The guest room was gone.
Lucan had known it wouldn't last. Lady Lyra had insisted on the arrangement during his recovery, but now that he could walk without clutching his ribs, he was just another body in the barracks. Another name on a roster.
He stepped into the canteen.
Dark. Muggy.
The air clung to his skin, it was thick with the scent of old stew, sweat, and whatever alcohol the quartermaster had managed to barter for this month. Wooden tables sat unevenly across the stone floor, many of them warped and rotting at the edges. Conversations buzzed low. Laughter erupted from one table and died just as quickly.
He moved toward the serving line. The woman behind the counter didn't speak, just slapped a ladleful of gray stew into his bowl and handed him a heel of bread. She gave him a short nod before turning to the next man in line.
Lucan looked for a place to sit.
He stepped toward a half-empty table, only for the soldiers there to shuffle over, not enough to bar him entirely, but enough to make the message clear. He met one of their eyes. The man looked through him.
Lucan kept walking and found an empty table near the corner, where the shadows met the walls and the candlelight didn't quite reach. He sat down alone, setting the bowl in front of him. The wood beneath his elbows was sticky.
He could feel them watching.
Whispers. Side glances. Silence when he looked up.
He furrowed his brow. Hadn't he saved the lord's daughter? Bled for her? Stared death in the eye for a duty that wasn't even his?
But the truth settled on him like the room's damp air.
That had been three weeks ago.
And out here, in the canteen, the memory didn't seem to matter.
He ate in silence, the bread dry, the stew lukewarm and bland. A small chunk of something chewy lingered on his tongue; it was meat, he hoped.
The bench across from him creaked.
Lucan looked up. A soldier dropped onto the seat without asking. He was broad-shouldered, with hair shaved close to the scalp and a jagged scar running from temple to jaw.
"Didn't think you'd last," the man said, starting into his own bowl. "Figured you'd crawl out the gates the first night they stuck you on the training grounds."
Lucan blinked. "Nice to meet you too."
The man huffed in amusement. "Name's Rorik. I watch people. Saw you on the training field. You run like a goat with one leg shorter than the other."
"Encouraging," Lucan muttered.
"You'll get there. Maybe."
They ate in silence for a moment. Then Rorik leaned in slightly.
"You want advice, greenling?" he asked.
Lucan shrugged. "Sure."
"Stop looking for a pat on the back," Rorik said, tearing a chunk of bread with his teeth. "You saved Lady Lyra, great. She's in the tower. You're in the mud. That's how it goes."
Lucan stared at him. "I'm not looking for anything."
Rorik leaned forward, voice low. "Sure you are. You're wondering why they all look at you like you pissed in their stew."
Lucan looked down at his stew. "Might as well have piss in it."
Rorik smirked. "It's 'cause you did what they were supposed to do. Makes 'em feel small. And men down here don't like feeling small."
Lucan looked around the canteen again and saw it, the glances, the half-heard mutters, and this time, it made more sense.
Rorik stood and grabbed his bowl. "They'll get over it. Men forget what you've done when you're standing next to them in a battle."
He left without another word.
Lucan finished his stew slowly. The whispering hadn't stopped, but it seemed quieter now, or maybe he just didn't care as much.
He brought his bowl back to the counter, nodded to the serving woman, and turned to leave.
Just as he stepped through the door into the corridor, two voices caught his ear.
"…Greenreach won't move on the prices. Lord Emberlily's had three messengers turned back already."
"Doesn't matter how fancy the letters are they know we're desperate. No grain, no bargaining power."
Lucan slowed his pace.
"Captain says if it doesn't change by next moon, he's riding there himself. Says they'll listen once they see the banner."
He moved past before they noticed him.
Once outside, the cool air bit against his skin. The sky had dimmed to a dull purple, and torches flickered to life along the inner walls of the keep.
Lucan looked up, drawing in a slow breath.
Things were shifting. Quietly. Beneath the surface.
And for the first time in days, he felt more awake than tired.
A servant came to find him. "Lord Emberlily requests your presence," she said, her voice soft but firm.
Lucan stood and followed her through the narrow corridors of the keep, the flickering light of the torch sconces casting long shadows on the walls. When he entered Emberlily's private chambers, the lord was seated at a large, worn desk, his tired eyes studying some papers, but his gaze lifted when Lucan stepped inside.
"Lucan," Emberlily greeted him, his voice calm and measured. "How did your first day go?"
Lucan shrugged, a mixture of exhaustion and confusion still weighing on him. "It was... harder than I thought. But I made it through."
Emberlily nodded, eyes narrowing slightly. "Good. I trust you'll continue to make it through, then. There's something I wanted to hear your thoughts on."
Lucan stepped closer, curiosity piqued.
"We've been having issues with Greenreach," Emberlily said, his voice turning darker. "There's been unrest. Riots. We've arrested one of the riot starters and begun our interrogation, but our suspicions are growing."
Lucan frowned. "What do you mean?"
Emberlily paused for a moment, steepling his fingers. "We believe Lord Ryswald of Greenreach is behind this. He's been causing trouble and putting pressure on us, trying to weaken our hold here. Some of the unrest may have been orchestrated by him, using hired men to stir up chaos."
Lucan absorbed the information, a frown tugging at his lips. "Why would he do that?"
"Greenreach isn't happy with the way things are, as it stands, I have more power. Ryswald thinks this is the way to get what he wants. Destabilize the region, force me into a weaker position." Emberlily leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant. "But enough about that. I've been meaning to ask you something, Lucan."
Lucan tilted his head. "What's that?"
"You know nothing of how my house came to be, do you?"
Lucan blinked, a little surprised. "No. I don't."
Emberlily leaned forward, his eyes intense as he spoke. "Caedric. That was my name before I became Lord Emberlily. Just Caedric. No last name. I was a man with no title, no land, just a soldier, much like the ones you see around you. When I was granted a piece of land and bestowed with a title, I had to choose a house, a name, and an emblem."
He paused, looking out the window for a moment, as if lost in thought. "I chose Emberlily. The name came to me from the story of a flower that could withstand a volcano. The Emberlily grows in the harshest conditions, in places where most life cannot survive. The flowers near my town, they've been there for so long, no one remembers how they came to be. I want my house to be like that. To be as stable, as enduring, as unyielding, even when the world around it seems to burn."
Lucan listened, intrigued. "So... your house is built on that idea of resilience?"
Emberlily nodded. "Exactly. It's not just about surviving. It's about thriving, even in the worst of circumstances. That's the kind of legacy I want to leave behind."
Lucan took a moment to think. "And you believe that's how you'll handle the trouble with Greenreach?"
"Exactly. I won't let a few fires ruin what I've built. I can withstand pressure, just like my house. I'll ride out with an army if Ryswald wants to play at war; God knows he's never been in one himself. I grew up with a sword in my hand."
Lucan stepped back, absorbing Emberlily's words. The lord's voice had a quiet but unwavering edge to it, like the roots of an ancient tree that refused to be torn from the ground. Emberlily wasn't just talking about his house, he was talking about himself.
Lucan couldn't help but think how different this was from his own life. He'd never had anything built to last. Everything he had was fragile, fleeting.
He met Emberlily's eyes, the weight of the conversation settling on him. There was a strength in the lord's resolve, one that Lucan wasn't sure he understood yet, but he was starting to see.
"I know it's late I won't keep you any longer," Lord Emberlily said as he went back to his papers.
"Good luck with your planning," Lucan said as he left the room, head full of thought.