“Perhaps.” I consider this. “But scattered power is weak power. And if we’re right about what’s happened to Bree, we’ll need every advantage we can get when the truth comes out. Better her people are strong enough to fight back.”
“You think it’ll come to that?”
“I think,” I say carefully, “that we should be prepared for any possibility.”
We continue toward the chamber, where the air grows thick with magic. The Ashen Oath has been working overtime these past few days, responding to every Feeder who approaches it with desperate hunger.
“She’s going to notice soon,” Zira says, though we both know this isn’t true. “You can’t keep sneaking people in forever.”
“We’re not sneaking.” I keep my voice soft, but there’s steel underneath. “We’re reclaiming what’s ours. She’s too busy planning party favors to look beneath her own feet.”
It still amazes me how completely she’s dismissed the magical activity happening under her nose. The real Bree would have known something was going on. Would have been there to welcome them, to understand what they needed.
This version is so focused on her Council performance that she’s blind to everything else.
“Forty-three Feeders stronger than they were less than a week ago,” Zira muses. “And more coming every night. When the Council arrives expecting to find broken refugees…”
“They’ll find an army instead.” The satisfaction in my voice is real. “One they never saw coming.”
We reach the clearing just before the chamber entrance. The air here pulses with energy—silver and black threads weaving visibly through the morning light. Beautiful and wrong at the same time.
“It’s stronger every night,” Zira observes.
I reach out to touch the carved doorframe, fingers tracing symbols that pulse faintly under my skin. The chamber recognizes me now, accepts my presence. But there’s something else underneath—a deep, ancient wrongness that makes my teeth ache.
“The Oath is alive again,” I murmur. “You can feel it, can’t you?”
She nods, awe and fear mixing in her dark eyes.
“It remembers who it belongs to.” The words taste bitter. “Which makes this even more dangerous. Because I don’t think the right person is wearing the crown.”
“You mean whoever that is isn’t really Bree?”
“Exactly.” I turn to face her fully. “The chamber doesn’t care about our politics or our hierarchies. It knows what it was built for, and it knows who has the right to command it. And right now…”
“Right now it’s responding to someone who might not be her.” Zira’s voice drops to a whisper.
Understanding dawns in her expression, followed quickly by alarm. “Then why is it answering for us?”
“Because it’s finally awake again.” The admission carries weight. “It’s been waiting for the Scarborne line to reopen it, and now that it has… now that Bree has, the chamber is functioning as it was meant to. Any true magical being can access the Oath now that the seal is broken.”
“But for how long?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” I meet her eyes. “The chamber belongs to Scarborne blood. If something happens to the real Bree, if that bloodline is compromised…”
“The Oath could close again.”
“Or worse. It could turn against those it deems unworthy.” I touch the doorframe again, feeling that wrongness pulse beneath the ancient power. “We need to move quickly.”
Zira studies me with those sharp, knowing eyes. “What are you going to do?”
“What I always do.” The answer comes easily. “Balance the scales before someone decides to tip them for good.”
She tilts her head. “You think Thane’s ready for that fight?”
I allow myself a small smile. “Thane’s already fighting it. He just hasn’t realized it yet.”
We stand in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the chamber hum beneath our feet. The sound is hypnotic—like a heartbeat, like breathing, like something vast and patient waiting to wake up fully.
