Chapter 141: 141: The New Path XVIII
---
Elara stood in the doorway, framed by lamplight and steam from the stew. Her armor was plain, brushed clean, oiled at the straps. Her face was the same as always—calm, hard, tired in a way you earn by seeing too much and saying too little.
John set his spoon down. "Evening, Elara."
Fizz sat up so fast his chair squeaked. He smoothed his whiskers with both paws and tried to look taller. "Hello, scary lady who pretends she is not nice."
Pim leaned across the table and stage-whispered to John, not even close to quiet. "The angry-looking lady is here."
Penny flicked Pim’s ear with two fingers and did not look away from Elara. "Mind your mouth."
Pim rubbed his ear and grinned anyway. "What? She looks like a sword that learned to walk."
Penny sighed. "Bedtime," she said. "Now."
"Aww—"
"Now," she repeated, and the word had all the weight of walls.
Pim stood, legs heavy with protest. He looked at Elara as he passed her. "Hi," he said, like a boy greeting a thundercloud.
Elara’s mouth twitched. "Hi, Pim."
Penny came round the counter, wiped her hands on a cloth, and gave Elara a short nod that held more welcome than a hug. "Evening. Bowl?"
"Later," Elara said. "Thank you."
"Then I’ll leave you to it." Penny turned to John and Fizz. "Eat while it’s warm. Talk true." She put a hand on Pim’s shoulder and steered him toward the back. Pim dragged his heels for drama, then broke, ran, and clattered up the stairs like a sack of spoons anyway.
The room settled. A couple at the far table went back to their low talk. The cat jumped from a bench to a chair, thumped once, and slept again. Elara crossed the floor and sat at John’s table without asking. She did not need to ask. She sat like a person who shows she trusts you by not wasting time.
She rested her forearms on the wood. "I heard some things," she said. No heat. Just facts. "You angered the third son of the Aqua family."
Fizz’s ears tipped forward. "We prefer the word roasted."
Elara’s eyes slid to him. They did not soften. "You did not use Sera’s name," she went on to John, the small line at her mouth easing half a degree. "Just as I told you. I did not expect that. I thought you would hide behind it."
John met her eyes. He did not blink much. "Why should I," he said. "I can deal with my own problems. I do not need to borrow someone’s name like a coat."
Something not far from pride crossed Elara’s face and left no mark. She kept her tone even. "If you had used it, the problem might have gone away before it began. You do not know her true weight. You know her as a temple priestess. That is true. It is not the whole."
Fizz licked the last of the pickle from his small plate and waved it like a pointer. "Here comes a secret," he said. "If it’s boring, I will snore on purpose."
Elara looked at John, not at Fizz. "Her full name," she said, "is Sera Black."
Fizz blinked. "Does that mean anything?" He squinted at John’s face. "Also, why would a fair, pretty person be called Black. Very silly. Names should match faces. If I were called ’Bald’ I would sue."
Elara’s jaw flexed, a small click of temper she did not let out. "You are a spirit," she said, clipped but controlled. "You do not know houses. Your master should know."
John did not move. He did not speak. But his eyes changed. A small light went on behind them, not joy, not fear, something like a door opening on an old room he did not like to visit.
Elara continued, facts neat, words plain. "This kingdom is ruled by nobles," she said. "First, the royal line—the Heart family. They sit the throne. They hold the oaths. Below them, two ducal houses that hold the country together when the crown sneezes. White. Black. Both old. Both sharp. Both with blood in the ground from the founding. They do not answer to counts; counts answer to them."
She held up two fingers: one scarred, one not. "Duke of White. Duke of Black. Equal in power. Different in temper. Then there are the ten count families—Aqua among them—each with their colors and their lands. Below that, viscounts, barons, old knights who owe too much coin, new traders who owe none but everyone acts like they do. The map is long. The list is longer. But remember this: White and Black are the spine. They do not bend for count boys who throw water in a yard."
Fizz leaned back and made a thoughtful hum. "So... Black is one of the two biggest chairs. And Sera sits in that house?"
Elara nodded once. "She is the youngest daughter of the Black Duke. That name can open doors and close mouths. In courts. In markets. In barracks. Even in the temple, though she does not use it there."
John’s voice came quiet. "She doesn’t wear it."
"No," Elara agreed. "She chose the goddess. That was her own war. She won it. But the world still knows whose blood walks in her body. If you had spoken her full name, the Aqua boy would have acted like his boots had found ice."
Fizz sniffed. "What is so good about that. Power is everything, yes, but a name is just a sound. Make a louder one." He held up both paws. "Like this: LOOOORD FIZZ." A nearby spoon vibrated on the table from the effort.
Elara did not smile. "Names are doors," she said. "Sometimes you need a key. Sometimes you need to learn to pick the lock. Sometimes you need to make a new door and pretend it was always there. Sera’s name is a key. You chose to pick. I respect that. I also note the cost."
John’s eyes lowered for half a breath and then came up steady. "I didn’t want her shield," he said. "I do not live under a roof that isn’t mine."
Elara took that in. Approval moved behind her eyes and sat down where no one could see it. She cleared her throat softly. "You failed the written exam," she said, not making the words sharper than they needed to be. "I heard once the lists were pinned. I came for two things. One is to say a thing you already know: failing a list is not failing a life."
"I know," John said. He did not look at Fizz. He did not look at the door. He watched Elara. "What is the other thing."
"A message," Elara said. "From Sera." She sat back an inch. Her hand brushed the table once, like a drum tap to mark a change of song. "She is back. She wants to see you. Come to the temple in the morning. Early. She will meet you."
Fizz perked. "Oho. A meeting. With cookies. There are always cookies with holy people."
"Sometimes," Elara said.
"Tea," Fizz tried.
"Sometimes," Elara said again.
"And secrets," Fizz said, eyes bright.
Elara’s face did not change. "Sometimes," she said for a third time, which told John more than a yes would have.
John nodded once. "We will be there."
Elara pushed back her chair. "Good. Then my work here is done." She stood. She had been in the tavern less than ten minutes. She had used not one extra word. It was her way.
Fizz peered at her shin guard. "Before you go," he said, "since we are sharing, please confirm a rumor. The cabbage knight—does he have a club. A cabbage club. Do they meet and cry about leafy greens."
Elara looked down at him like a mother deciding whether to tell a child that thunder is only clouds. "Go to bed," she said.
Fizz gasped. "Rude."
Elara turned to leave. Penny, who had returned to the doorway and pretended to clean a clean spot so she could listen without listening, caught her with a nod. "Bowl to carry," Penny offered. "Bread for the road."
Elara shook her head. "Another time." She touched the doorframe with two fingers, the old soldier’s small goodbye, and stepped into the lane’s cool dark.
The door shut soft. The room’s light pressed back in. For a breath, no one spoke. Fire popped. The cat snored. Then Fizz spun on John with eyes that were trouble and love and five kinds of nosy.
"So," he said, sing-song, "isn’t your ugly father a White."
John’s face went very still. The spoon in his hand stopped above the bowl. A heartbeat later he put it down, careful, flat, as if it were a piece of glass on a shelf that should not be cracked.
"I told you," he said. No heat. Rock. "I don’t like that name."
Fizz’s ears dipped, then tried to stand again out of habit. "I am only asking facts. If Sera is Black and your ugly father is White, then together you two are—" he drew a circle in the air with a paw "—two dukes’ children. That is a lot of dukes. That is like... two cakes."