Evelyne clenched her jaw. Thalen's death was notirrelevant.
Slowly, the man turned his gaze—measured, glacial—toward the king.
“What wecansay with certainty,” he said, “is that had the Eclipsants not been exiled from the castle grounds, this tragedy might have been prevented.”
The room stilled.
Evelyne noticed her father tense, barely perceptible save for the slight shift in his jaw. His hands did not move from the wolf-carved arms of his chair.
“We exiled no one,” Rhaedor replied evenly. “We exercised sovereign right to restrict religious jurisdiction.”
The Sanctoral’s eyes narrowed. “And now, as a result of their absence, one of your blood will be buried in ash.”
Evelyne inhaled sharply. The implication was clean. Sharp as a dagger to the gut.
The Sanctoral’s stare remained fixed on Rhaedor—unwavering, almost pitying.
“I do not speak to assign blame,” he explained, though the words dripped with it. “Only to remind the Crown that sacred authority, once dismissed, has consequences.”
A low murmur stirred among the councilors.
Rhaedor’s reply came like iron hammered flat. “Then perhaps the Assembly should remind itself that authority is earned through service.”
The Sanctoral’s face remained blank. “And yet, it is always the unbelievers who call for its assistance when the sky turns red.”
No one spoke back. As if to underline that fact, the Sanctoral moved his gaze from the chair where her father sat.
“We ask again,” the Sanctoral continued, gaze sweeping the council. “Were any suspects apprehended?”
“Yes,” Rhaedor replied, eyes narrowed. “Isolated, disarmed, and under guard in our dungeons.”
The man gave a single, slow nod. “Tomorrow,” he declared, “they will be transported to the Stronghold. They will face judgment there.”
Evelyne’s blood ran cold.
Keeper Halwen.
The Sanctoral shifted away. The Eclipsants approached the table. One of the robed figures extended an arm and took the book. No one intervened. No one risked it. Alaric tracked their path.
They veered next, falling in behind the Sanctoral.
As the great doors creaked open and the Assembly began their departure, one of the Eclipsants froze mid-stride. The figureangled its head, slow and deliberate, fixing their attention on Evelyne.
She felt it instantly, like ice sliding down her spine. It was the kind of gaze that stripped away layers. The second Eclipsant, a pace behind, followed suit, angling its head in the same direction.
She felt them in her brain.
The Sanctoral paused without turning. After a moment, he pivoted and his eyes found Evelyne, unblinking.
Her breath stilled. Sweat broke across the back of her neck, sliding beneath the heavy braid of her hair. She could feel them, all three, drawing closer without moving at all.
“We feel it,” the Sanctoral sighed. “There is magic here.”
The words landed like a stone in water. Faces turned pale. Evelyne’s heart thundered in her chest, wild and relentless.
But she did not flinch.
You may kill me,she thought, steady as the silence itself.I’ll join my brother. But I will not bow.
