Chapter 51:

  Closing Perspectives (1 of 5)

  Duke Percival Hightower was no stranger to conflict. Much of his youth had been spent chasing it, testing himself against rivals, circumstances, and expectations alike. Ambition had driven him forward in those years, along with a restless need to see how far he could walk his Path before the weight of responsibility finally forced him to slow.

  He had expected that urgency to be the force that tempered him and drove him to greater heights, but nothing in his expectations could have prepared him for the arrival of Lucian Garner.

  More than any rival or obligation, it was Lucian who had pushed him faster and farther than he had ever intended to go. A force of nature in both presence and will, Lucian Garner had reshaped Percival’s understanding of strength not through domination, but through inevitability. Standing beside him had made retreat from an enemy feel unthinkable, even laughable, and the notion of standing against him felt like absolute folly.

  Now standing before him was his dear friend’s nephew, and much like Lucian before him, the early signs of a gathering storm were already evident. Whether by design or by some force inherent to their bloodline, the familiar winds of change were impossible to ignore.

  The Duke pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose as Samuel laid out his plan with absolute conviction, utterly unaware of the sharks that had already begun to circle. The boy spoke as if resolve alone could carry him through what lay ahead, blind to the political currents that would gladly tear him apart.

  “So what do you think?” Samuel asked, leaning forward in his chair as he explained his plan for the third time, convinced repetition would somehow make it clearer.

  The Duke of Salt Brine did not answer immediately. Instead, he took stock of everything that had been said, and of the two figures Samuel had brought with him.

  The young woman at Samuel’s side was unfamiliar, absent from every report Percival had reviewed concerning the boy he had, in quieter moments, instructed himself to regard as a nephew. It was as if Samuel had collected her along the way without a second thought. Worse still, he seemed entirely unaware of the pull his sincerity and idealism exerted on those around him, the way people were drawn in before realizing they had already chosen a side.

  Then there was Halius Fisher.

  The heir to the Valley stood nearby with quiet confidence, and Percival was well aware of the young man’s growing strength. Given time, Halius would no doubt fulfill his role as the next defender of the Stone that safeguarded that idyllic sanctuary. That Samuel had already drawn someone of such weight into his orbit was troubling.

  And telling.

  It was further proof that Samuel Garner was far more like his uncle than he yet understood. A storm was gathering, and the Duke knew he faced only two real choices: to brace against it and be broken by it, or to let the wind carry him forward along an unintended, yet far more interesting path.

  “So,” the Duke said slowly, “your proposal requires that I divert a considerable portion of my wealth to restore the city’s poor. In doing so, I would not only undermine the Crown’s revenue drawn through the Church, but openly enable you to heal freely and provide long term support in the form of shelter and sustenance.”

  Samuel, blissfully unaware of the smirks exchanged among the Duke’s guards, nodded enthusiastically.

  “Well… when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound quite as appealing,” he admitted. “But yes, that’s more or less the gist of it. I don’t mean allowing people to do nothing, just offering them a helping hand until they can stand on their own again.”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The Duke sighed inwardly and silently cursed the Garner name. Like his uncle before him, Samuel seemed utterly oblivious to the dangers an action like this would invite from the Crown. All that mattered to the young man was seeing his vision of justice carried through, regardless of the cost.

  It was naive.

  And yet, the simplicity was… appealing.

  The Duke had long been aware that this was a growing problem within his city. Yet he lacked the driving force of justice that seemed to dominate the actions of people like young Samuel. Whether it was a consequence of his pedigree or simply who he was as a person he was not sure, but in his experience, Percival had learned to value the opinions and convictions of those who saw the world in simpler terms.

  In truth, without the companionship of his dear friends, Percival had lost the spark of spontaneity that had once defined his youth. If not for the tragedy that had befallen both Lucian and Catherine, perhaps his present days would have been filled with the same reckless, rebellious energy his idealistic friend had once carried so effortlessly.

  “Very well,” the Duke said with finality.

  His decision drew startled looks from his three faithful guards, disbelief passing silently between them.

  “We will test this idea with a few,” Percival continued. “If, over the next several seasons, we see genuine progress, then I will support you in earnest.”

  Annoyingly, Samuel did not seem surprised in the slightest. He merely nodded, as though this outcome had been inevitable all along.

  The young woman, Terrah, on the other hand, reacted appropriately. She stared at the Duke with her mouth hanging open, disbelief written plainly across her face.

  “Samuel,” Percival said with a weary sigh, “do you understand the repercussions that may follow from this?” He leaned forward slightly. “In truth, can you even tell me what I stand to gain by investing in such a venture? Why should this take precedence over my many other responsibilities?”

  Samuel met his gaze without hesitation.

  “Because it’s right,” he said simply. “And because you’re a good man.”

  Percival suppressed a groan.

  These damn Garners.

  “Leave your friend here to discuss the finer details with me,” the Duke said evenly. “I will speak with the three about how this might be incorporated into your training in the coming weeks. Until then, prepare yourself accordingly.”

  The young man, so like his uncle it was unsettling, save for the blaze of red hair, rose quickly with a bright smile and crossed the room in a few hurried steps. The movement drew an immediate reaction from the guards, who shifted to intervene, only to halt at the Duke’s subtle gesture.

  To Percival’s surprise, Samuel pulled him into a brief embrace, patted his shoulder, and warmly said, “Thank you, Uncle.”

  The Duke gave no outward sign of his reaction, but warmth stirred quietly in his chest. The gesture was achingly familiar, a reminder of the friend he had once stood beside, now somewhere in the world, searching for the peace that had been so cruelly taken from him.

  After a few more pleasantries Samuel and the young heir were led from the chamber, and Percival remained seated while Beatrice prepared food and drink for his the young woman, Terrah.

  The Duke knew Samuel was incapable of seeing the larger political picture, utterly unaware of how dangerous the Crown had become in recent years. The auditors were ruthless, and they would not sit idly by while their revenues were threatened, not even within Percival’s own city.

  Yet he would not mock the boy’s sense of right and wrong, as he had learned this lesson from Lucian long ago.

  Naivety was only mocked when one lacked the power to impose their ideals upon the world.

  If Percival could nurture and protect Samuel just long enough, the young man would one day be able to face whatever threats came his way by means of his own strength.

  Samuel’s aura was still burgeoning, raw and unrefined, yet the potential within it was unmistakable. He had even surprised the Duke by resisting his presence, if only briefly that day in the courtroom, even under the domain of the Duke’s Legacy Stone.

  That alone was telling.

  Samuel had spoken of his ability to heal and of his unique Path, one that bore certain similarities to Lucian’s own. Yet Lucian had never been a healer. His presence, though not without compassion, carried his will with the weight of death and despair.

  Samuel’s aura felt familiar, and yet entirely different.

  Where Lucian carried ruin, Samuel carried compassion, tempered by something far harder beneath it. Not mercy alone, but judgment, keen and deliberate, sharp as the sickle he carried at his waist.

  Percival had once mocked Lucian’s choice of weapon. A sickle was a farmer’s tool, inelegant and inferior to blades honed solely for killing over centuries of war. At the time, the criticism had seemed reasonable.

  Now, in hindsight, it felt utterly pointless.

  A weapon was only as limited as the one who wielded it.

  Percival had no doubt his guards would soon learn that truth for themselves as they began training Samuel in the coming days. If the boy’s abilities proved anything like his uncle’s, then a potentially dangerous new piece had just been set upon the board of the kingdom.

  And that was… exciting.

  “Uh… Your Grace?” Terrah asked hesitantly. “Is everything alright?”

  Percival blinked, drawn from his reverie.

  “Yes,” he said evenly. “Quite. Now then, Terrah, was it? Let us discuss this business properly.”