Felt it in her own body.
The way the threads had carved into her lungs, into her very soul, demanding payment for the magic she used. She understood now, in a way the pretty myths had never taught her.
The Preceptor smiled gently, mistaking her silence for obedience. Evelyne smiled the way she had been taught to—graceful, serene. And silently vowed to find the real truth herself.
No matter what it cost.
For just the one person.
Ravik caught her gaze across the room and broke through the huddle of councilors and crossed to her. He moved stiffly, favoring his side. Old wounds and fresh ones making their claim on him, but his posture was unbroken. When he stopped before her, Evelyne offered a small nod.
“Deepest condolences,” Ravik said, his voice quieter than she expected.
Her throat tightened.
“Prince Thalen was a promising young man,” he went on, carefully formal, but not impersonal. “Brave. Bright. The kind of boy you hope your kingdom grows around.” He paused, jaw flexing. “I grieve his loss.”
It took her a breath to find her voice. “Thank you.”
They stood in silence for a moment. A pause for the shape Thalen had once occupied in the world.
“I owe you an apology,” she said simply. “For doubting you.”
A corner of Ravik’s mouth twitched, something close to a grim smile flickering and vanishing before it could fully form.
“You were right to doubt, Your Highness,” he replied quietly, inclining his head. “But more right to act.”
She looked up at him. “You knew it would come to blood.”
“I suspected,” he confessed. “But not how much. And not his.”
“Is the prophecy real?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe she just wanted to hear it aloud—from someone who had fought in that ruin, who had seen the blood on the stones and heard the screams echoing off the bones of history.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But the dead woman spoke. And the mark was real.”
“And if it happens again?”
“Then you’ll do what you always do. Act.”
“Was that your attempt at encouragement?”
“Edrathen doesn’t breed poets anymore. But we remember our own.”
“Red does not forget,” she murmured.
He nodded.
“And what about you?” she asked, quieter now. “Will you remember this? Will you help, if it happens again?”
Ravik looked past his shoulder. “I’ll do what must be done,” he admitted. “Even if I’m ordered not to. I owe it to my wife. And the heir.”
“Do you believe you’ll escape the consequences?”
Ravik’s gaze slid to the council again. The Chancellor was now pontificating about jurisdiction. The High Preceptor sat still as ice. And somewhere near the end of the table, the Master of Coin was quietly calculating how much it would cost to remove blood from sacred stone.
Then Ravik’s eyes came back to hers.
“Be careful, Your Highness,” he warned. “The Assembly will move fast. If you want answers, you’ll have to move faster.”
