Corvus Nightshade's Arc

Chapter 10 of 11

The vow was barely spoken when the horn cut across the camp. Corvus turned from Elara, her hand still in his, and saw the rider trot in on a black stallion that ate the morning light. A council ember banner snapped from the saddle. The man dismounted, gloved, calm, and asked for the bridal party by name. Blackmere met him with a bow that gave nothing away. "An honor," the rider said. "The council sends me to escort the bride." He glanced past Blackmere, straight at Elara, then at Corvus. "Personally. To the gate." Corvus felt the bond tighten. Refusal was insult. Insult was inspection. He bowed instead. "We are grateful." The rider smiled thin and claimed the largest timber lodge at the camp's edge as his quarters before noon. By dusk, his men had hung the ember banner from its beams. Inside the lodge, Corvus laid the trap. He spoke of trade routes, dull figures, the weight of his wife's dowry chests. He let the rider grow bored. Then Blackmere arrived with wine and a quiet word about the long ride ahead — two horses prepared, a vine-bridled mare for Elara, the black stallion for the rider. Corvus offered to ride at the rear with the guards. Humble. Forgettable. Elara waited until the rider's cup was full. "My lord," she said, soft, steady, "my uncle says you knew the last envoy from our province." She named no one. She did not need to. The rider's eyes moved — once — and Corvus read the flicker through the bond. Not suspicion. Calculation. The man was for sale. Blackmere caught it too and refilled the cup himself. By the time the lamps burned low, the escort was no longer a noose. It was a road they owned a piece of. The rider would ride ahead of them to the gate, vouching for the bridal party in the council's own voice. Corvus walked Elara out into the cold. "He'll take coin," she said. "And then he'll take more." Corvus nodded. "Let him. We only need the gate." The stallion stamped once in the dark. Tomorrow they rode in under the council's own banner.