Page 84 of The War of Four Winters

"Is what true?" I replied cautiously.

"That the rebel king took a death sleep for you. Traded part of his life essence to restore yours." The guard's tone held no judgment, only curiosity.

I nodded once, surprised by the question. "He did."

Something flickered in the guard's eyes. "Such a sacrifice is rare in these times. The old magics demand much." He touched a small blue stone that hung from a cord around his neck. "Our house remembers such traditions."

Before I could respond, the ornate gateway opened again, revealing a different warrior. Unlike the guards with their simple red-scaled armor, this man wore flowing robes of deep indigo over lighter armor, with an elaborate copper circlet around his head. Intricate patterns had been shaved into the sides of his otherwise long dark hair, creating geometric designs that complemented the tattoos visible on his hands and face.

"Captain Malek," Aryn greeted him with a respectful nod, though still no bow.

"Shikami," the captain replied, using Aryn's former title rather than his name. "Lady Sariel will see you." His gaze shifted to me, assessing rather than hostile. "Both of you."

He turned and led us into the compound without waiting for acknowledgment. The contrast between House Redrock's exterior and interior was striking, yet harmonious. Where the outer walls had been impressive, the inner courtyard was breathtaking—a perfect fusion of practical beauty and cultural distinction. Open-air corridors surrounded a central garden where a system of channels directed water from a central fountain to nourish plants I'd never seen before—desert flowers in vibrant reds and oranges, spiky blue-green succulents, and aromatic herbs that perfumed the morning air.

The walkways were paved with clay tiles in every shade of red imaginable, from pale terracotta to deep crimson, arranged in intricate geometric patterns. Archways adorned with delicate latticework led to shadowed interiors, while open pavilions with domed roofs offered gathering spaces beneath colorful awnings. Everything spoke of a culture adapted to heat and light, to the meeting of desert and river and sea.

The captain guided us toward the largest pavilion, its dome tiled in a mesmerizing pattern of blue and gold that seemed to shift with the strengthening morning light. The pavilion's interior opened to reveal a circular space centered around a pool of still water that perfectly reflected the dome above. The floor surrounding this pool was not stone or wood but packed clay of a deep red color, polished to a soft sheen.

At the far side of this clay circle stood a woman who could only be Lady Sariel, her body flowing through a series of precise movements that resembled both dance and combat forms.

Her hands traced patterns in the air, fingers extended like water flowing, then shifted to tight fists that struck invisible opponents with controlled power. Each position flowed seamlessly into the next as she pivoted on bare feet, her shadow dancing across the water's surface as she followed the sun's path. With each movement, the copper bangles at her wrists chimed softly, creating a rhythm that seemed to match her controlled breathing. As she completed the ritual, she drew both hands toward her heart, then extended them toward the eastern light filtering through the latticed dome, palms upturned in offering.

Lady Sariel of House Redrock stood perhaps two inches taller than me, her athletic frame carrying the lean muscle of a lifelong duelist rather than a battlefield warrior. Her skin was the warm brown of fired clay, with subtle gold undertones that caught the morning light. Unlike the ornate robes favored by other clan representatives, she wore lightweight clothing of layered silk in deep reds and blues, with subtle armor visible at the shoulders and forearms. Her hair, styled in dozens of thin braids adorned with copper beads and blue stones, fell past her shoulders in a controlled cascade that framed a face of striking angles and planes.

High cheekbones and a strong jawline gave her features a regal quality, while her eyes—a deep amber ringed with copper—projected an intelligence that missed nothing. Intricate blue tattoos flowed from her temples down her cheeks in flowing patterns reminiscent of river currents, far more elaborate than those I had noticed on the guards, marking her high status within the clan. The patterns continued down her neck and disappeared beneath her clothing, suggesting a comprehensive body art that told the story of her accomplishments and lineage.

"The rebel king's human consort comes to my house before the river prayer," she observed, her voice carrying the melodious accent of the southern territories. "Either very brave or very desperate."

Aryn stepped forward. "Lady Sariel, we come seeking—"

She raised a hand, cutting him off. "I did not address you, Shikami." Her gaze remained fixed on me. "I know why you've come. You seek my vote in today's Assembly."

"Yes," I replied, meeting her eyes directly. "Ruith Starfall's life hangs on that vote."

"Many lives hang in many balances," she replied, her fingers tracing patterns in the air that matched some of the designs adorning the pavilion. "Why should House Redrock concern itself with the fate of one rebel?"

"Because that one rebel represents the future," I said. "A future where humans and elves build something better together, where ancient hatreds give way to cooperation and shared prosperity."

Lady Sariel's expression remained composed, but something shifted in her dark eyes. She moved away from her position with a grace that spoke of years of disciplined training, each step deliberate yet fluid as water.

"House Redrock has little interest in political idealism." She circled me slowly, assessing. "We value honor. Conviction. The courage to stand behind one's beliefs regardless of consequence." She stopped before me, close enough that I could smell the subtle fragrance of exotic oils in her braided hair.

"And what has Tarathiel offered in exchange for your vote?" I asked.

Her movement stopped abruptly. For a moment, I feared I had overstepped. Then something like approval flickered across her features. "Direct. Good." She resumed her position near the water pool. "The Primarch offers exclusive trading rights with the northern territories. Access to timber reserves our desert lands lack. A significant concession."

"And what do you care for Northern resources?" I countered. "House Redrock has always maintained its independence from northern politics."

"Resources are resources," she said with a slight shrug. "Our lands are rich in clay and river minerals, yes, but we lack the forests needed for shipbuilding. Our coastal territories could expand trade routes if we had the vessels to sail them."

I considered her words carefully. The Redrock clan had built their power on their control of the only rivers in elven lands that carried mineral-rich clay, perfect for crafting everything from simple pottery to the elaborate tilework that adorned their compound. Their position controlling both river lands and coast gave them unique trading opportunities, but without timber for ships, their reach remained limited.

"And what if we could offer alternatives?" I suggested. "Trade agreements with human lands, yes, but also direct access to the Yeutish forests of the far north. Ruith has forged an alliance with Kudai. The northern timber you seek can flow down your rivers without Tarathiel as gatekeeper. Peace with the Yeutlands means new trade routes that bypass the northern houses entirely."

Lady Sariel's expression revealed nothing. "You speak of resources you do not control, human. Your brother Michail leads a holy war against our kind. Why would we trust human promises?"

"Michail does not speak for all humans, just as Tarathiel does not speak for all elves." I held her gaze steadily. "I've seen how your people live, Lady Sariel. How different your culture is from the northern houses. The diversity within elven society itself. Humans are no different. We contain multitudes, just as you do."

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