"Calculated."
"Yes. But not cruel. He was—" Edric searched for the word. "Precise. It was the most efficient way to communicate something that words would have failed to convey."
Aldric nodded slowly. Set the cup down. Stood and moved to the window, looking east.
Outside, Goldveil was waking. The market streets below the castle were starting their morning noise—carts, voices, the particular rhythm of a prosperous trading city going about its business. The sound of Aldenmere working, the sound Aldric had spent thirty years trying to protect.
"The Church has been sending increasingly formal ultimatums," he said, not turning from the window. "The last one arrived three weeks ago. Convert to full doctrinal alignment. Expel non-human residents. Dissolve the mixed councils." He paused. "We have eighteen months before their patience formally expires and they begin taking action."
"And if we align with the settlement—"
