Page 142 of The Crown's Awakening
No one answers that.
Sevrin lets the silence sit before speaking again. "And what of its use beyond that?"
Sembral shifts. "You have been searching."
"For the princess," Lord Fyne adds.
The word sits between them.
"Some members of the outer council have called it a personal pursuit,” Torabar says. “I disagree. However, they argue thatthe Vaelor ship exploded. There have been no signs of life. No survivors. No debris beyond what was recovered along the eastern current.”
Sembral shifts forward immediately, urgency breaking through his careful control. "That does not confirm death," he says. "It confirms loss of vessel."
Lord Fyne inclines his head slightly. "The sea does not return what it does not wish to be found. Absence is not proof."
Sembral continues, the words coming more evenly now as they always did when he found his footing. "The retrieval of the princess is of paramount importance. There are those who believe she was harmed here. Failure to act would undermine trust."
Torabar's voice follows. "If she is truly missing, then Prince Colsar will return. Preparation requires information."
Lord Fyne 's attention rests on Sevrin. "Make no mistake. The location of the princess is a matter of state." A brief pause. “Not personal,” he adds. “I think we can all agree.”
The distinction holds.
Sevrin considers it, his expression unchanged. "And what has been found?"
Torabar shakes his head once. "Nothing definitive."
The room grows quieter.
Sevrin straightens slightly. "Then we continue," he says. "Morrath remains under my control. Its use will continue."
Torabar inclines his head. Lord Fyne follows. Sembral nods once.
The decision is accepted without argument.
Sevrin turns from the table, the others following without instruction.
Behind them the chamber falls silent.
The search continues.
And Morrath answers.
CHAPTER 42
Northwood
We should have reached it by now. The thought comes without emotion at first, just a quiet recognition that something no longer aligns. Uralish had been clear about the distances between the safehouses, calculated and measured, designed so movement between them could be done quickly even under pressure.
This is no longer quick.
The village is long behind us and the path that led us here has disappeared entirely beneath the snow, erased as though it never existed. There are no markers, no structures, no break in the land that would guide us back even if going back were possible. Only open ground and wind that grows stronger with every step forward.
The cold is no longer something I can push to the edges of my awareness. It presses inward, stripping heat from my body in a way that feels methodical and patient. My fingers ache. My face burns. The air is sharp enough that each breath demands control or it punishes me for taking it too quickly.
Colsar has already noticed. I can tell by the way his attention has shifted, the way he no longer moves with the assumption that the next point will appear at any moment. He scans the horizon more carefully now, measuring distance, reading the land as though it might reveal something it has not yet chosen to show.
"This should have been close," I say.
