CH471 · Rewrite
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Chapter 471: A Reunion

It was evening, and Ferlin Eltek was reviewing the newly issued textbooks in his study when the front door knocked.

“I’m still with the bread!” Irene called from the kitchen. “Could you get it? It might be Miss May.”

He set the book aside, crossed to the living room, and lifted the latch.

The man standing in the doorway was not Miss May.

“Father.” Ferlin stepped back. “What brings you here?”

The old knight brushed snow from his shoulders with the unhurried precision of a man who had been brushing snow from his shoulders his entire life. “I followed His Highness back. I arrived in Border Town yesterday — though I mentioned I had a son here, they still arranged a house for me in the residential quarter near the castle.”

“Come in, it’s cold.” Ferlin moved out of the way.

His father stepped across the threshold and stopped. He looked around with the careful attention of a man taking inventory. “You have central heating.”

“You know what it is?”

“I learned today.” He unbuttoned his coat and hung it on the stand. “I always thought this city was inexplicably warm. When His Highness mentioned heating equipment, I imagined a new type of fireplace. Then I went to the City Hall and realized it was equally warm with no flame anywhere in the room. Steam.” He turned. “But the last time you and I visited the City Hall together, you didn’t know what it was either.”

“I only understood after a bulletin.” Ferlin moved toward the kitchen to put water on. “They always explain things before they do them. The bulletin board in the square is more popular than the Convenience Market now.”

“Within two months, he’s installed this in the homes of ordinary citizens.” His father settled into the chair by the wall. “That must have cost thousands of gold royals.”

“Our residential quarter was among the first. The western and northern zones are still being ditched. It’s the Three Supplies Project — water, heating, and light. When it’s done, we’re supposed to be able to work through the night as easily as through the day.”

“More candles? Oil lamps?”

Ferlin handed him a cup. “Neither. The City Hall says electricity will come to every home.”

His father looked at him.

“I agree,” Ferlin said. “It sounds unreasonable. But His Highness said it, so I find myself believing it anyway.” He paused, listening to that sentence after he’d spoken it. It sounds unreasonable, and yet I believe it. After everything this city had become in the time he had lived here, the sentence had stopped feeling like a contradiction.

“Good evening, Knight Eltek!” Irene burst out of the kitchen with a plate of bread and nearly dropped it mid-bow.

The old knight smiled easily. “Miss Irene. Don’t panic — I’m not hungry yet.”

Ferlin watched his wife’s face go pink and cleared his throat. “Two extra dishes tonight. The night is long.”


Dinner was warm and unhurried. Irene recovered from her panic and settled into easy conversation; the old knight was gentler at a table than he had ever been at home, softened by age or by something else that had happened to him that Ferlin couldn’t yet name. When the dishes were cleared, his father beckoned him into the study with a look that had a specific weight to it.

Ferlin followed. He had been expecting this since the door opened.

“Do you know what happened in Longsong Stronghold?” his father asked, once he had lowered himself into the chair.

“Some of it. A rebellion by the four families. His Highness went to suppress it. The City Hall posted it publicly.”

“Even that?” His father was briefly surprised. He straightened, and then he told Ferlin the whole of it — the families, the collapse, the cleanup, the trial in the square. “I’d sent word to His Highness myself, though I didn’t expect him to arrive as quickly as he did. The Maple Leaf, Wolf, and Wild Rose families were broken entirely. Only the Elk Family survived in any form, and they came close to taking us down with them.”

Ferlin kept his face still. “Father, were you—”

“Not me.” The old knight’s voice was flat. “I’m too old and too tired for that kind of risk. But your brother is not.”

The word landed.

“Miso?” Ferlin sat forward. “He participated in the rebellion?”

His father nodded. “After the collapse, he was captured. I went to the square on the day of the public judgment. I saw him.”

Ferlin closed his eyes briefly. The complicated history of his brother — the jealousy, the small cruelties, the long years of competition that had never quite resolved into anything — did not disappear in that moment, but it compressed. Whatever Miso had become, he had once been his younger brother.

“Because he had no blood on his hands and surrendered without resistance,” his father continued, “he was sentenced to ten years of labor. He should be in the North Slope Mine by now.”

The relief came before he could stop it. “I thought you meant—”

“Executed?” His father shook his head. “When I said I saw him for the last time, I meant the last time he was a member of this family. From that day forward, he is no longer of the Eltek name.”

“You cut ties with him.”

“Correct.” His father breathed in slowly and released it. “I warned him. He didn’t listen. Someone who risks the lives of every family member for an ambition that wasn’t his to gamble with — that person cannot be the heir.” The wrinkles in his face were deep in the lamplight, and Ferlin could see the grief in them even through the composure. “You’re all I have now, my child.”

Ferlin reached across and took his father’s hands. He did not trust himself to speak.

“I have never begged in my life.” The old knight’s voice was measured. “But now I ask you: take up the Eltek name and carry it forward. I have a feeling it will prosper under you.” He paused. “That’s also why I agreed to follow His Highness here — I want to be positioned well for the reforms to come.”

“But positions can’t be inherited anymore. Even the knight’s title will be honorary.”

“I know that. But what can be inherited is connections, and experience, and the trust you’ve already built. When His Highness awards positions by merit, the people around him from the beginning will have advantages no new arrival can quickly acquire.” He patted his son’s hands. “Even if you stay in teaching — and I won’t stop you — I only ask that you continue the name.”

Ferlin was quiet for a long time.

“I understand,” he said at last. “I promise.”

“Then I can rest easy.” The knight released something in his bearing — a held tension that had been there since he walked in. He looked at Ferlin with his insightful eyes, the ones that had always seen through every performance to the person underneath. “If you had the choice — which department would you want?”

“I hadn’t thought—”

“The Second Army,” his father said. “Iron Axe mentioned to me that they’re forming a strategy department. Testing the model in the Second Army first. It would suit you.” His expression was sure and quiet. “You didn’t become a knight because you loved sitting still with books, Ferlin. You became a knight because you needed to move.” The eyes settled. “You’re still the Morning Light I remember, my child.”

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