The Last Banner

[if you want to go straight to go straight to the main story again, skip to chapter 23, but I highly recommend at least reading the first and last Helena chapters]

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The early morning air was crisp, the kind that bit at your cheeks and reminded you winter wasn't far away. The courtyard of the manor was busy with the quiet hum of preparations. Stable hands readied the carriage, the horses snorting as their breath formed small clouds in the chill. Helena tugged her cloak tighter, though the cold wasn't what weighed on her.

"You don't have to go, you know," Alexander said from where he leaned against a pillar, his arms crossed and his smirk as insufferable as ever. "We could always send word to Duchess Isadora: 'Oh no, terribly sorry, but Helena's caught the rare and debilitating condition of not wanting to leave her family.'"

Helena rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips. "Very creative, Alexander. But unfortunately, this isn't about what I want. This is what Thrace needs." She glanced toward the carriage, a small sigh escaping. "Father said Isadora's court is one of the most influential in the region. If I'm going to learn politics, it has to be there."

Alexander shrugged. "Still seems like a boring way to spend a few months. Why not stay here? We've got politics—Hadrian brooding all the time counts, right?"

"Brooding isn't politics," Helena shot back. "It's just his face."

The sound of small feet pounding on the cobblestones broke the banter. Sophia and Cassandra rushed over, their golden curls bouncing as they skidded to a stop. Sophia grabbed Helena's cloak with both hands, her blue eyes wide and brimming with tears.

"Please don't go," she said, her voice trembling. "We need you here."

Cassandra crossed her arms, her lower lip jutting out. "Yeah, you're just going to leave us with them?" She jabbed a thumb toward Alexander and Hadrian, her face scrunching like she'd been told to eat her vegetables.

Helena crouched down, pulling both girls into a hug. "You'll be fine," she said softly. "Alexander will keep you safe. And Hadrian..." She hesitated, glancing toward him. "Well, he'll make sure nothing explodes."

Cassandra scoffed. "That's not reassuring."

Helena laughed, ruffling Cassandra's hair. "You'll behave for them, won't you?"

"No," Cassandra replied instantly, earning a giggle from Sophia.

Sophia clung tighter, sniffling. "You'll come back soon, right?"

Helena smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Of course I will. It's just a few months."

As she rose, Helena turned to Hadrian, who stood a few paces away, his arms crossed and his usual sharp gaze fixed on her. His silence was louder than Alexander's teasing or the girls' protests.

"You're awfully quiet," Helena said, walking over to him. "Planning something dramatic, or just sulking?"

"Neither," Hadrian replied flatly. "I'm thinking."

"That's dangerous," she teased, though her tone softened. "You don't have to look so grim. I'll be back before you know it."

"You shouldn't have to go in the first place," Hadrian said, his voice low but firm. "Not after everything that's happened."

Helena frowned, the weight of his words settling heavily. "This isn't about what's fair. Father trusts me to do this, and I trust myself to do it. It's important, Hadrian."

He held her gaze for a moment before exhaling quietly. "Just... be careful. Don't trust anyone too quickly, and don't let them change you."

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. "You think a few pompous nobles are going to corrupt me? Please."

"Still," Hadrian pressed, his voice softening, "don't forget who you are."

For a moment, Helena didn't respond. His concern wasn't new, but it struck something deeper this time. "I could say the same to you," she said quietly. "Try not to burn the city down while I'm gone, all right?"

A faint smile ghosted across Hadrian's lips. "No promises."

The carriage was ready. Helena turned to her father, who stood on the steps of the manor, frail but upright. His face was pale, but his voice was steady when he placed a hand on her shoulder. "You'll do well, Helena. Isadora's court will be difficult, but you're more than capable of navigating it."

"I won't let you down," she said, her voice firm.

As she climbed into the carriage, her sisters waved frantically, Alexander made exaggerated gestures, and Hadrian stood silently, watching her. His gaze didn't waver until the carriage rolled out of the gates, and even then, Helena felt its weight linger.

She leaned back in her seat, her heart heavy despite her resolve. Thrace was behind her now, but her family was still with her, in every thought. "I'll come back stronger," she murmured, gripping the edge of her cloak. "And when I do, Thrace will be better for it."

The carriage rocked over the cobblestone streets as Lysara came into view, its skyline dominated by towering spires adorned with flame motifs. The Eternal Flame's temples stood tall and unyielding, their intricate carvings catching the morning light. From these heights, crimson-robed priestesses moved with serene grace, their faces calm, their gestures commanding as they blessed the nobles who crossed their path.

Helena leaned out of the carriage window, her green eyes widening at the city's grandeur. The bustling markets brimmed with life, the wide avenues lined with marble statues of the Flame's supposed victories. Nobles paraded in lavish attire, their voices carrying over the murmur of the crowd. Yet, beneath the surface, Helena noticed the stark contrast.

In the shadows of the Flame's temples, peasants worked tirelessly, their hands rough and their faces worn. A beggar knelt by the side of the road, his plea ignored by a passing priestess who raised her hand in blessing over a richly dressed merchant. Laborers hauled goods in silence, their eyes averted as they skirted too close to the clergy.

Helena frowned slightly but pushed the thoughts aside. It's a powerful city. Of course there are disparities. Focus on the opportunity, she reminded herself.

The carriage turned toward the inner district, where the palace of Duchess Isadora loomed. Framed by sprawling gardens and towering gates, the estate radiated power. Guards flanked the entrance in polished armor, their expressions cold and detached.

When Helena stepped out of the carriage, a courtier greeted her with a deep bow. His thin frame bent almost too far, and his voice had a melodic quality that seemed rehearsed. "Lady Helena of Thrace, welcome to Lysara. Her Grace eagerly awaits your presence."

Helena adjusted her cloak, nodding politely as she followed him into the palace. Its interior was as ornate as she had imagined: gleaming marble floors, chandeliers dripping with gemstones, and tapestries woven with scenes of the Eternal Flame's supposed blessings. Every detail seemed to scream wealth and divine authority.

Duchess Isadora stood in the grand hall, a vision of elegance wrapped in crimson and gold. Her auburn hair, streaked with silver, was coiled into a perfect braid that gleamed in the light. She wore a flowing gown embroidered with delicate flame motifs, her sharp green eyes holding an intensity that made Helena pause.

"Lady Helena," Isadora said, her voice smooth and commanding. "Welcome to Lysara. Your father speaks highly of you, and I see his praise was not misplaced."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Helena replied, dipping her head. "It's an honor to learn from you."

"Good," Isadora said, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Lysara is a place of refinement, of strength. Those who pass through its halls leave as more than they entered—if they are willing to listen."

Helena nodded, though the weight of those words lingered uncomfortably. "I'll do my best to prove myself."

Isadora stepped closer, her hand brushing Helena's shoulder lightly. "I expect nothing less. Here, you will learn more than politics. You will learn what it means to inspire. To be a figure people follow—not just out of loyalty, but out of reverence."

Helena blinked, unsure how to respond, but Isadora turned with a graceful sweep of her gown, leading her deeper into the palace.

Helena's days became a structured routine of lessons in diplomacy, negotiation, and courtly politics. Tutors praised her intellect and quick wit, though she noticed a subtle undercurrent in their words, an expectation she couldn't quite place.

The Duchess herself often attended these lessons, offering insights that impressed Helena while leaving her slightly uneasy.

"True power is not wielded with force alone," Isadora said one afternoon, her tone thoughtful. "It is wielded with belief. People must see something in you that they can hold onto—an idea, a purpose. That is how you shape the world."

Helena nodded, scribbling notes, though a faint sense of disquiet lingered. She speaks like a priestess, not a duchess, Helena thought fleetingly but dismissed it as an overreaction.

As the weeks passed, Helena began noticing more of Lysara's flaws. The clergy of the Eternal Flame wielded immense influence, dictating policy through veiled suggestions and outright commands. Nobles deferred to priestesses, their decisions shaped by whispers of divine approval. The poor were little more than background noise, their suffering ignored.

Helena told herself it wasn't her place to judge. Yet, as she walked the palace halls, she couldn't shake the growing unease.