Chapter 29:
Fuck Around And Find Out
Liliana stood at the center of the high court in Valewick Citadel, cloaked in silence and steel.
She wore the Black Ashford — the ancestral armor of the ruling line — its dark plates engraved with sigils so old they pulsed faintly with residual enchantment. Thread-thin veins of silver curled like roots across the breastplate, converging at the proud stag of Ashford, its antlers rising in quiet defiance. Each piece of the armor had been forged for war, reforged for legacy, and bound by runes known only to the duchy’s oldest mages. No dust clung to it. No scratch marred it. It shimmered faintly in the torchlight, as if alive with purpose.
She wore no helm. Her pale blonde hair, bound tightly at the crown, caught the firelight like winter gold. Her posture was absolute, straight-backed, unmoving, not like a duchess holding court, but like an empress preparing judgment.
Her face was smooth, ageless in its stillness, carved not by vanity but by will. Eyes like sharpened glass swept the chamber with disinterest, not disdain. Her lips did not move unless they must. Her presence filled the hall more than her voice ever could.
She did not raise her chin.
No ruler of Ashford had worn anything but this armor in times of war. And none, in living memory, had worn it as completely as she did now.
Liliana did not look like a duchess. She looked like the inevitable.
She had donned it yesterday. Not as a gesture. As a promise.
Her gaze swept across the room.
The chamber was vast, stone vaulted, fire-lit, carved with the history of Ashford’s line. It was not built for splendor. It was built to endure. The banners above bore no royal sigils, only the stag. No color but silver on black. No throne but hers.
In front of her, barons, counts, knight-commanders, each one battle-hardened, seasoned, and dangerous. Some bore fresh scars. Others carried names whispered in military camps from the southern reaches to the borders of the east.
At her side stood Ser Elrick, silent, alert. The blade at his side had not left its sheath in weeks. It hadn’t needed to.
Liliana said nothing yet.
She let them feel the weight of the silence.
Her presence in the court was not daily, not even weekly. She ruled from distance and design, and when she appeared, it was not to ask.
It was to command.
She did not rule Ashford by her magic alone, though it was feared. Nor by her name, though it was known. Her claim to the duchy was older than titles. She was a direct descendant of Boran of Ashford, the founder of the duchy and uniter of the eastern houses. Her mother had been the firstborn of that line. The Duke’s father had been the second. The law gave the duchy to him. Legacy gave it to her.
Their marriage had sealed both lines.
A scandal by blood. A consolidation by will.
The family of Ashford was large, dozens of cousins and kin, but only the true line lived within the estate walls. And now, only one child remained among them. Her daughter. Grace.
She had kept Grace hidden from the court for five long years, sheltered and watched. The banquet two weeks ago had changed that. There, before the nobles, before the world, Liliana had unveiled her.
As her child. And Grace had not disappointed her.
Liliana knew everything that had followed. She had not been present in the Ashford Estate, but she did not need to be. Her people reported more than words. They brought her tone, pause, glance. Grace’s every word had reached her.
Now, Liliana stood clad for war.
Because war had come.
At the center of the war table, Baron Halwan of Stonepeak finished his report, gravel-voiced and brief. The Beastkin had crossed the range in multiple waves. The first contact had gone as expected. The Ursin had driven forward through Ashford’s outer defenses, crushing the forward forts. The other clans had struck different passes.
Most had bled for it.
Liliana did not frown. She had planned for this since the day the Crown took her husband. Five years of preparing the border. Five years of watching. Five years of waiting.
The Beastkin had not caught her unready. They had walked into what she had built. Her voice, when she spoke, was level.
“We will let the Ursin push forward.”
The room held still.
“They believe they move on soft ground. Let them. The deeper they come, the further from retreat.”
She looked not at maps, but at men.
“Baron Halwan. Double the scouts along the east ridge. I want the Firehide Clan driven into the ravines.”
He bowed without hesitation. “As you command, my lady.”
She continued.
“House Mornell is to reinforce the river crossings. House Velstran holds the second pass. We bleed them by terrain.”
Then silence.
She turned toward the great stone wall behind the dais. The black stag of Ashford was carved there, antlers raised, hooves grounded in broken rock.
“We do not meet them at the gates,” she said. “We drown them in their momentum.”
Stillness followed. Nothing moved.
Then she glanced to Ser Elrick and said, lightly, almost as an afterthought, “Send a rider to the capital.”
A few heads turned.
“After all,” she said, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, “this is not merely an attack on Ashford. It is an invasion of the kingdom.”
She paused.
“Request reinforcements. Make it formal. Make it loud.”
Ser Elrick gave the smallest nod. He understood. They all did.
A few nobles chuckled. Others smiled behind gauntlets and gloves. Baron Halwan exhaled like a man trying not to laugh outright.
The King would answer, of course. He would have no choice. His sister’s son, Ronan, heir of Ashford, stood in harm’s way. And Liliana had just extended him a chance to protect his own blood, to play the noble sovereign.
Let him send his knights. Let them ride beneath the royal banners. Let them bleed against the Ursin’s front. Liliana did not say any of that aloud. She didn’t need to. She simply turned back to the table, eyes calm, voice even.
“Begin positioning the third line. We will hold the mountains. The King can have the valleys.”
And with that, the war council moved.
--::--
The little hall was quiet. Staged quiet.
The kind that comes when people want to act like everything’s fine, like war didn’t start yesterday, like they weren’t all waiting to be told what to think.
Grace sat at the head of the table, hands folded, plate untouched. Her tea had gone lukewarm. Of course, it had. Everything here cooled too fast.
Across from her, Clara was trying to eat without looking nervous. Elen stared at her bread like it was going to explain something.
Elyne sat to Grace’s right, like always, watchful, trying not to look tense.
The six knights stood posted by the doors, full armor, silent. Good. She liked knowing they were there. It made people behave.
She glanced at Clara again.
Still breathing too fast. Still trying to act like she belonged here.
Useless. Soft. Always staring at me like I'm going to save her from something. I’m not.
She turned back to her tea, her fingers calm.
She’s not going to last. Not when things get worse. She’ll break. Cry. Maybe run.
And yet—
Her eyes flicked back, just once.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Clara still had the hairpin. Wore it today, actually. Tucked into her braid like it meant something.
Pathetic.
She took a slow sip of tea.
...I could’ve picked anything. Why that one?
She shoved the thought away.
Doesn’t matter. She’s convenient.
But her grip on the cup had tightened, just slightly.
She looked at Elen next. Stiffer. Quiet. Watching. Better.
Elen doesn’t trust this. Which makes her smarter than most of the adults in this building.
Grace picked up her tea and sipped it. It was awful. Bitter and watery. She drank it anyway.
“The duchess declared war last night,” she said.
Clara blinked. Elen flinched, barely, but Grace saw it.
“She wore the Black Ashford armor,” Elyne added, voice calm. “In full court. No room for doubt. The duchy’s at war.”
Clara whispered, “She’s going to fight?”
“No,” Grace said. “She’s going to win.”
Mother doesn’t start fights. She finishes them. Anyone who’s still breathing afterward wasn’t the target.
“They say the Beastkin already crossed the mountains,” Clara said, voice tight.
“They did,” Elyne replied. “The Ursin leads them. Took some of the outer passes. But nothing unexpected.”
Grace watched Clara shrink in her seat. Trying to be brave. Trying to act like she belonged here.
She’s scared. Good. Let her feel it. Let her think she’s part of this, just close enough to be important. That way, when she cracks, no one will be surprised.
“They say I looked like her,” Grace murmured. “That I spoke with her voice.”
She smiled a little.
Let them say it. No one looked at Ronan. That’s what mattered.
“She let him ride out this morning,” she added, mostly for her own amusement.
Elen’s brow furrowed. “She let him?”
Grace nodded slowly.
“She gave him a speech, a banner, and a full escort. King’s knights at his side, handpicked soldiers behind him. All very official.”
She sipped her tea, eyes lidded.
He probably thinks it means something. That she believes in him now. That he’s earned it.
Gods, what an idiot. He doesn’t get it’s ceremonial. He wanted to prove he’s not just the third son, so she gave him a title, a helmet, and, I hope, a death sentence. For real, why did mother humor him?
Elyne set her cup down, slower than usual.
“Everything’s changing. The duchess expects much.”
Grace didn’t reply. She didn’t need to.
She already knew what came next.
With Ronan gone, and Liliana at the citadel overseeing war strategy, the estate had fallen to her. Formally, she was now head of House Ashford within these walls.
And practically?
Elyne gave the orders. Elyne made sure no one slipped through the cracks. Elyne kept the balance.
For now.
Grace tapped a finger against the side of her teacup.
Everyone’s where they’re supposed to be. Ronan’s riding out. Mother’s drawing maps in the high tower. And I’m here. Watching everything. No distractions. No eyes above me.
And they think I’m just sitting still.
She smiled again, smaller this time. And colder.
Let them.
She looked at Clara again with a little sigh.
If this girl clings any harder, she’s going to snap her own fingers off. I should pat her head. Tell her she’s special. That usually works.
Instead, she smiled, nice and polite. And thought about what would happen if the walls ever fell. Who she’d save. Who she’d watch break.
Some people are tools. Some are warnings. And some are practice.
She took another sip of her awful tea.
Clara hadn’t spoken for a while.
Now she did, voice small, barely above a whisper. “Is it going to come here?”
Elen looked up sharply, but said nothing.
Clara kept her eyes on her plate. Her fork made a faint sound as it scraped porcelain. “The Beastkin, I mean. If they’re already in the east…”
Grace turned her head slightly.
Clara was trying to stay composed. Trying to ask like it didn’t matter. But Grace saw it. The tension in her shoulders. The way she hadn’t touched her bread. The way she gripped the edge of her seat like it might keep her grounded.
She was scared.
Of course she is. She’s six. Soft. Her parents probably still tuck her in when they visit. What did they think would happen, sending her here?
Grace felt the irritation spike. And under it, something else. Something tight and cold in her chest.
She reached out slowly and set her hand on Clara’s.
Clara flinched, just a little, and looked up.
“It won’t come here,” Grace said, her voice calm and certain. “They won’t get close. Not to this estate. Not to you.”
Clara blinked, wide-eyed.
Grace smiled, soft this time. Real.
Because you belong to me now, she thought. And I don’t break my toys.
That should’ve been it. That should’ve been the only reason. But it wasn’t.
Not really.
She looked at Clara’s trembling fingers under her own. At the way her mouth opened like she wanted to say thank you but couldn’t make it out.
Why does this feel—
She pulled her hand back.
It’s convenient. That’s all. Keeping her close makes sense. She trusts me. That’s power. That’s leverage.
She looked away.
That’s all it is.
But her chest felt tighter than before.
And the next sip of tea didn’t taste like anything at all.
The silence lingered after Grace’s touch. Clara had gone still, blinking too fast, like she was holding something in. Elen didn’t speak either, but her gaze had narrowed, not in anger, just sharpened by something she hadn’t decided how to name.
Then Elyne’s voice broke the quiet, gentle but exact.
“Grace.”
Grace looked up.
“Would you spare me a moment?” Elyne said, rising with quiet grace. “There’s something we need to discuss.”
Clara glanced between them nervously. Elen sat back, silent.
Grace stood without a word. She followed Elyne to the far side of the room, near the heavy window ledge where the frost hadn’t quite melted. Elyne didn’t look at her right away. She waited until the quiet had returned.
Then she spoke, low and level.
“You should have told me.”
Grace didn’t answer.
Elyne turned her head just slightly.
“You formed a Mana Core. Months ago. Maybe longer. I let it go. I watched, I waited, and I prayed you would come to me. That you would trust me.”
Grace’s eyes narrowed.
How… No… Why?
She said nothing, but her fingers tensed against her side.
“I am your guardian,” Elyne said, voice sharper now. “Not just your governess. Not just your shadow. You don’t get to hide that kind of power and play games with it. Not now. Not with war on our doorstep.”
“You didn’t ask,” Grace said quietly.
“You lied by omission,” Elyne snapped.
The air between them stilled.
Elyne took a breath, reining herself in. When she spoke again, it was quieter.
“Your mother will find out eventually. The court will, too. You can’t afford to go untrained any longer. I want to start your formal instruction.”
Grace tilted her head.
“Since when do you teach magic?”
Elyne’s gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t teach casually. And not often. But I’m Fourth Circle. You know that.”
Grace did know that.
She’d seen the sigil stitched into the inside of Elyne’s formal robes, three curved marks wrapped in silver flame. She’d recognized the thread, the way it shimmered when you looked directly at it. She just… hadn’t cared.
Elyne was background. Safety. Correction when necessary. A shelf, not a sword. She wasn’t supposed to be sharp.
Grace exhaled through her nose, calm on the outside. Inside, she cringed.
Fourth Circle. Of course, she is. That’s not even close. The jump from Third to Fourth is like climbing out of the womb a second time. She could probably crush me with a palm if she wanted to.
She didn’t know if she should say it, that she was already Third. That she’d run her own tests. That she knew her spellwork. That she could draw three functioning runes in under ten seconds in the air.
But no. Not yet.
Let them see what she wanted them to see.
“I don’t need a teacher,” she said.
“You do,” Elyne replied. “Not because you’re weak. Because you’re too strong for your age, and you’re hiding it behind politics and control. That’s not enough anymore.”
From behind them, Clara’s voice broke in, soft, shaking.
“Wait… Mana Core? Grace… you…?”
Grace turned her head, slow and deliberate.
Clara was pale, eyes wide, completely lost, like someone watching the first crack run down the wall of a house they thought could never fall.
Behind them, no one moved.
Elen. Clara. The knights by the door. All of them pretending not to eavesdrop while doing a piss-poor job of it.
Why did we even stand up?
Did Elyne really think walking two steps to the side made this private? We’re still in the same room. There’s one table. One fire. One door.
She nearly laughed.
Great plan. “Let’s have a quiet, personal conversation about your potentially destabilizing magical power two meters away from the people I was literally just sitting with.” Brilliant.
But instead of saying any of that, she sighed inwardly, long, quiet, perfectly practiced.
Then she glanced back at Clara, slow and measured.
The poor girl looked like she was trying not to cry.
Wonderful. Now we’ve traumatized the decoration.
Grace let just enough tension slip into her voice to sound vulnerable.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” she said softly. “Because I didn’t want… I didn’t want you to think differently of me.”
Which is technically true, she thought. Just not for the reasons she thinks.
Grace stayed still. Quiet. Weighing.
Then she lowered her gaze, just slightly, the picture of hesitation.
“I didn’t tell anyone because…” She hesitated, then forced the words out softly, “because it’s the Void.”
It wasn’t even hard to fake the emotion.
She could almost believe it herself.
Elyne softened instantly.
Of course, she did.
“I didn’t mean to,” Grace said quickly. “It just… happened. I didn’t choose it.”
She let her voice shake a little. Just a little.
“I cast a Second Circle spell,” she added, quieter now. “It felt right. Like the mana wanted to move with me. And when it did… it wasn’t Light or Water or anything like that.”
She looked away. Let them fill in the rest.
Elyne didn’t speak at first. Her breath had caught, Grace could hear it. Then she moved slowly, stepping forward.
“Void,” Elyne repeated. Not with fear, but with a kind of sadness. “Grace… why didn’t you come to me?”
Grace lifted her eyes.
“I thought you’d hate me for it,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I thought she would.”
Elyne stepped forward, kneeling now, not just at Grace’s level, beneath it.
“No,” she said, voice firm. “Never. Not for that.”
Grace didn’t move.
But inside, she was spinning.
So, she really didn’t know. Not for sure. She suspected. But she didn’t know. Not like I do.
Then Elyne spoke again, and this time, it stopped Grace cold.
Elyne's voice softened, not with pity, but with something heavier.
“Your mother told me, years ago… that you were attacked at birth.”
Grace stilled.
Elyne continued, slow and careful. “Void magic. A direct spell. It didn’t hit her, it was aimed at you.”
For a heartbeat, Grace couldn’t hear the room. Just her own breath.
“She said if anything from that spell lingered, if any part of it… clung to you, that you might carry its touch. That your core might form around it.”
Elyne looked at her, eyes full of that same damned warmth she always gave too freely.
“She wasn’t afraid. Not for herself. But she knew what it might mean.”
Grace said nothing. Grace didn’t react. Not outwardly.
But something inside her went very, very still.
So that’s what that was. I remember the way they looked at me. Pitiful… Like I was something broken before I could even walk. They knew. They all knew.
She felt a flicker of heat behind her eyes and crushed it ruthlessly.
“Void is rare,” Elyne said. “But it’s not evil. It’s power. It’s just… harder to guide.”
Grace nodded slowly. Just enough.
“I understand.”
And she did. Not the way Elyne meant.
It clung to me because something else tore me loose first. I didn’t form the Core around the Void. The Void filled the space left behind.
She stared at nothing, eyes still on the floor but no longer seeing it.
I remember everything. I always have. Everything since I was born. Since I opened my eyes. Every word, every room, every pattern in the stone.
Except that.
Except the space between dying and waking up here.
It was the only gap. And she hated it. Not just because it was missing. But because she knew something had been there.
A voice. Calling to her. Not in panic. Not in love. Calling like it was owed. Like it had found her.
And I came, didn’t I? I listened. I went to it
Her fingernails dug slightly into her palm.
But her face?
Unmoved.
She looked up again, composed, as if the last twenty seconds hadn't happened at all.
“I won’t let it control me,” she said.
Elyne smiled, gently. “That’s why I’ll teach you.”
Grace nodded again, letting her mask hold.
Good. Teach me. Watch me. Tell me everything you know.
And I’ll figure out what it is. What it wanted. What it still wants.
Then I’ll tear it out.
And after that… I’ll make it my entertainment.
It wants to play games in my head? Fine. Let it scream while I pull it apart.
Let it suffer for fucking around in my mind.
It didn’t know the saying?
Fuck around and find out.
I’ll teach it.