He met Evelyne’s eyes. “They’re making a corridor. Pulling guards just enough to let someone in—and ensure no one gets in their way.”
Cedric shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “But we also found a cave. The sigil was there. On the wall. Blood-red. Same symbol Princess saw a year ago. And we saw magic. Used on purpose.”
She blinked. Then again, slower.
“What?” The word barely left her mouth. “Magic?”
“Yes,” Alaric said gently, watching her reaction. “One of them—he just… waved his hand. And the fire died. Just like that. Gone. They also mentioned a man named Thandros. I think they are working for him. He may be a leader or their spy in the castle.”
Evelyne shook her head. “That’s—no. That’s madness,” she murmured.
She shook her head. Her world had been built on silence, on order, on clean distinctions between what was and what was forbidden. And now, it was unraveling. Fast, and without permission.
It was one thing to read about forgotten things in banned books and another to watch them breathe. He saw that now.
“Ravik,” Evelyne declared. “It has to be him. He has the access. The authority. Everything passes through his hands.”
Vesena took a few steps toward them. “So we’re looking at two possibilities. One: Ravik and the Assembly are using this so-called cleansing to quietly remove anyone who is suspected of magic.”
“Or two,” Cedric continued, his voice colder now, “Celestial Assembly is orchestrating all of it. A cult buried behind Orvath’s name. Magic, weaponized under the pretense of faith.”
Alaric looked at Evelyne.
“And the worst question,” he wondered. “Does your father know?”
Evelyne had gone still.
Like someone measuring their breath because it might come out as a confession. She wasn’t looking at any of them now, just at some fixed point beyond the study window, where sunlight painted the glass with the soft indifference of the gods.
Alaric reached for the parchment and unfurled it across the table. A list of names stared back at him, neat as scripture. At first glance, it seemed ordinary. But then—
He leaned closer, frowning. “Strange…”
“What is it?” Evelyne asked, her voice distant.
“The ink. Look here.” He tapped a finger along the columns. “Every letter is identical. Even trained scribes leave differences in their strokes. But these—every ‘a,’ every ‘s’—they’re perfect copies.”
Evelyne’s brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” Alaric admitted, a thrill and dread mixing in his chest. “But ink this precise doesn’t come from hand. It could be magical. I’d need to examine it further to be certain.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Ravik already knows what we’re doing,” Vesena said. “He is giving us room, because he’s confident we won’t reach far enough to touch him.”
Cedric let out a low groan. “Ah yes, the classic ‘villain' lets you struggle just enough to feel clever before he ruins everything’ maneuver.”
“But he’s right,” Evelyne remarked, ignoring the sarcasm. “We won’t reach him—not if we keep playing around in the shadows.”
Alaric leaned forward slightly. “So what are you suggesting?”
“Provocation,” she said. “We push him. There’s a review tomorrow. An official military parade. Everyone important will be in attendance.”
She rose from her seat in one fluid motion. “That’s where we do it.”
Alaric nodded, but his brow furrowed. “Do what?”
“I’ll handle it.”
That was the moment.
