“Some say it’s myth,” offered Vaela, smooth as glass. She didn’t rise. Her voice carried. “Old stories told to frighten the weak. Whispers to keep us from tearing each other apart.”
Zareth didn’t blink. “And yet, our prophets choke on shadow. Entire scouts vanish without trace. Do myths devour cities now?”
A hush fell over the court. Seraphine felt it in her chest—the weight of inevitability.
“The blade that once sealed the Hollow has shattered,” Zareth continued. “To stop it, the Heartblade must be reforged. And there is only one who can wield its reforged power.”
His gaze locked on her, unflinching.
Seraphine met it head-on. “Then I’ll retrieve it.”
Zareth inclined his head a fraction—approval, maybe. Or expectation fulfilled.
“I will need passage through Skyforged territory and cooperation from House Sablewing,” she added, voice clear.
“You’ll have it,” said Malrik, lounging like a prince of shadows, his fangs just barely visible as he grinned. “Ourmessengers have seen the Hollow up close. The blood price for inaction is too high.”
Vaela’s lips curved. “How very... civic-minded of you.”
Malrik’s grin widened. “Even bats know when the sky’s about to fall.”
Zareth waved a hand, ending their sniping with a simple gesture. “Save your posturing. Fire doesn’t care who it consumes.” Then his gaze swept across the room again.
“This is not diplomacy. It is survival. And the one standing beside me,” he gestured to Seraphine without looking at her—“has been forged for that singular purpose. She is the blade I place at the Hollow’s heart.”
Seraphine resisted the urge to flinch.Not the wielder. The blade.
Vaela, as always, smelled weakness like blood. “Forgive me, Emperor,” she said, honeyed and slow. “But the rumors surrounding her... guide. They are troubling.”
Zareth’s eyes narrowed, but he allowed it.
“She travels with an outcast,” Vaela continued. “A halfblood mercenary. A man with magic that should not exist.”
Seraphine’s spine stiffened.
“The guide is mine to command,” she said evenly. “His name is Cassian Veyne. He’s fought Hollowborn and survived. That is more than I can say for half your soldiers.”
“A stray,” Vaela hissed. “With corrupted fire.”
“And still breathing,” Seraphine snapped. “Which is more than we can say for your last handpicked scouts.”
The room fell silent.
Zareth let the silence sit until it coiled tight around every throat. Then, slowly, he spoke. “If she fails,” he said, still staring at the room and not her, “the fault will be hers alone. And the price will be... thorough.”
It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.
But for now, she had his permission.
Seraphine bowed her head just slightly. “Then I’ll do what you forged me to do.”
Zareth leaned back into his throne. “See that you do.”
Later, in her private chambers in the Heartspire’s eastern wing, Seraphine stood at the window, looking out at Aethermoor’s haunted skyline.
Mist swirled like ghosts. Somewhere far below, a dragon roared—part warning, part lament.
Torren entered, silent as a shadow.
