Chapter 30: Wheels and Wisdom
The Benefit of Blood Rank
On the other side of the Veyra estate, the air was rich with the scent of ink, old paper, and lacquered wood. Sylvara sat at the center of her study beneath a tall window that filtered pale sunlight through stained glass etched with the Veyra crest—a silver fox wreathed in flame. The shelves surrounding her were meticulously arranged with scrolls, ledgers, and correspondence. Cassian stood by the hearth, arms crossed, while Galen Everard loomed at the side of the desk with the silence of a seasoned retainer.
"In terms of both form and presence," Sylvara said, running a gloved hand over a parchment sketch, "we need carriages that speak not of opulence, but legacy. We are not House Vaelthyr, and I do not intend to mimic them. House Veyra must present itself as refined, unshakable, and sovereign."
Galen gave a slight nod, his eyes fixed on the architectural sketch laid before them. "There are three custom workshops in Veyrindale who craft noble-grade carriages. I've made inquiries. House Cindral commissioned theirs from Horsemaster Luthen's Atelier two winters past."
Cassian raised an eyebrow. "And wasn't their gold leaf trim so excessive it made their procession look like a festival float?"
Sylvara's lips twitched. "Exactly why I want restraint. White ashwood panels, reinforced axles, and black onyx linings. Golden trim—but subdued. I want them to look at our carriages and understand we earned every thread of that embroidery."
"I've already contacted the workshop," Galen continued. "Their waiting list is four months long—unless we offer a commission that demands their utmost craftsmanship and visibility. The master artisan, Luthen Maren, prides himself on working with rising houses to leave a mark."
Sylvara leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Then we give him a reason to make ours his magnum opus. Cassian?"
Cassian pulled out a thick scroll from a leather tube and unrolled it across the desk. "I've drafted the design you mentioned last week. Sleek but traditional. A pristine white body with a lustrous finish. Black onyx trim for depth, and the gold accents worked into the frame—elegant, not boastful. Enchanted glass panes. Spacious interior, winter-runed velvet lining."
She looked over the design and gave a slow nod of approval. "We'll order three. One for general transport, one for formal appearances, and a smaller one for Kitsaro's use. I want his carriage understated, but dignified. No crest. Let his presence be subtle, not thunderous."
"I'll send the final proposal to Luthen Maren today," Galen said. "Delivery expected within the season, assuming they accept the commission."
"Make sure they do," Sylvara said coldly. "Let them know House Veyra intends to ride into the city like a storm on velvet wheels."
Cassian chuckled. "Only you could make a carriage order sound like a declaration of war."
Sylvara rose from her seat, brushing a lock of silvery-white hair behind her ear. "Everything is war, Cassian. Even presentation."
They left the study shortly after, the three of them exiting into the now sun-warmed estate gardens. Veyra Manor, though still in the infancy of its noble reconstruction, had begun to breathe with a new rhythm—servants trimming hedges, fresh gravel laid down along the walkways, scaffolding raised along one of the wings for an expanded balcony. The faint scent of honeysuckle drifted in the air.
Cassian glanced toward the east courtyard where Kitsaro had likely gone off with Elysia and the other new servants. "The boy's adjusting faster than I expected."
"He's adapting," Sylvara said, her tone softer. "Not yet adjusted. There's still the matter of his education."
They reached the front steps just as the estate doors opened to allow a pair of staff members to pass with baskets of parchment and sealed vials. Sylvara entered with Galen and Cassian close behind. Once inside the study once more, she wasted no time lighting a small rune-crystal lamp and unrolling another scroll across the desk.
"Kitsaro will need tutors," she said. "Ones who understand not only court etiquette, but politics, Beast Lore, combat theory, and magical foundations."
"Are we assuming early physical training?" Galen asked carefully.
Cassian rolled his eyes. "You people do realize the boy is only five yes?"
Sylvara didn't answer at first. Instead, she poured herself a cup of spiced rose tea, steam curling toward her cheek. "He may not awaken for another few years, but he needs the knowledge base to support a divine beast lineage. When it comes, it will come like a flood."
Cassian frowned. "Any open mention of divine beast lineage might attract attention—dangerous attention. Especially from those still whispering about your little during the vaelthy heir awakening."
"I won't declare it openly," Sylvara replied. "But I refuse to treat him like a discarded ember. He will be raised like fire meant to reignite a legacy."
Galen stepped forward. "We could procure instructors from the Royal Academy's reserve tutors. They often take side commissions. Expensive, but worth every sovereign."
Sylvara shook her head. "They'd demand official sponsorship—and House Veyra doesn't yet hold a recognized seat."
"There's always the Beastiary Consortium," Cassian offered. "A private circle of elite tutors who offer discretion for a premium. No noble requirement, but they're choosy. They screen students before they agree to teach them."
"Then we'll present Kitsaro as a ward of interest to a rising house," Sylvara murmured, tapping the rim of her teacup. "They don't need to know the full truth. Only that he is gifted, and that his instruction is to be tailored to mental acuity and magical foundation."
"We should also consider combat training," Galen added. "Not yet, of course. But soon. His physicality will begin adapting even before formal awakening."
"And if his enemies begin adapting faster," Sylvara whispered, "then we've already failed him."
Silence settled for a moment, only broken by the soft rustle of the pages as Galen laid down a folder. Within it were lists of names—tutors, instructors, combat masters, and scholars. Each name bore annotations, ratings, and brief histories.
"I've begun compiling options," he said. "Some names you'll recognize. Others come from less public networks."
Sylvara's eyes scanned the list.
Liora Venthar – Specialist in political rhetoric and Noble House strategy. Former advisor to the Marrowind Regency. Dismissed after a scandal—status: freelance.
Professor Jaerin Thorne – Beast Lore historian. Known for controversial theories linking divine beasts to ancient mythic patterns. Formerly tenured.
Master Halrek Senn – Physical conditioning and body control training. Former beastkin commander. Currently unaffiliated.
Ellis Nyre – Etiquette and aristocratic decorum instructor. Last employed by House Dorneval. Noted for strict, almost brutal standards.
"Ellis Nyre," Sylvara said after a moment. "I want her here first."
"She's known to break students before building them," Galen warned.
"She'll find Kitsaro unbreakable," Sylvara said. "Send for her. Make it worth her time."
Galen gave a slight bow. "And the others?"
"Have them send their portfolios and philosophies. I'll vet them myself."
Cassian leaned against the desk. "You're building a fortress around him."
"No," she said. "I'm building him into one."
The fire crackled low as the late afternoon light softened. Somewhere beyond the walls of the study, laughter echoed faintly—Kitsaro's voice, lifted with a rare hint of childish delight. It filtered through the window like the song of a bird no longer caged.
Cassian turned his head toward the sound. "You've set him on a path filled with thorns, Syl."
She looked down at the folder again, tracing the curve of a silver fox's tail. "Then I'll teach him how to bleed without breaking. Like all Veyras must."
Galen remained silent as Sylvara examined the folder, the candlelight casting a golden sheen across the papers edges. The room, once filled with discussion of carriages and tutors, now simmered with a different kind of intent—one that came from somewhere deeper, older.
"I've known from the start," Sylvara said softly, "that Kitsaro is no ordinary child."
Cassian glanced over, his expression sharpening.
"He's always understood things most children wouldn't," Sylvara continued, her voice calm but unwavering. "I've spoken to dozens of noble heirs in my time—prodigies, they call them. Yet none of them ever listened with the kind of clarity Kitsaro does. He doesn't just hear me—he 'understands' me. Even before he could speak in full sentences, he grasped intent. Strategy. Emotion. He learns fast. Not just as a child of noble blood, but as someone... destined."
Cassian said nothing, but a smile flickered at the edge of his lips.
Galen, ever the careful one, tilted his head. "If I may, my lady… then what is your bloodline?"
The air in the room shifted. It wasn't a question posed lightly, and everyone in the room knew that. Bloodlines may not be a secret among nobles but for Sylvara it was like a treasure guarded like royal vaults.
Cassian let out a low breath, still smiling faintly, but didn't say a word.
Sylvara took her time. She set her teacup down, rising once again and walking toward the window. "You'll see it for yourself when Kitsaro awakens. The power of our bloodline is not something I plan to keep hidden forever—not from him, at least."
She turned slightly, silver hair catching the last rays of the afternoon sun like strands of moonlight. "When it comes, you'll see the might of our legacy—unfettered and pure. I have no doubt he'll carry it with greater strength than even I could."
Cassian chuckled quietly, but his eyes were serious. "Isn't that a little late, though? Considering your beastification during the confrontation with the Vaelthyr household… everyone 'already' saw your rank and bloodline. Monarch rank isn't exactly subtle, Syl. And beastification requires it."
Sylvara gave a slow, almost sly smile. "That was necessary. A statement. For the Vaelthyrs—and for every watching noble. They needed to understand that I am not someone to be trifled with."
She walked back to her desk, her steps deliberate, composed.
"I wanted them to see. If I was leaving, I wanted them to know exactly what they were losing. And more importantly, what they would fear to oppose. It might have been risky… but the 'message' it delivered outweighs any danger."
Cassian let out a low whistle, then leaned back against the bookshelf. "Still playing the long game, I see."
"Always," she said with a grin.
Galen adjusted the folder he had been holding. "Then… do you intend to pursue a noble title for House Veyra soon?"
Sylvara gave a single nod. "Titles aren't granted by name alone. Power, merit, and lineage—that's how the Kingdom justifies nobility. And one of the most influential factors? The rank of a bloodline holder."
She folded her arms behind her back. "The higher the beast rank, the higher the title one can claim. A Monarch-rank beast holder is not just a symbol of personal power—it's a beacon that the kingdom must recognize. Combine that with deeds and loyalty, and the court cannot deny you."
Cassian gave her a look. "So, you're not just raising Kitsaro to survive this world."
"No," Sylvara replied. "I'm raising him to 'thrive' in it."
A silence settled once more, not uncomfortable, but heavy with understanding.
She picked up the scroll bearing the Veyra crest and gently rolled it shut.
"Well," she said with a sly lilt as she made her way to the door, "who knows? If the stars align, I might at least secure the title of 'Countess'."
She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes gleaming with quiet fire. "Maybe even higher."
And with that, she swept from the room, leaving behind only the quiet crackle of the hearth and two men who now saw not just a noblewoman with ambition—but the foundation of a house that might one day rise higher than any of them had imagined.