

In the fields, two farmers argued with smiles, their laughter carried on the wind. Excited barks filled the air as a boy sprinted through the tall stalks of wheat, his dog chasing close at his heels. The crops seemed to grow as easily as grass. The orchards were heavy with fruit, their vibrant color matched by the birds darting between the healthy branches.

It was a far cry from the infertile land of sand and rock Byrn had expected. He craned his neck to study the bountiful land. It was said there were more thieves than farmers in the borderlands.

And while bandits had indeed relieved him of both his coin and cart along the way, the further Byrn traveled from the capital, the more peace he found. These lands were supposed to be lawless, filled with peasants and ruins, remnants of the Great War. Yet the villages thrived, their fields abundant.

Why? Despite his long journey, the question lingered, unanswered.

An ox cart rumbled past. Its polished wooden frame creaked under the weight of the barrels it carried. The great beast let out a low grunt as it trudged uphill. The farmer slackened his reins, yawning lazily.

“Good sir!” Byrn called, hurrying forward. “Might I catch a ride to the village square?”

The farmer didn’t bother halting the ox, but he turned and hollered back. “If you’re quick enough, you can hop on the back!”

With a wide grin, Byrn jogged over. He threw his bag in first before pulling himself onto the back of the cart.

“You’re not from here are you?” the farmer asked, watching him with interest. Without warning, he tossed an old cloak towards Byrn. “Don’t dirty my new cart. Set your bag on that.”

Glancing at the dusty board of the freshly unloaded cart bed, Byrn chuckled. He placed his bag on the cloak with care, shielding it from the stray bits of hay and mud. The roundabout hospitality was something he was beginning to grow used to. It was oddly comforting.

“Thank you,” said Byrn, settling against the cart’s side.

As the ox trudged down the road, they approached the village entrance. Villagers stared up at the approach, eyeing the stranger with curiosity. The streets were clean and tidy, and the smell of warm cooking drifted out of the opened windows.

Byrn noticed the brightly colored flags adorning the houses. He wracked his brain, trying to place the sigil. The streak of blue and white were strikingly familiar. Suddenly, the name flashed in his mind.

“Are we near Feldgrau?” he asked in surprise. The merchant glanced around. He searched for the royal flag of Eburean or the royal family’s emblem but found none.

“Feldgrau’s about a two-day hard ride if you don’t stop overnight,” answered the farmer. “In my experience, it’s wise to take the night off and use an extra day.” He tossed the merchant a look behind his shoulder. “Are you headed there, son? My nephew’s going in a few days. He might be able to give you a lift.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Byrn waved his hands, chuckling sheepishly. “I was merely curious. The flags caught my eye.”

The ox let out another low grunt. It came to an automatic stop at the edge of the square. The farmer patted its side fondly. “The Lord of Feldgrau is well regarded around here.” The farmer hopped off and offered the merchant a hand with his bag. “He’s a good man. Quiet, but sharp. The flags are the least we could do to show our respect.”

“You speak as though you’ve met him,” laughed the merchant, taking the offered hand. But his mirth faded at the farmer’s serious expression. “Don’t tell me,” realized the merchant, “You’ve actually met the Lord of Feldgrau?”

“A few times,” offered the farmer vaguely. “My granddaughter swears she wants to go up to Feldgrau for work. Says she’ll move up there for a chance to work near him .”

Byrn considered his next words carefully. “What of the royal family? Are they as… well-regarded here?”

The farmer shot him an incredulous look. “Oh, we are so very grateful for the high taxes,” he sneered. “The royals don’t give a rat shit about us.” Crossing his arms, the farmer spat into the dirt. “Unlike the lord, I’ve never seen them cross through these parts, and I hope I never do.”

Byrn swallowed a sharp retort. Aren’t they the same, he wanted to ask but wisely held his tongue.

The farmer perked up. “Where are you actually headed, son?” The ox raised its head as if anticipating his owner’s next words. “Maybe Rupert and I can take you a bit further if you like.”

Byrn beamed, “Well, actually-“

A frantic shout tore through the square, cutting the merchant off.

“Fire!”

At the call, the town bell began to ring. The piercing noise reverberated through the entire village. A man covered in ash staggered toward the center, coughing as he yelled.

“Fire at the forge!” he cried. “Hurry! To the wells!”

With those words, the square erupted into action. Villagers abandoned their former tasks and rushed towards the well. In an orderly fashion, everyone gathered their pots, buckets, and pans, anything that could hold water. Despite their rush, they formed an orderly line.

Sensing the urgency, Byrn sprang into action. There would be no trade post if the village burned down!

He joined the stream of people rushing toward the well, curiosity flickering at the edge of his thoughts. It was unusual, if not unheard of, for a small village to have a forge. Metal tools and goods were usually imported at great cost from the capital. If the villagers did have something as sophisticated… it was no wonder they were so protective.

At the well, a woman took the lead, hauling up bucket after bucket of water. She worked with a single-minded focus. As soon as she emptied one into a waiting pot, she thrust it into Byrn’s arms.

“Take this and run it up,” she barked, not even pausing in her work. “Hurry!”

Following the others, Byrn ran up the hill at the village’s edge. He hoped they would be so supportive if his trade post ever caught on fire! As he neared the top, Byrn slowed, bewildered. There was no forge in sight, only a grassy hill crowned by drifting wisps of smoke. He scanned the area in confusion, wondering if he had misunderstood.

“Over here!” A voice from ahead redirected him, and Byrn hurried forward.

Finally, he reached the top of the hill. Despite the sloshing water threatening to drench him, he stumbled to a stop, eyes widening in astonishment.

Nestled behind the rise was a yawning mouth of a great cave. Men supported one another as they jogged out of the entrance. Though many were covered in soot, they seemed largely unharmed, waving away the black smoke with tired hands.

"The forge is inside?" gasped Byrn, but his question was lost as the others pressed forward to help the injured.

“How bad is it?” asked one of the villagers. He raised his bucket of water for the forgeman to sip.

“Thank you.” Taking the bucket, the forgeman took a long drink before replying. “Not terrible. We can put it out before it spreads. Most of the supplies were moved to the second cave.”

“And the tools?”

“Would have been gone if we used our usual method,” the forgeman chuckled weakly. “It’s good we started those precautionary measures Sir Cristin sent us.”

Byrn strained to hear more, but the flow of villagers pushed him forward. Finding himself at the cave entrance, he mimicked the others in shielding his nose and tossing the water at the orange flames.

With a final hiss, the worst of the fire died down. A breeze swept through the cave entrance, momentarily clearing the air of the black smoke. The reprieve was brief. But it was long enough for Byrn to see inside the forge.

He gasped.

It was extraordinary. The cave extended deep into the mountain and its tall ceiling was higher than most houses. Wooden stairs crisscrossed the interior, creating multiple levels of workspaces. Stone tables lined the cavern floor, covered with intricate tools and half-finished projects.

This was a forge fit for royalty, thought Byrn.

He barely noticed as the workers trailed back inside. They scavenged for salvageable material, picking up the intricately detailed blueprints traced on sheepskin. The tools were gathered with practiced precision, and crates of supplies were inspected for damage.

Byrn’s bucket clattered to the floor.

“Grab your things and let’s go!” called a gruff-looking fellow. His thick beard was curly and aged wrinkles lined his face. “Let the place air out!”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The barked orders were lost on the merchant. His eyes were fixed on the scene before him.

The stone walls were dark and rugged. And bright blue flags of Feldgrau hung across its sides. Below the banners stood rows upon rows of weapons and shields.

Where Byrn had expected to find plows or scythes was instead an arsenal of swords and spears. The arrowheads sorted on the work tables were finely craft, too sharp to for mere hunting. Each wooden shaft bore the same hand-carved emblem: the crest of Feldgrau.

The symbol of the Ice Prince.

“By the gods,” gasped Byrn, suddenly short of breath. Stumbling back, he looked like a crazed man as he grasped the nearest villager, a burly man who stared at him in confusion. “Sir, where can I get some pen and paper? Quickly!”

As he returned to his room in the inn, Byrn’s thoughts raced. He scribbled furiously, words pouring onto the parchment. Feldgrau was arming itself… for war.

Later, as Byrn handed the sealed letter to a swift-footed rider, he felt a grin spread across his face.

Forget the humble dream of a trading post. Given to the right people, that letter could buy him riches, influence, and power beyond anything he had imagined.

Byrn watched the rider disappear into the horizon. The borderlands had proven far more lucrative than he had ever dared hope.

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~Present Day~

By the time the meeting concluded, the sun had long dipped below the horizon. The streets were lit with the soft shimmer of lanterns. The vibrant decorations for the Festival of Love filled the air with a warm glow. Under the watchful gaze of the full moon, the capital sang with life, despite the late hour.

Mask in place, Nikolai trailed behind Cristin. Together, they exited the Spice Merchant’s extravagant trade post. It was one of the many establishments the crafty guild leader owned. But she had assured them that it was the most secure by far.

Compared to the Lucky Charm, their new meeting location was nestled into a silent corner of the capital where few roamed. Still, it was better to be cautious. Although Nikolai’s instincts told him they were safe for now, he couldn’t shake off the practice.

In the mornings, he could feel the heavy gaze of the queen’s spies, no doubt ordered to keep tabs on his every move. Thankfully, they seemed uninterested in Cristin or the masked figure who often accompanied the attendant.

“My lord,” Cristin broke the silence with a gleam in his eye. “You seem to be in high spirits.”

The ice prince answered with a low hum, the closest he’d come to acknowledging Cristin’s claim. Tonight’s meeting had been a success, great enough to lift his mood.

“We should thank the queen for her support in our cause,” teased Cristin, smirking at the irony.

For years, Rewanna’s relentless extortion of the borderlands had ignited unrest and resentment. Riots often broke out as villagers would attack traveling envoys and patrolling soldiers.

In response, the crown had withdrawn resources entirely, leaving the villages to fend for themselves, starving and vulnerable against the raids from the grasslands.

“I still can’t believe they actually came,” said Cristin, awe softening his words. “They shook my hand! Can you believe it?”

Nikolai snorted at the childlike gleam in the other’s eyes.

During the turmoil, the court remained silent, save for three generals. The men who defended Eburean's fragile borders.

While the children in the capital grew up on tales of General Langard’s bravery, in Feldgrau, the three generals were like living legends. They were the ones whose achievements were recounted at dinner tables and celebrated in tavern songs.

The Tactician General of the South, the Warrior General of the West, and the Wise General of the East.

While technically subordinates to General Langard, these men were respected as leaders and protectors of their districts. Their soldiers were entirely loyal to their generals.

Cristin clenched his fist. “After all these years, my blood still boils when I think of how the crown treated them.”

Nikolai could only sigh and shake his head in disappointment.

Speaking out against the crown always came with consequences. As a result, the three generals had seen their armies stripped and resources siphoned away. The ministers of the capital, drunk on greed and fearful of the military’s growing power, had laughed at their misfortune, all too eager to take their share. They were blind to the consequences as their lack of defense made the villages even more susceptible to grassland raids and bandit attacks, and anger grew still towards the capital and the crown.

In a time of turmoil, the borderlands turned against their beloved generals. Loyal to a fault, the three men stayed in their districts, defending against enemies and their own people.

“How did you know the generals would accept the deal?” asked Cristin suddenly. “Everyone knows that they’re loyal to the crown. And they’ve always rebuked our offers before.”

“They were desperate,” replied Nikolai evenly. Despite the legends and grand stories, the generals were only men, as human as the rest. “And so were we. Without their support, we would have no manpower to reach the capital.” He paused, expression darkening. And without the manpower to cow the capital into submission, the inevitable war would break out, leaving bloodshed and tears in its wake.

“They could have turned us in,” Cristin’s voice held no judgment, he was merely stating a fact. "It could have been a trap."

“They could have,” Nikolai conceded simply. "It could have."

The Ice Prince had gambled everything to secure their support, depleting the ancient Feldgrau stores to send the generals rations and weapons. Each shipment was accompanied by an offer of alliance without terms or threats. For three years, the letters went unanswered.

“You know I’m expecting a grand feast this year,” muttered Cristin, elbowing the lord in mock anger. “I haven’t had a pork roast in three years, thanks to you.”

While the rest of Feldgrau flourished in the past few years … the portions at the castle had been conservative, to say the least. Despite his grand plans, Nikolai hadn’t dared to ask for more from his own people, stocking the shipment with the Feldgrau family's resources.

“No promises,” came the blunt reply. The Lord of Feldgrau glanced at the three dark carriages secreting away in the night, pulling the generals back to their borders.

“For some reason, they remind me of the Raven General,” Cristin scrunched his nose. “Not sure why.”

Nikolai nodded wordlessly but the comparison wasn’t lost on him.

The three men had lived up to his mother’s stories. Despite their rough mannerisms and blunt speech, they were genuine. Unwavering in their dedication to their lands.

“My lords,” a voice interrupted.

The two looked up. They saw a young man in black approach. The dark fabric swished against the floor. His features were plain, but a sword hung at his belt with the emblem of the Eastern General. The same symbol could be found on his dark uniform.

Bowing slightly, he offered a scroll of parchment to Cristin. A smile danced on the man’s lips.

“You’re the Eastern General’s son-in-law, are you not?” Cristin asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Future son-in-law, Lieutenant Edward,” corrected the young man. “Emma and I aren’t married yet, though we hope it will be soon.” He patted his chest before adding with a grin. “Please extend my congratulations to the Lord of Feldgrau on his recent marriage. My general was sad he could not attend.”

“I will let him and the lady know,” assured Cristin, caught off guard by the words. "You're a lot more gracious about it than some of the others," muttered the attendant. Although none had outwardly voiced it, many were uncomfortable in learning that their great enemy had become part of the Eburean royal family.

"I will admit that lord’s choice in a partner is quite puzzling," Edward chuckled. Leaning in slightly, he lowered his voice. “Marrying the Raven General might not have been the wisest decision.”

Cristin stiffened at the words. He raised his eyes to glance at the young man with a guarded wariness.

Beneath the mask, Nikolai’s quiet voice cut in. “Will that be a problem?”

Was the Eastern General and his heir having second thoughts about their new alliance?

“Oh, don’t misunderstand me,” Edward raised his hands in an exaggerated surrender, the least bit intimidated. “I have fought the Raven General before. He,” Edward coughed, “I mean, she- has my respect as much as any warrior could.”

“But you don’t approve of the marriage?” Cristin noted sourly.

Edward hesitated, clearly sensing he had misstepped. “I think the two of them could make an unstoppable match. However,” his voice lowered as his expression grew earnest. “One should only marry for love, not for any other purpose.” He smirked knowingly. "Even we have heard tales of their marital troubles. There was even some arson involved, wasn't there?"

Nikolai exhaled a sharp, disbelieving sigh. If only the world could afford such simplicity, maybe things would be easier.

He shot Cristin a glance, a silent command in his nod. Returning a brief nod, the attendant unrolled Edward’s parchment. His eyes scanned the contents. Peering over his shoulders, even Nikolai was stunned.

“This…” Cristin trailed off, at a loss for words.

Nikolai turned sharply towards Edward. “Your general is sure about this?” Grabbing the parchment from Cristin, he offered it back to the young man. “You can still take this back. We’ll act as if this never happened.”

Cristin’s brows furrowed. Disappointment crossed his features, but even he dared not object. A gift of this magnitude meant nothing if it wasn’t given with absolute certainty.

“This is the personal stamp of the Eastern General, as well as his signature,” continued Nikolai, a part of him stuck in disbelief. “To give us this letter-“ He cut himself off.

By his side, Cristin suppressed a shudder. It was unnerving to think of the power that piece of paper held.

“The General was sure of his intentions,” assured Edward, smile unwavering. “And should he fall, I have sworn to fulfill his promise. As will my heirs and their heirs, so on until the deal is seen through.”

Nikolai tightened his grip on the letter, mind racing. Compared to the countless battles and inching victories, this felt like divine favor dropping into his hands. The thought made him uneasy. But as hesitant as he was to accept such a thing, Edward’s words left no room for refusal. "Why?" he gritted out.

Edward's bright smile dimmed slightly. “We owe much to the lord,” he began slowly. “My general's daughter was deathly ill. The doctors said Emma would not live past winter.”

Edward’s gaze drifted away, gritting his teeth. “She is everything to me,” he said, voice raw with emotion. “When your shipment arrived … it saved her life.” Edward stepped back and bowed deeply, his sincerity etched into the movement. “That is a debt that cannot be easily repaid, so please,” he lifted his head to meet their eyes. “Trust our sincerity on this. The offer is not made lightly.”

If Edward found the masked man’s fixed stare suspicious, he did not voice it.

It was one thing for the Eastern general to sign an alliance. It was a mere agreement to lend support at the time of Malakai’s crowning. But this letter? This was the promise of an army at the Lord of Feldgrau’s call, no questions asked.

Any soldier loyal to the Eastern General would obey the command it carried without hesitation.

“Thank you, Edward,” Cristin said softly. “We will ensure the lord receives this.”

“You have my thanks.” Raising his head, Edward flashed them a relaxed grin. He certainly smiled a lot for a military man, noted Nikolai. “And please extend my… best wishes to the new Lady of Feldgrau as well.”

Nikolai opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by a loud, familiar voice.

“Best wishes for what?”

Exchanging a glance, Nikolai and Cristin hurriedly turned. Their uninvited guest was unperturbed by the frowns on their faces. Faye sauntered towards them lazily, arms crossed behind her head. Her dark cloak fluttered behind her, revealing glimpses of the sword she hung by her side.

Cristin blanched. He moved instinctively, attempting to intercept her, but it was already too late. Edward turned as well. His constant smile finally faltered as his gaze locked on the approaching young woman.

The cocky grin on the young woman’s expression melted into a one of surprise. Her steps slowed.

“Lieutenant of the Eastern General,” she whispered in awe. Faye’s hand drifted instinctively to her side, brushing against the hilt of her longsword. “What brings you here?”

Recognition dawned in Edward’s eyes. This wasn't a lucky fool who had stumbled upon their meeting. Although her face had always been hidden by the golden, raven-shaped mask, he knew with sudden clarity exactly who she was. His gaze flickered to the longsword she was reaching for. It was a familiar blade. One he had watched cut down his men like blades of grass.

“Raven General,” he murmured, the realization slipping from his lips.

“Well met, lieutenant,” the young woman crossed her arms. The commanding presence and unmistakable edge only confirmed Edward's suspicions.

A slow, chilling grin spread across the lieutenant’s face, impossibly wide. The manic expression did nothing to hide the distaste burning in his eyes.

“Lady of Feldgrau,” he said, voice laced with dark amusement. “We meet again.”