CH932 · Rewrite
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Chapter 932: Someone Impossible to Meet

Horford Quinn stood at the french window with a filled wine glass, watching the city drown in its own light.

This was the center of the Kingdom of Dawn — the city that never slept. From the Rising Sun Avenue, the glow spread outward in both directions like a tree made of candles, and at its crown sat the kingdom’s most celebrated market, where merchants did not begin work until the sun went down. Fish fat from the eastern harbor. Timber from the northern hills. Kerosene, firewood, a thousand small flames feeding the larger one. The industry of illumination alone kept ten thousand people employed and filled the ledgers of more than a hundred merchants.

And this was only a small part of what the City of Glow moved in a single night.

His greatest pleasure, most evenings, was this view. The Quinn family had helped build it — three generations under John Moore’s royalty and the three great families, turning a wasteland into a kingdom worth boasting of. That was no small thing. He had always known it wasn’t.

Tonight, the knowledge sat flat in him, without lift.

The city was the same. Captivating, as it had always been. But just beyond the reach of its light, something dark and slow was moving, and no amount of candles would drive it back.

Maybe I’m growing old. He sipped the wine. The bitterness reached him before the sweetness did.

“Father.” The study door opened and his son came in. “Baron Alfonse from Northwind City is asking to see you.”

“No. Tell him I’m ill.”

“But—” Hawn paused, then turned and nodded to the old butler, who bowed and withdrew.

When they were alone, Hawn finally said what had been building in him. “Father, that’s the twelfth noble you’ve refused. Even I can see something is wrong in the palace. These foreign visitors aren’t subtle about their intentions. If you keep refusing them, they’ll assume—”

“Assume what?”

“That you’re still loyal to His Majesty Appen Moya.”

“Hawn.” Earl Quinn turned from the window and fixed his heir with a look that quieted him. “Do you think it’s a mistake — the three families standing behind the King of Dawn?”

“But His Majesty no longer needs us.” Hawn steadied himself and pushed on. “Since the defeat at Hermes, he doesn’t ask for your counsel. You’re Prime Minister, and you can’t even enter the Royal Palace. The patrol teams have been replaced with mercenaries. Look at the kind of people summoned to the palace now — clowns, dancers, geishas.” He spread his hands. “What does that suggest to you?”

The earl said nothing. He turned back to his wine.

Hawn was eighteen. Even at eighteen, he could read what the arrival of nobility from across the kingdom meant. So could every other lord with a window and a functioning mind. The defeat at Hermes had made it legible: ten thousand troops, most of the provincial lords, all of them riding toward the ruins of the church expecting to divide a carcass — and instead they had met something that reduced armored knights and common serfs alike to the same fine grey ash. The ones who survived could not describe what they had seen, only that there had been fire falling from the sky and thunder without clouds.

When Appen came home with his knightage shattered, the calculation changed for everyone. A weakened king and no clear successor made two things inevitable: someone would have to answer for the failure, and the ambitions that had been held politely in check would stop waiting.

Those nobles slipping into the city at night were not subtle. They wanted to know which way the three great families would move before committing themselves. No one, Horford knew, would vote to preserve the status quo.

“Father,” Hawn tried again. “Things aren’t what they were. Appen Moya isn’t the king his father was. Look at the Luoxi situation — Otto has been in the palace dungeon this whole time. You’re the Prime Minister. The people still respect you. If you make a stand, with the other two families behind you, the other nobles will follow.”

“Make a stand.” The earl’s voice took on an edge.

“I only mean—” Hawn bit his lip. “You don’t have to side with Appen. That’s obvious already — why else would you claim illness and refuse everyone? If this were the old king, you’d be out there persuading those lords to think of the kingdom’s stability first.”

Horford set down his glass and let out a long breath. His son was still too young. “If I’m right about that — if my position is as obvious as you say — do you think Appen Moya hasn’t read it the same way?”

Hawn blinked.

“There are eyes on this house. Whatever they see me do, whoever they see me meet, goes directly back to the palace.” He moved to his desk and sat down heavily. “If I had accepted those visitors, what do you suppose would have happened? Appen may have lost his knightage, but the kingdom’s apparatus is still his. He’s been installing his own people since before he took the throne. To rebel under his eyes, in his city, with a handful of guards — and then wait for those noble lords to ride to my rescue?” He struck the table, not hard, but with finality. “The Luoxi family hasn’t come to me. Neither has Tokat. Only the foreign lords — the ones with nothing to lose if I’m arrested. Does that tell you anything?”

Hawn went pale. “Then leave for your domain. Your knights are there. Your mercenaries, your serfs—”

“The Quinn family has been rooted in this city for too long.” He shook his head. “Our connections, our people, our wealth — even if I could slip out alone, I cannot bring the family. If I tried, Appen would make an example of everyone left behind. And my remaining here is itself a kind of guarantee — it demonstrates that I’m not gathering forces outside the walls.” He looked at his son steadily. “Feigning illness is the furthest I can go. There is nothing else.”

The irony of it was complete: what had made the Quinn family formidable — their deep roots in the king’s city — had become the chain that held them.

“Really.” A voice came from outside the study, easy and unhurried. “I don’t think so.”

Horford’s face changed. That was no servant. No guard. The voice had come from just beyond the door, and no one had announced, challenged, or raised an alarm.

Hawn spun, seized a candlestick, and braced.

The door opened.

A blonde-haired girl stepped into the study. Young. Strange to find here at this hour, in this house. And yet — somehow familiar. The shape of her face. The way she held herself.

“Do you remember me, my lord?” she asked.

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