A commotion outside interrupted her. Horses, moving fast. Kieran's anxiety spiked—more trouble, always more trouble—
Then he heard a familiar voice calling his name.
He reached the door in time to see Lady Celeste Varnham dismount from her horse in one fluid motion, Dawnbreaker at her hip, her traveling cloak dusty from hard riding.
Their eyes met, and something in Kieran's chest loosened.
"Celeste," he breathed. "What are you doing here?"
"Saving you from making a terrible mistake, apparently," she said, striding forward and pulling him into an embrace that caught him completely off guard. She smelled of road dust and sword oil and jasmine, and for a moment Kieran forgot to be anxious.
She released him and stepped back, her expression serious. "I heard about Tidecaller. About the Empire and Sanctum circling. About the Consortium trying to turn your forge into a political fortress." She looked around at the observation post across the street, at the Sanctum clergy lingering in the square, at the whole mess that Kieran's life had become. "You're in trouble."
"That's an understatement," Mira said, but she was smiling. "Lady Varnham. Good to see you."
"Just Celeste, please. We're past formalities." She turned back to Kieran. "I came as soon as I heard. House Varnham isn't powerful, but we're still nobility. Our presence here means something—it shows you have aristocratic support beyond merchant interests. It complicates the Empire's narrative that you're just a Consortium asset."
"You didn't need to come all this way—"
"Yes, I did." Celeste's hand moved to Dawnbreaker's pommel, a gesture that seemed unconscious. "You gave me a chance when no one else would. You created something that changed my life. I'm not going to stand by while powerful factions try to cage you."
"They might cage you too if you get involved," Kieran warned.
"Let them try." Celeste's smile was sharp. "I'm the Grand Melee Champion now. I have political capital I didn't have before. And I'm willing to spend it protecting the man who made my victory possible."
Kieran felt his throat tighten with emotion. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. We need to talk strategy." Celeste glanced at the forge. "May I come in? We have a lot to discuss and not much time."
Inside, they gathered around Kieran's workbench—the same space where he'd created Dawnbreaker and Tidecaller, now serving as a war council table.
"The inspection tomorrow is a test," Celeste said, accepting the tea Mira offered. "Stone is pushing to see how you'll respond. If you allow it, he'll claim it as precedent. If you refuse and he backs down, he looks weak. Either way, he wins something."
"So what do we do?" Mira asked.
"We give him a third option." Celeste's expression turned calculating. "You refuse the inspection on legal grounds, as planned. But you offer an alternative—a public demonstration of your work methods. Not in your private forge, but in a controlled setting. The town square, maybe. Visible to everyone."
"That's insane," Kieran protested. "I can't work with people watching—"
"You don't have to create an artifact. Just demonstrate basic technique. Show that there's no secret military application, no hidden weapons cache, nothing that requires 'imperial oversight.' Make it boring and technical and completely transparent." Celeste leaned forward. "The Empire's argument relies on secrecy and unknown capabilities. Remove the mystery, and you remove their justification."
"It could work," Mira said slowly. "If Kieran can handle the pressure of working publicly."
"I can't," Kieran said immediately. "Too many people, too much attention—"
"You can," Celeste interrupted gently. "Because the alternative is letting Stone and his assessors paw through your private workspace, catalog your techniques, and establish legal precedent for ongoing surveillance. A one-time demonstration is better than permanent oversight."
Kieran wanted to argue, but the logic was sound. A public demonstration would be terrifying but temporary. An inspection would be invasive and potentially endless.
"I hate this," he said quietly.
"I know." Celeste's hand found his across the table, warm and steady. "But you're not alone in it. House Varnham will co-sponsor the demonstration. The Consortium's lawyers will ensure it's legally binding as an alternative to inspection. And I'll be there, standing beside you, the entire time."
"Why?" The question escaped before Kieran could stop it. "Why are you doing this? You've already got what you needed from me. You won the tournament. You don't owe me anything."
Celeste was quiet for a moment, her thumb tracing absent patterns on the back of his hand. "Do you remember what you told me before I left for the Grand Melee? You said 'win.' Just that one word, but the way you said it..." She looked up, meeting his eyes. "You believed in me when I barely believed in myself. You created something perfect because you wanted me to succeed, not because of money or politics or obligation. Just because you thought I deserved it."
She squeezed his hand. "Nobody's ever done that for me before. So yes, I'm going to stand by you while powerful people try to take your freedom. Because that's what you do for people who see you, really see you, and choose to help anyway."
The moment stretched, heavy with unspoken things. Mira cleared her throat meaningfully.
"Right," Celeste said, releasing Kieran's hand and straightening. "We should formalize the demonstration proposal tonight. Present it to Stone tomorrow morning before the scheduled inspection. Make it clear that this is the alternative—public transparency or nothing."
"He might refuse," Mira pointed out.
"Then he reveals his true goal isn't verification but control. Either way, we force his hand." Celeste stood, all business now. "I'll draft the formal proposal. Kieran, you should rest. Tomorrow is going to be difficult regardless of how Stone responds."
After she left to secure lodging and begin the legal documentation, Mira fixed Kieran with an amused look.
"She's in love with you, you know."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"She rode for three days straight to stand beside you against two major factions. She's willing to stake her family's political reputation on protecting you. And she looked at you like you hung the moon." Mira grinned. "That's not friendship, Kieran. That's something significantly more complicated."
"She's grateful. For the sword."
"Keep telling yourself that." Mira started organizing their documents for tomorrow. "But when this is over—if we survive it—you're going to need to have an actual conversation about whatever's developing between you two."
Kieran didn't respond. His mind was too full of anxiety about tomorrow, about the inspection, about the demonstration, about all the ways this could go catastrophically wrong.
But underneath the anxiety, buried deep, was a tiny spark of warmth.
Celeste had come. Had offered support without being asked. Had stood beside him when she could have stayed safely distant.
That had to mean something.
Even if he was too terrified to examine what.
That night, Kieran stood at his window, watching the Empire's observation post across the street. Lights burned inside—they were maintaining constant surveillance now.
Tomorrow, Marcus Stone would arrive expecting to inspect his forge. Instead, he'd be presented with an alternative that would either defuse the situation or escalate it beyond recovery.
There was no good option. Only choices between different kinds of terrible.
But for the first time since Tidecaller's creation, Kieran didn't feel completely alone.
He had Mira's sharp mind and sharper tongue.
He had the Consortium's lawyers and resources, however self-serving.
He had Mayor Fletcher's determination to protect Millhaven's sovereignty.
And he had Celeste, who'd ridden through the night because she believed he was worth protecting.
It wasn't much against the combined might of empires and churches.
But it was something.
It had to be enough.
Because tomorrow, one way or another, everything would change.
Again.
Kieran was getting very tired of everything changing.
But he was learning—slowly, painfully—that sometimes you couldn't stop change.
You could only try to shape it into something survivable.
Tomorrow, he'd find out if he was skilled enough at that particular craft.
He suspected he wasn't.
But he'd try anyway.
Because what else could you do when the cage was closing?
You could surrender.
Or you could fight.
Kieran was done surrendering.
Time to see if he knew how to fight.