Winter Flint's Arc

Chapter 13 of 18

A scrape sounded behind the braced door. Slow. Heavy. The two elders flinched as one. The hill gnome turned toward the passage out. The eastern sprite followed. Winter watched the council walk away from him in real time. He had seconds, not minutes. "Wait." His voice cracked on the word. Both elders stopped, but did not turn. Winter pulled the blackened sapling from the pile of evidence and held it up. Its leaves curled like burnt paper. "I buried her work because it pointed here. To this door. Two hundred years ago I called it nonsense." He swallowed. "I was wrong. Madrigal told me. I would not listen. That is the answer." Madrigal's ghost stayed still. She did not soften the moment. She let it land. The hill elder turned first. His face was hard. "You admit it. Plain." Winter nodded. "Plain." The sprite elder looked at the sapling, then at Morgatha bound to the post. Morgatha's mouth was a flat line. She said nothing. She did not need to win this one. Esmerelda spoke, quiet and exact. "He told you the truth in front of the thing he was hiding from. Count that." Durgan stepped between Winter and the door. "Decide now. The door does not wait." Another scrape. Dust fell from the brace. The hill elder breathed out and walked back to the post. The sprite elder followed. Not forgiveness. A choice. Winter set the sapling down. The council was still here. Bound by his confession instead of his command. He had traded the last of his authority for their feet on this floor. Behind the door, something dragged itself closer, and now it knew his name as well.