Duncan let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for weeks. “Adrian said you could help. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him.”

  Adrian had settled into a chair near the fire. “I’ve seen what they can do. They saved entire villages with methods the established masters said were impossible.”

  “Then you’ll have whatever support you need.” Duncan moved to the desk and began shuffling papers. “Rooms at the castle. Access to our records. Authority to inspect any facility in the kingdom.”

  “Actually,” Adrian said, “we’d prefer to stay at the inn.”

  Duncan looked up. “The Highland Crown? It’s comfortable, but hardly appropriate for guests of the crown.”

  “It’s perfect for guests who want to work without attracting attention.” Adrian met his old friend’s gaze. “The less this looks like a royal initiative, the easier it will be to move freely, ask questions, and see how things really operate.”

  Duncan considered this for a moment, then he nodded slowly. “You always were better at this kind of thing than me. Fine. The inn it is. But you’ll take Brennan.”

  “Brennan?”

  “My steward. He knows every village in Keldrath, every family, and every trade route. If you need to go somewhere, he’ll get you there. If you need to talk to someone, he’ll know who actually has answers.” Duncan walked to the door and spoke quietly to someone waiting outside. He turned back to us. “He’ll be here shortly.”

  We spent the next hour going over details. Dunmarch and Veldros needed the most urgent help. Dunmarch was agricultural and suffered from failing preservation wards. Veldros was a fishing town on a vast lake where the catch rotted before it could reach markets. Other villages had their own problems, but those two were in crisis.

  Duncan described each situation with the intensity of someone who had been carrying these problems alone for too long. His hands never stopped moving. Twice more I noticed that strange charge in the air. Felix kept glancing at me. Neither of us mentioned it.

  A knock interrupted the briefing.

  The man who entered was in his mid-forties with a weathered face and a worn leather coat that looked like he slept in it. He walked with a slight limp that did not slow him down. His eyes swept the room once and cataloged everyone present before they settled on Felix and me.

  He studied us for a long moment. I felt measured. Weighed. Assessed by criteria I could not identify.

  “Aye,” he said finally. “You’ll do.”

  He turned and walked out.

  “That’s Brennan,” Duncan said.

  “That was a greeting?” Felix asked.

  Duncan smirked. “That was high praise, coming from him.”

  “That was praise?”

  Brennan’s voice drifted back from the hallway. “I’ve got good ears, too. There’s a faster way to the inn. Keep up.”

  Brennan moved through the city like water finding its path downhill. He knew every shortcut, every staircase and every narrow passage between buildings. The route that had taken us an hour by wagon took twenty minutes on foot.

  He did not speak during the walk. Felix and I exchanged glances but followed without complaint. When we reached the Highland Crown, Brennan stopped at the door and turned to face us.

  “Dunmarch first,” he said. “Six hours by horse. We leave at dawn.”

  “We planned to assess Valdmere’s systems before heading out,” I said.

  “Valdmere’s holding. Dunmarch isn’t.” His expression did not change. “Six hours. Dawn. Be ready.”

  He walked away before I could respond.

  Adrian, Roderick, and Henrick joined me.

  “He’s efficient,” I said.

  “He’s the best guide in Keldrath.” Adrian watched Brennan disappear around a corner. “If he says Dunmarch first, there’s a reason. Trust him.”

  I looked at Felix. He shrugged.

  “Dawn it is,” I said.

  We went inside. The common room was warm and filled with the smell of roasting meat. Other travelers occupied tables near the fire. The innkeeper welcomed us with professional courtesy and showed us to a private dining room where we could eat without being overheard.

  The food was simple and good. We had roasted lamb with root vegetables, fresh bread with sharp cheese, and ale that tasted like the highlands themselves.

  “So,” Felix said between bites. “Coordinated pricing across all major suppliers. Failing infrastructure across an entire kingdom. A prince who might be hiding more than he’s telling us.” He paused. “What exactly have we gotten ourselves into?”

  “The same thing we always get into.” I tore off a piece of bread. “A problem everyone says is impossible to solve.”

  “And the solution?”

  “Find the people profiting from the problem. Then make it unprofitable.”

  Adrian raised his mug. “I knew I chose the right consultants.”

  “You chose us because we were the only ones willing to come.”

  “That too.” He drank deeply. “But mostly the first thing.”

  Roderick snorted. Henrick almost smiled.

  I thought about Duncan’s hands. The charge in the air. The spark that might have been firelight and might have been something else entirely. Adrian had mentioned that Duncan had talents beyond the sword. He had not explained what that meant.

  Felix pulled out his documentation journal and began making notes. I finished my bread and watched the fire until my eyes grew heavy.

  Chapter 10

  Taking Stock

  Brennan arrived at dawn just as he said.

  I had barely finished dressing when his knock rattled the door. Felix groaned from his bed and pulled a pillow over his head. Neither of us had slept well. The weight of what we had taken on made for restless nights.

  “Time to work,” Brennan said when I opened the door. His expression suggested he had been awake for hours. “Guild hall first. Then we see what you’re made of.”

  Adrian met us in the common room with Roderick and Henrick flanking him. He wore practical clothes again and carried no visible sign of his rank. The guards had their weapons but nothing ceremonial.

  “Working visit,” Adrian said. “Not a royal tour. The less attention we draw, the better.”

  Brennan led us through streets that grew busier as the city woke. Shopkeepers opened shutters. Carts rolled toward market squares. The smell of baking bread mixed with the sharper scent of smithy fires. Valdmere felt like any other city in the morning light except for the failing ward anchors that flickered on every third corner.

  The Glyphwright Guild Hall stood in the craftsman’s quarter. It was a solid stone building with carved symbols above the door that identified its purpose to anyone who knew how to read them. Brennan pushed through without knocking.

  Inside, a dozen glyphwrights had already gathered. They ranged from journeymen my age to masters with grey in their beards. All of them turned to stare as we entered.

  “These are the ones Prince Duncan sent,” Brennan said. “Marcus Fairwind and Felix Penwright. Journeymen from Millbrook. They fixed the eastern dungeon corruption crisis.”

  “Journeymen.” An older man near the back crossed his arms. “We’ve been working these problems for months. Now two journeymen from the south are going to solve everything?”

  “We’re here to help,” I said. “Not to replace anyone.”

  “Help.” He made the word sound like an insult. “We don’t need southern charity. We need materials we can actually afford.”

  “That’s exactly what we’re here to address.” I kept my voice level. “We’ve dealt with supply problems before. There are alternatives to traditional materials if you know where to look.”

  Skepticism spread through the room. A few glyphwrights exchanged glances that suggested they had heard promises before.

  One man stepped forward. He was older than most of the others with weathered hands that spoke of decades at the workbench. His eyes held curiosity rather than hostility.

  “Hamish,” he said. “Senior journeyman. I’ve heard stories about Millbrook and the corruption work.” He studied me with professional assessment. “You really stabilized an entire region with improvised materials?”

  “We adapted local resources to replace what we couldn’t afford. The theory is sound. The Guild certified the results.”

  “Certified?” Another glyphwright looked skeptical. “The Guild certified garbage ink?”

  “They certified functional ward compounds derived from local waste products.” Felix had his documentation journal out. “I have the full analysis if you’d like to review it.”

  Before anyone could respond, the guild hall door opened again.

  A woman entered with the bearing of someone who expected to be noticed. She was middle-aged with sharp features and sharper eyes. She wore the formal robes of a trade commission official and carried a ledger that she held like a weapon.

  “No one informed me about this meeting,” she said.

  “Didn’t know you needed to be informed, Fiona.” Brennan’s voice carried a careful neutrality. “Guild business.”

  “Guild business that involves foreign consultants falls under commission oversight.” Fiona’s gaze swept across us and lingered on Adrian. “Your Highness. I wasn’t aware you would be attending.”

  “I’m here as an observer,” Adrian said. “Nothing official.”

  “Of course.” Her smile did not reach her eyes. “I’ll simply monitor the proceedings. For the record.”

  She positioned herself near the door and opened her ledger. The message was clear. Everything said in this room would be documented and reported. The silence stretched. Fiona’s ledger waited like a trap ready to spring.

  “Perhaps we should clarify the scope of this consultation,” Fiona said. “Any new formulations would require trade commission certification before use. The process takes three to four months at minimum.”

  “three to four months,” Brennan repeated. “While our wards fail and our people suffer.”

  “Safety protocols exist for good reason.”

  “So does common sense.” I stepped forward. “We’re not here to sell anything. We’re here to share knowledge. Guild members would produce the wards themselves using locally sourced materials. The formulations would be theirs to use or reject as they see fit.”

  “Untested formulations produced by local craftsmen without oversight.” Fiona made a note in her ledger. “The liability concerns alone would require months of review.”

  Adrian reached into his jacket and produced a folded document. The seal was unmistakable even from across the room. Duncan’s personal sigil was pressed into dark wax.

  “Prince Duncan anticipated these concerns,” Adrian said. “This writ invokes emergency infrastructure provisions under Section Twelve of the Royal Charter. During a declared crisis, normal certification requirements are suspended for remediation efforts conducted under guild supervision.”

  Fiona’s expression flickered. “I would need to verify the authenticity of that document.”

  “You’re welcome to visit Prince Duncan and ask him yourself.” Adrian’s voice remained pleasant, but something harder lurked beneath. “I’m sure he’d appreciate the opportunity to discuss the trade commission’s handling of this crisis.”

  The room went very quiet.

  Fiona recovered quickly. “Even under emergency provisions, the commission retains observational authority. I will need to document all work performed, all materials used, and all results obtained.” She looked at me with eyes that promised nothing good. “Any irregularities will be reported immediately.”

  I understood then what we faced. She wasn’t there to protect consumers or ensure safety. She protected a system that profited from Keldrath’s suffering. Every successful alternative we created threatened that system.

  “Document whatever you like,” I said. “We have nothing to hide.”

  “We shall see.”

  Hamish cleared his throat. The sound drew every eye in the room.

  “I’ve worked these wards for thirty years,” he said. “I’ve watched prices climb while quality dropped. We’ve asked the commission for help and got forms to fill out.” He looked at Fiona with an expression that held decades of frustration. “If you’re opposing this, I’m inclined to support it on principle alone.”

  A murmur rippled through the guild members. Heads nodded. Whatever grievances they held against Fiona and her commission, Hamish had just given them permission to voice them.

  “The fact that their methods show promise is a bonus,” Hamish continued. “I’ve read the Guild certification reports from Millbrook. What they did in the eastern provinces was real work that produced real results.”

  “One man’s opinion,” the hostile glyphwright from before muttered.

  “One man with a water purification station that fails a little more each month,” Hamish shot back. “I’m willing to let them try. If it works, we all benefit. If it fails, we’ve lost nothing but time.”

  Fiona’s face tightened. “This is highly irregular. The commission will need to review any proposed changes before implementation.”

  “The commission can review whatever it likes.” A new voice cut through the argument. “After the work is done.”

  A woman emerged from a doorway at the back of the hall. She was perhaps sixty years old with iron-grey hair pulled back severely and a commanding presence that made the room feel smaller. Guild pins covered her collar in a cascade that spoke of decades of service.

  “Guildmaster Maren,” Fiona said. Her tone shifted slightly. “I wasn’t aware you were present.”

  “I’m always present when outsiders try to dictate guild business.” Maren crossed to stand beside Hamish. “This is a guild matter. Hamish can proceed with his own station if he chooses. The commission can observe but not obstruct.” She fixed Fiona with a stare that could have frozen water. “Is that clear?”

  Fiona held the guildmaster’s gaze for a long moment. Then she smiled and made another note in her ledger.

  “Perfectly clear,” she said. “I look forward to observing the results.”

  She turned and left without another word. The door closed behind her with a soft click that somehow managed to sound like a threat.

  The tension in the room eased slightly. But it had changed rather than disappeared. We had won this round. The next would undoubtedly be harder.

  “Well then,” Maren said. She looked at Felix and me with assessment rather than hostility. “Show us what southern journeymen can do.”

  Hamish stepped forward. “I’d like to test on my station first. It’s the water purification system. It’s the most critical and the most visible. If you can fix that, the others will follow.”

  “We’ll need to see your current setup,” I said. “To understand what’s failing and why before we can propose alternatives.”

  “Then let’s not waste daylight.” Hamish moved toward the door. “I’ll show you what we’re working with.”

  Brennan fell into step beside him as we filed out of the guild hall. Adrian and his guards followed, along with Felix who already had his documentation journal open. A few of the younger guild members trailed behind, curious despite themselves.

  “That took spine,” Brennan said to Hamish. “Standing up with strangers against your own commission.”

  Hamish shrugged. “Fiona’s been strangling this guild for years. Felt good to finally say something.” He glanced at Brennan. “Besides, you vouched for them. That counts for something.”

  Hamish led us to the water purification station first.

  The city’s main water supply flowed from highland springs through a series of channels before reaching the central cistern. Ward anchors lined the channels at regular intervals. Each one should have glowed with steady blue light. Instead, they flickered and sputtered like candles in a draft.

  “We’ve been stretching to monthly maintenance,” Hamish said. “Sometimes longer.” He didn’t need to explain what that meant. Bi-weekly was standard for water wards. The faded inscriptions told the rest of the story.

  I knelt beside the nearest anchor and studied the inscription work. The patterns were solid traditional techniques executed with obvious skill. The problem wasn’t craftsmanship.

  “The binding medium is breaking down,” I said. “What are you using?”

  “Standard silver-infused compound. Same as always.” Hamish’s frustration showed. “But the quality has dropped. The suppliers claim it’s the best available. At four times the price we paid two years ago.”

  Felix made notes. “What about local silver sources?”

  “The highland mines produce ore, not refined compound. Processing requires materials we can’t afford.”

  “What about alternatives?” I traced the ward pattern with my finger. “The binding medium doesn’t have to be silver-based. Other metals work if you adjust the inscription ratios.”

  Hamish looked skeptical. “Other metals introduce instability. Every student learns that.”

  “Every student learns that because it’s what the Guild teaches. But it’s not the whole truth.” I stood and brushed dust from my knees. “We made stable wards with iron-based compounds in Millbrook. Ugly as sin, but they held under conditions that would have cracked traditional silver work.”

  “Iron-based?” One of the other glyphwrights had followed us. His tone suggested I had just claimed the sky was green. “That’s not possible.”

  “I have the documentation here.” Felix held up his journal. “Testing protocols and Guild certification. The complete formulations too, if you want to review them.”

  Fiona had followed at a distance. She made a note in her ledger.

  “Any new material compounds would require trade commission certification,” she said. “The fees alone would take weeks to process.”