Chapter Ten: Welcome to Thornwatch (Population: Hostile)
The kingdom of Thornwatch didn't welcome visitors so much as endure them. Located on the northern cliffs of the continent, it was known for perpetual fog, moody architecture, and citizens who dressed exclusively in shades of "ominous." Even the flowers looked like they wanted to speak to your manager.
The group crossed the border under thick cloaks and thicker lies.
Elliott, now free of the cursed cheese hat thanks to a particularly intense interpretive dance-off with the village's Champion of Dairy (don't ask), was back to looking like a semi-normal displaced monarch.
"Alright," Seraphine said, scanning the road ahead. "We lay low. We find the next piece of the puzzle. We don't accidentally incite a revolution."
"Define 'accidentally,'" Dorian muttered.
"Let's just not," Seraphine snapped.
The City of Black Lanterns
Thornwatch's capital was built like a spiral—streets curling around a cliffside, each level gloomier than the last. On every door, black lanterns glowed with cold blue light, a symbol of mourning that had become oddly fashionable. The sky was grey. The pigeons were greyer.
At the city gates, a guard stopped them.
"Purpose of visit?"
"We're performers," Marlow lied smoothly.
The guard squinted at them. "What kind?"
"Tragic acrobatic opera," Marlow said without blinking.
The guard blinked twice. "What does that involve?"
"Mainly falling dramatically," Dorian added.
The guard looked bored enough to let them through.
The Spy Who Knitted Me
They rented a room above a suspiciously clean tavern named The Whispering Kettle. The owner was a grandmotherly woman named Agatha, who was always knitting and somehow always listening.
"We've had four revolutions this year," she said cheerily over tea. "One more and we get a free one."
"That's… not how that works," Elliott said.
"Shush, dear. Drink your chamomile."
While Marlow checked their notes and Seraphine plotted on a napkin map, Elliott noticed a strange bundle of wool in the corner of the inn's library.
It shifted. Coughed. And said: "Pineapple."
Elliott blinked. "What?"
A young man emerged from the yarn, wearing thick glasses and a scarf that screamed "I commit espionage politely."
"Pineapple," he said again. "It's the code word. For our meeting. From the letter."
"You sent the owl?" Elliott asked.
The man nodded. "I'm Elric. Spy. Knitting enthusiast. Double-agent. And allergic to tea."
"You poor bastard," Dorian whispered.
Rebellion with Extra Steps
Elric led them to a secret meeting inside the catacombs beneath Thornwatch's chapel of the Evernight Saints—a group of religious figures famous for their grim prophecies and truly fantastic bone-themed décor.
There, Elliott met rebels.
Real ones.
Not just angry townsfolk with pitchforks, but scholars, healers, defectors, even a retired bard who could mimic anyone's voice—including the king's.
"The Cabal is fractured," said a woman named Reya. "Corrick pushes his vision of unity through control. Others dissent—but silence themselves."
"And they follow him because?" Elliott asked.
"Because he has the Ember Key," Reya said. "A relic of ancient power. Whoever holds it controls the Dragon Choir."
Elliott blinked. "There are dragons now?"
"Figurative ones," Seraphine said.
"For now," Reya added ominously.
A Plan is Hatched (and Immediately Questioned)
Marlow spread out the letters from her father, now pieced together. They spoke of a vault beneath Thornwatch's oldest tower—The Lament Spire. Inside: the last relic of the House of Flame.
"We need it before Corrick does," Marlow said.
"And the spire is guarded by?" Elliott asked.
"A riddle-based security system. And ghosts."
"Of course it is."
Elliott stared at the map. "So, to recap: We sneak into a haunted spire guarded by riddles and spirits, steal a powerful relic, avoid the Cabal, inspire a rebellion, and somehow survive."
"Yes," Seraphine said.
"Oh, and don't trip any ancient wards," Elric added. "One of them turns your soul into a coat rack."
The Thornveil Gala (Because of Course There's a Gala)
One problem: the Lament Spire was only accessible during the Thornveil Gala, a yearly celebration of the kingdom's founding and general emotional repression. Costumes, masks, and dramatic speeches were required.
They needed invitations.
And they got them—by pretending to be a noble family called the Duckleberry-Smythes. (Long story. Involved an overconfident goose, a duel, and three pints of blueberry wine.)
Elliott was cast as Lord Reginald Duckleberry-Smythe the Third, an accent-heavy fop with strong opinions on embroidery and the price of candied yams.
Dorian played his "cousin," Baron Timothy Quackenshire.
"I refuse to answer to that name," he said.
"Too late," Seraphine smirked. "You're Quacky now."
A Dance of Daggers
The gala was as extravagant as it was tense. Thornveil's elite danced to somber harpsichord music while the shadows watched hungrily. Masks glittered. Secrets swirled like perfume. Elliott tried to blend in, sipping wine and saying things like, "Indeed!" and "How absolutely ghastly!"
Marlow charmed a librarian into giving up the tower schedule.
Seraphine flirted with a guard and stole his keyring.
Dorian drank someone under the table and stole their shoes.
By midnight, they were inside the Lament Spire.
Riddles and Wraiths
The entry door greeted them with:
"Speak the truth no one dares to name, or turn back to shadows all the same."
Elliott stepped forward and said, "I miss my parents every single day."
The door creaked open.
Inside, whispering spirits danced in mirrors. One asked Marlow:
"Who do you serve, child of fire and ghost?"
She hesitated. "Not a throne. Not a name. Just… the truth."
A door opened. The tower accepted them.
Deep within, they found the relic: a silver shard, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Elliott reached for it—and a voice filled the room.
"Ah, little heir," it hissed. "You found your father's mistakes. Now meet the consequence."
A shadow stepped from the wall.
Lord Corrick.
Smiling.
And not alone.
Behind him stood a woman with eyes like the moon and a smirk that mirrored Elliott's own.
"Sister?" he whispered.
End of Chapter Ten