Chapter 13 — Embers Beneath the Ash

The council chamber smelled of fresh limewash and simmering anxiety. Dylan paced beside a half-finished charter while Lieutenant Griff read aloud the morning dispatches.

“Four patrols report arrows embedded in trees—Ironclaw flight feathers, but no footprints. And Hawthorne loyalists refuse grain tithe.” Griff exhaled. “The pack’s splitting like rotten cedar.”

Dylan raked a hand through his hair. “Post rewards for information—no violence unless struck first. If Hawthorne wants open war, he’ll have to swing the first blade.”

Ophelia, standing near the hearth, cleared her throat. “Or he’ll starve villages until they beg him to lead.”

Griff nodded grimly. “She’s right. Hunger makes sharper weapons than steel.”

Dylan turned to Ophelia. “Suggestions?”

“Meet need before he manipulates it,” she answered. “Send hunters south to fill storehouses. Announce reduced levies for any household that pledges neutrality.”