Murmurs ripple through the assembled courtiers. Zeriel's jaw tightens just enough for me to notice.
“Perhaps,” the emperor continues, his gaze unwavering, “you will succeed where he failed. Blood debts, after all, may be paid in many currencies.”
Beside us, Blaise shifts his weight, satisfaction radiating fromhim like heat. Whatever history lies between these men, he clearly relishes Zeriel's public discomfort.
“I serve the Crown City with my life,” Zeriel says, each word measured. “And the empire with my loyalty.”
“As your father should have,” the emperor replies softly. “Until the end.”
The silence that follows stretches taut as a bowstring. I dare not look at Zeriel's face, but I can feel the storm gathering within him, controlled only by years of brutal discipline.
The emperor dismisses us with the barest inclination of his head.
“Now you will proceed to the feast,” he commands, “and then dance.”
Chapter 30
As a servant leads us from the reception hall, I risk a glance at Zeriel. His face is still, carved from stone, but his eyes tell a different story. A shadow lingers there, quiet and dangerous, as if something old has been stirred awake. Whatever the emperor’s words meant, they lodged deep, in places no blade could reach.
The crowd parts before us as we're ushered through massive gilded doors into a dining hall framed by towering columns of polished obsidian. A single broad table stretches the length of the room, its surface gleaming with silver cutlery and crystal goblets.
Zeriel moves with purpose, guiding me toward a seat near the far end, positioning himself on the same side as Blaise but with six other champions between them. Another strategic choice—he won't have to look directly at him during the meal. I notice how the other champions maneuver similarly, each seeking advantage in even this simple act of seating.
“Here,” Zeriel murmurs, pulling out my chair.
I settle into the plush velvet seat, the midnight blue of my gown pooling around me. A servant immediately appears, filling my goblet with a dusky copper liquid.
As the other champions and their entourages take their places, I study them openly for the first time. The purple-clad femalechampion bearing the golden drake emblem sits directly across from me. Up close, I see the intricate tattoos that curl along her temples—not decorative, but written in some ancient script I don't recognize. She catches me looking and raises her glass in a silent toast, her eyes calculating beneath her polite smile.
When the last of the champions is seated, a herald steps forward, unrolling a gilded scroll. The room falls silent as he clears his throat.
“By decree of His Imperial Majesty, let the champions of the provinces be recognized before the feast commences.”
The herald's voice echoes through the hall as he begins to read:
“Blaise Malvric, Champion of the Crosnian District, bearing the black flame emblem.
Layna Kestrel, Champion of the Southern Plains, bearing the golden drake sigil.
Kaine Thornecairn, Champion of the Northern Territories, bearing the frost wyrm standard.
Elian Merrow, Champion of the Eastern Isles, with the mist drake banner.
Rook Fenvale, Champion of the Western Wilds, carrying the forest drake emblem.
Maeve Caldra, Champion of the Coastal Reaches, with the sea serpent sigil.
Sorven Varrin, Champion of the Volcanic Belt, bearing the fire drake crest.
Tarn Ellrik, Champion of the Shadow Plains, with the night hunter emblem.
Kayan Hallowen, Champion of the Central Valleys, bearing the river drake standard.
Zarah Teshal, Champion of the Desert Expanse, with the sand wyrm sigil.
Damiar Korren, Champion of the Mountain Territories, bearing the stone drake crest.
Raine Selwyn, Champion of the Twilight Forests, with the gloamwyrm emblem.
