Evelyne noticed the changes immediately. The guards, already doubled, had doubled again. What she did not see were the Eclipsants of the Celestial Assembly.
Not a single white-robed sentinel with stitched lips.
From what she’d been told the High Preceptor had been questioned. His chambers searched. He had been cleared of direct suspicion, though ‘cleared’ was a generous word. Guarded now, constantly, and conveniently present. His story matched Ravik’s: he had not interfered. Had, in fact, allowed the search beneath the chapel.
So yes. They were clean. But not free.
And that, Evelyne could live with—for now.
Isildeth didn’t speak since they left the solar. Not a single word. She worked with her usual calm, chin high, but Evelyne could see the crack beneath it. Evelyne didn’t know what to say. The apology forming on her tongue felt too small and entirely unworthy of the woman beside her. Isildeth had wanted this transition and now it was slipping through her hands like ash.
She’d spoken to Ysara again. Thalen was too sharp for his own good—always watching, always following threads. If he kept tugging at the wrong ones, someone would notice. Someone dangerous. Evelyne had told her to keep an eye on him. It was the only precaution she could still take.
She also found Vesena and Cedric before the evening bell. She apologized, but Vesena had simply inclined her head and said, “I follow you, not permission.” And Cedric, predictably, waved her off with a dry, “One day you’ll apologize for dragging me into something dull. Until then, I’ll assume we’re even, Your Highness.”
Still, guilt coiled in her gut like smoke.
She veered from the main corridor and took the familiar side passage. Past the locked now entirely Hall of Seals, straight into the shrine of Rhyssa. The place was mostly empty. Light poured through the circular skylight above, soft and golden.
She saw them before she was seen—two figures near the altar. Halwen stood with his back straight, hands clasped behind him. Across from him, the High Preceptor of Orvath loomed with the displeasure of a storm cloud.
They weren’t praying.
She hadn’t caught the beginning of their exchange. Only the rising tension that curled through the air like smoke.
The High Preceptor stood tall and glacial. Halwen, by contrast, looked more alive than Evelyne had ever seen him—face drawn but lit from within by something fierce. She strained to listen. A few words floated through the haze.
“…not your jurisdiction…”
“…he wants her divine…”
“…be careful what you stir…”
The rest was lost in the echo of footsteps and shifting robes. Then the High Preceptor stepped back noticing her lingering at the entrance. Halwen bowed his head once.
Evelyne's heart beat harder.
A breeze stirred through the braziers—and with it, her cloak shifted, the embroidered hem brushing too loudly against the stone. The High Preceptor moved toward the exit; his gait wassmooth. When he passed by her, he didn’t stop. But he looked at her.
Just once.
His gaze landed with the weight of cold iron, and Evelyne could swear time slowed.
And then he was gone.
Only when the great doors hissed shut behind him did she step fully into the shrine. Halwen stood alone now, framed by the light. His warm, weathered face turned toward her the moment she stepped inside, the lines around his eyes creasing not with welcome, but worry.
“Your Highness,” he greeted gently. “You should be at your chambers. It’s unwise to wander the halls like this.”
Evelyne gestured behind her. “I have a large escort.” Four guards, silent as shadows, took their positions at the entrance. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes, don’t bother your mind. Come in.”
Evelyne didn’t believe it, just like most of the things she heard in last few days.
They sat together on the first bench—the one with the best view of Rhyssa’s statue. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Evelyne said, without softening, “Did you know anything?”
