Page 234 of The Reckoning of Starlight

“Stable,” a human envoy from the northern realm repeated flatly. “You speak of stability because you never had to survive theirs.” Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table. “For centuries, your people were a story buried in our oldest legends while our harvests disappeared into elven granaries. We learned what elves called order winter by winter, as our stores ran empty and their courts remained full.” Her gaze narrowed on Kaedryn’s delegation. “If the running of our realms concerns you, you should’ve used the last thousand years to help pry the elves’ hands from our throats.”

Saundyl leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against the arm. “She’s right. Each realm provisioned the capital and thanked them for the privilege. I vote to sever every trade route.”

Jassyn studied the maps where roads branched through the realms like veins, every path carrying wealth toward a single heart. The human kingdoms had been stripped in tidy increments for centuries until plunder had become the shape of order.

Kyansari still stood. Centarya still festered. Galaeryn was dead, yet the routes that had bolstered his reign remained open, tribute and obedience still flowing along the same arteries.

The necessity burned sour in Jassyn’s gut. They had to starve the old order before it gathered enough strength to make itself inevitable again.

“Those supply routes should be funneled here, to the Accord,” the guildmaster insisted. “Until distribution can be reallocated.”

“No.”

The word left Jassyn before the druid could make theft sound like governance. The chamber went quiet enough for him to hear water ticking from leaf to leaf through the canopy.

He lifted his eyes from the maps. Every face around the table had turned toward him—druid, shaman, human, elven-blooded, wraith—waiting for the First Keeper to settle by decree what none of them had managed by argument.

They’d tried to call him king.

Only once.

Coercion had stirred under Jassyn’s skin with poisonous readiness. A single exertion of will could’ve buried the title so deeply in every mind around him that no one would ever think of it again.

Instead, he’d refused aloud and no one offered the title a second time. Even First Keeper felt too much like a crown when they looked at him.

The human realms had already surrendered their own thrones. The elven-blooded that once ruled at Kyansari’s pleasure now served as stewards, their authority severed from inheritance and held in trust.

“The realms will keep what they produce,” Jassyn said. His voice came out rough, worn hoarse by too many arguments and too little sleep. “Trade will be negotiated, not extracted. I won’t begin this alliance by replacing elven tyranny with our own.”

Thalaesyn and Mara both dipped their heads, the slight movement steadying Jassyn more than praise would have.

His mentor had once used that same gesture for acknowledging stable healing lattices and steadfast hands, mending cast without wasted magic. Now it placed something heavier into Jassyn’s keeping—faith in his judgment, his restraint, and the healer he might still become when the wound was the world itself.

The guildmaster’s claws flexed against the table. “Without central oversight, the realms will hoard. Prices will turn predatory.”

“Then the Accord will arbitrate disputes,” Jassyn said.

Low voices stirred among the human envoys.

“Once the Accord is stable,” Jassyn continued before another debate could rise, “we’ll begin negotiations with the elven courts. Kyansari will pay or trade for what it needs.”

A shaman female from the remnants of Daeryn’s forces leaned forward. “And if they refuse?”

“Then they refuse from across a table first.” Jassyn spread his palms over the wood, the tree’s slow pulse beating against his own. “I won’t invade a city full of civilians who never knew a different way of life.”

The guildmaster drew breath to answer.

A spike of ice hissed across the chamber and struck the table beside his claw. The wood split around the impact, frost spreading from the point in a white crawl.

Jassyn closed his eyes. He should’ve known.

At the far end of the chamber, where he’d been refusing to look for the last two hours, Lykor growled. “Enough. Your First Keeper has spoken.” He pushed away from the trunk and stalked toward the table, snow spinning from his shoulders and leaching warmth from the humid jungle air. “This meeting is adjourned.”

The guildmaster’s brows lifted. “But we—”

“Are finished today,” Lykor snapped. “If you object, I’ll stitch your mouth shut and let the Accord vote tomorrow on whether to reopen it.”

The druid’s jaw closed.