My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 229

Chapter 229 Unseen Frailty

Chapter 229 Unseen Frailty

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It struck her then-she had never once seen him stand. Realizing Morgan’s eyes were on her, Fiona forced herself to look away before the thought could settle into pity.

Dawn had barely shaken the chill from the cobblestones when Fiona enlisted Harriet’s company for a visit to the Amber Room’s workshop.

Harriet laughed, the sound warm as hearthfire. “What breeze has blown you toward commerce today?”

“Ordinarily I keep my hands clean of trade,” Fiona admitted, matching the smile. “But with shipments bound for Brorchester, I’d rather oversee the details myself than leave Princess. Aurora with a mess to untangle.”

The explanation was sensible enough; Harriet accepted it without another question.

She led Fiona through rows of drying racks and simmering vats, noting with approval how Fiona’s gaze lingered on sample jars and cooling tiles-the quality rather than the coin.

Casually, Fiona asked, “How many workers staff this workshop?”

“A little over three hundred.”

“And what does that translate to in monthly output?”

“A hundred hands can fill more than one wagon in ten days,” Harriet answered. “At this scale, we produce close to ten wagons each month.” The figure matched Morgan’s estimate almost to the jar, and Fiona felt the two accounts click neatly together.

Fiona stood amid the humming workshop, aromas of drying herbs hanging thick as smoke. She frowned, brushing a curl behind her car.

“Brorchester’s branch has only just lifted its shutters. Do we really need this avalanche of cargo so soon?”

Harriet answered without missing a beat, her smile calm, her ledger pressed to her chest like a shield. “The Amber Room already enjoys a reputation up north. Every shipment is calculated months ahead; supply will never outrun demand.”

Fiona nodded slowly, yet the numbers kept circling in her mind like wary crows.

Ten wagons-no more, no less. Add even one, and Brorchester’s customs laws would tighten like a fist around ourwheels.

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Chapter 229 Unseen Frailty

She lifted her gaze. “Does Lord Soren know I’m inspecting the workshop today?”

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Harriet offered only a secretive smile. She guided Fiona between towering crates, stopping beside several wagons already groaning under burlap-covered bundles. “By this time next month, the procession will be on the road.”

Fiona thumbed through the account books, leather spines creaking. Each herb, each spice, each rare root-every column aligned with the clerk’s neat sums.

On the surface, nothing looked amiss; the operation shone as cleanly as polished brass.

When she raised her head, a broad-shouldered laborer caught her eye. The instant he sensed her scrutiny, he bowed, an awkward, too-military dip of the spine that betrayed old drill yards more than farm fields.

“Local farmers,” Harriet said lightly. “He heard the workshop was hiring day labor, so he came to earn his bread.”

Fiona’s answering smile was polite yet knowing. She had met that very man in another life-he belonged to the Zonfrillo Army, and judging by the stance of most workers here, so did they.

If the outgoing cargo to Brorchester was spotless, then the incoming loads must hide the rot- supplies diverted, perhaps, to feed an army.

Her mind flashed ahead to midsummer, when famine would claw through Duflana, leaving corpses in ditches and even Jexburgh’s nobles tightening their belts.

She asked no further questions.

“Mr. Callum rides for Broadmoor soon. Lord Soren is trapped in duties and cannot meet with Ms. Fiona just now.”

Callum’s journey, of course, tied into the unrest along the northern frontier. In a few short months, the Steppe Nomads would charge again-odd, given how recently they had tasted defeat.

Something inside the Zonfrillo Army must have shifted, though she could not yet name what.

Nearly a month had passed since she last saw Soren.

Once the wagons were sealed, the caravan rolled out of the city in a grand, trumpeting column, bound for Brorchester under fluttering banners of amber silk.

“Some business the Amber Room runs-trading all the way to Brorchester!” one townsman marveled as hooves rattled past.

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Chapter 229 Unseen Frailty

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“In a single year, think what silver that must bring. No wonder folks say the Fuller family’s wealth rivals the crown’s,” another sighed.

“What’s to envy? Would you truly trade your pride to be a merchant?” a third scoffed.

While the town’s eyes followed the departing wagons, Fiona slipped through side streets toward the tea manor once more.

Inside, Cecilia rested her chin in her palms beside Morgan. Her gaze clung to him-soft, longing, completely content. The sight halted Fiona mid-stride; she had never seen Cecilia wear such peaceful joy.

“Fiona!” Cecilia brightened, happiness flooding her starry eyes. She was still a guest here, still forbidden to wander beyond the threshold, so every familiar face felt like sunrise.

Fiona noted that the angry rash on Cecilia’s cheeks had faded to a faint pink. Still, the wide- brimmed bamboo hat remained, its veil casting gauzy shadows across her healing skin.

Morgan remained seated beneath the mellow afternoon light, the wooden table before him scattered with leaves, roots, and brittle stalks.

His long, deft fingers moved like a musician’s over the chaotic palette, pairing, trimming, and piling each specimen with silent, almost reverent precision.

Standing a pace behind Cecilia, Fiona lifted her chin, the silk tassels of her cloak swaying like restless shadows. “Dr. Murren, there are matters I must discuss with you alone.”

Cecilia acknowledged the request with a quiet nod. Her slippers brushed the floorboards as she withdrew, drawing the door closed behind her and sealing the room inside a hush where only the faint scent of crushed herbs remained.

Morgan’s gaze drifted upward, calm yet curious. “Ms. Fiona seldom seeks me out unless the matter is urgent.”

Fiona stepped closer, Candle-glow traced the determined set of her jaw.

“What Lord Soren hauled back from Brorchester was almost certainly grain-stores meant for the front.”

She intended to tell Marcus himself, but reaching his estate was difficult.

Morgan separated two stalks of ginseng, then asked, as softly as if in conversation with the plants, “And what leads you to that conclusion?”

Fiona did not waver. “You know my dreams,” she said, each word measured. “Strange things

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Chapter 229 Unseen Frailty

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visit me while I sleep. I foresaw the houses inside the Amber Room, remember? Lately, I’ve dreamed of a famine that lies just ahead.”

Morgan had long suspected her visions came from a place beyond ordinary memory. Their shared silence on the matter was an unspoken pact.

He finally regarded her over the rim of his cup, sipped his tea, and offered no comment-only patient listening.

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