Asterian made a disgusted sound. “You’d coddle them after they sent assassins after ours?”
“I’d verify the source of the fire before lighting our own,” Thane said coolly.
“We need to respond with force,” Asterian insisted. “Before they get the idea we’re weak.”
The Matriarch studied both sons. Her gaze lingered on Thane. “We’ll follow your lead.”
Asterian’s knuckles turned white against the table. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Try not to embarrass us.”
The meeting broke. The Matriarch swept from the room with the bearing of a queen, Caerel on her heels. Leron gathered his things. Asterian lingered just long enough to shoot a pointed look at Thane.
“You always did like playing with fire,” he murmured.
When the room emptied, Thane let out a breath through his nose, slow and controlled. He didn’t look at Riven as he moved toward the door.
Riven spoke quietly. “That went well.”
Thane stopped, silver eyes gleaming. “How much do you know about Great House politics?”
Riven shrugged. “Not much.”
Thane opened the door. “Then it’s time to brush up.”
Chapter 26
The door whispered shut behind Riven as he followed Thane down the sleek hallway. The overhead lights ran in perfect rows—cold LED strips set into brushed metal tracks, their sterile glow casting no warmth, only sharp clarity.
Riven’s head ached from too little sleep, too many thoughts. The night before clung to his skin like humidity, every sound Thane had made, every place their bodies had touched. And yet, here they were, walking like strangers again.
Thane didn’t look back at him, but Riven studied the line of his spine anyway. His dark shirt was wrinkled, sleeves shoved to the elbows, and there was a faded smear of bruising along one exposed forearm. His hair was pulled back haphazardly. He looked like someone who hadn’t slept either, and that twisted sharply in Riven’s chest.
Thane stopped at an unmarked door near the east wing and keyed in a passcode. The lock clicked open.
“Inside,” he said.
The room beyond was smaller than Riven expected. A glass-topped table dominated the center, surrounded by four black chairs. One wall projected shifting tidal data—white lines rippling across a 3D map of the Atlantean coastline. Everything was precise, modern, deliberate.
“Sit.”
Riven obeyed, easing into a chair. Thane took the one across from him and leaned back with a quiet exhale.
“So what exactlydoyou know about Great House politics?”
Riven blinked. “You mean beyond the fact that they’re all bastards?”
Thane gave a low, humorless sound. “I’ll count that as ‘not much’.”
He shifted forward, bracing his elbows on the table, fingers laced. “There are eight Great Houses. Virellien is one of them—obviously. Glint, Merin, Caldris, Durell, Nirae…the rest don’t matter unless they get in our way.”
“Nice to know your standards,” Riven quipped.
Thane smirked, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “What matters is power. Control. Resource flow. Every House has their slice of the city, and their grip on it. Ports, infrastructure, magic patents, trade agreements. We hold three of the city’s major ports, two southern corridors, and the Soulforge license for exporting refined crystal.”
“And Glint?” Riven asked, trying to focus on the lesson instead of the man giving it.
“Medicinal compounds, alchemical production, and a handful of old alliances that haven’t aged well. They’ve been on shaky ground for a while, mostly because Glint’s had absolute control of Soulglass trade. Until now.”
Thane rose, moved to the wall, and called up a new overlay—this one a map of Atlantis, the districts segmented and color-coded.
