"Was I not supposed to?"
"No, it's fine. I just would've appreciated a heads up before walking into a room where everyone already knows I'm mystically leashed to a mad god." I turn back to Renan. "Did he give you the full version or the dramatic highlights?"
"There's a difference?"
"Fair point."
"I'm aware," I say, getting back to the actual conversation. "About the target thing."
"Are you? Because Coin doesn't negotiate with things they can't buy. They break them instead. Faith will say you're corrupted, possessed, proof that Discord poisons everything he touches."
He's moved without me noticing—behind me now, and his hand catches my wrist, lifting it so my knuckles catch thelight. The threads gleam, fine and permanent. "Everyone will see these. Everyone will know what they mean."
I don't pull away. "Yeah."
"You're painting yourself into the blast radius." Renan sounds almost impressed. "Deliberately. With witnesses."
"My sister is going back to that house. I'm not letting her do it alone." My voice cracks. I don't try to hide it. "Not unprotected. Not without someone standing behind her who can actually back up their threats. If that means painting a target on my back, fine. It was there already. At least this time it's my choice."
Koshin's thumb traces one of the marks on my wrist. My skin prickles.
Renan watches us both for a moment, then picks up his pen again. "House of Discord recognizes and supports the authority of Seris Solyne as head of House Solyne. Protection extends to her person, her household, and her holdings. Violation of this protection will be answered with—" He pauses, glancing up. "What's your preferred level of threat? I'm thinking 'creatively horrific' but I'm open to suggestions."
"Creative works." Koshin's smile widens, and there's nothing comforting about it. "I like when they have to guess."
"Time frame?"
"Immediate. Public announcement before she leaves Discord. I want Coin to know before she sets foot in Solyne territory."
"They'll send someone to observe. Probably one of Merit's little clipboard gremlins—lots of meaningful glances and furious note-taking." Renan's already writing. "Should I draft a few pointed comments for the occasion, or are we letting you improvise?"
"I like when they take notes." Koshin releases my wrist, finally, and moves toward the door. "More fun when there's documentation of the moment they realized they fucked up."
The tension in my shoulders loosens, just slightly. Just enough that I can breathe without it hurting.
"Thank you."
"Don't." Koshin pauses with his hand on the frame. "You're not asking for a favor. You're claiming your family in front of every House that matters. You're doing it with those marks visible and me standing behind you." His eyes hold mine, pale and unreadable. "That has consequences you haven't thought through yet."
"I know."
"Good." Something shifts in his expression—there and gone. "Let's see what breaks."
Renan doesn't look up from his writing. "I'll have the announcement drafted in twenty minutes."
The announcement takes an hour to arrange.
Discord's messenger network is terrifyingly efficient—I'm starting to suspect that's intentional, that the speed itself is part of the intimidation. We know things before you do. We're always three steps ahead. Get used to it.
By the time Seris is brought to the great hall, word has already spread through the compound and probably beyond. I can tell by the way people are positioned: Caius stationed near the main door with his weight balanced and ready, one hand resting casually near his hip. Renan against the far wall, still making notes because the man apparently never stops working. A handful of Discord's inner circle arranged in careful clusters throughout the room, holding conversations that are just a little too casual, watching every entrance without seeming to watch anything at all.
And in the center of it all, Koshin.
He's wearing formal black and silver—I've never seen him in anything like it before. This is the performance version of himself, the one designed to remind everyone in the room exactly who they're dealing with and exactly how dangerous it would be to forget it. His posture is loose, almost lazy, but that's part of the show too. I've learned what his stillness looks like when he's actually paying attention. This isn't it. This is theater, and he's the only one who knows all his lines.
Seris appears at my side, escorted by two Discord attendants who fade into the background the moment she's delivered. Her hand finds mine without either of us looking.
"Is this real?" she whispers.
