Lord Castor crosses his arms. “Then I guess we have to ask ourselves who benefits from House Leaders being afraid to support you?”
“And who benefits from Pluto being hunted,” Zevran adds, his voice carefully neutral. “He exposed himself to save you. Used forbidden magic in front of hundreds of witnesses. Now he’s a fugitive.”
“He saved my life,” I say defensively.
“That’s no ordinary magic he has, Princess.” Lord Castor’s voice softens.
“No, it’s not.” Zevran’s tone sharpens. “Cyra, don’t you understand? Shadow magic is the most dangerous and deadly in the system, the kind of magic that destroys entire planets. Yes, he saved your life, but to what end?”
I don’t have an answer for that. Because the truth is, I don’t know what binds Lucien’s power. I don’t know what he’s sacrificed to wield it.
All I know is that when he looked at me before he vanished, I saw something that looked like grief.
“The final trial is in two days,” I say quietly, trying to focus on what I can control. “Whoever did this will try again.”
“Then we make sure we’re ready,” Ren says with quiet conviction. She moves to a storage locker on the far side of the room and pulls out a set of spare clothes – simple black trousers and a grey tunic. “When I vetted possible safe rooms, I made sure to stock up.”
She turns her back to give me privacy. Lord Castor and Zevran do the same, focusing on the doors.
I change quickly, grateful for the practical clothing after hours inthat elaborate gown. The fabric is soft and comfortable in comparison. As I fasten the last button, Ren turns back around.
Her ice-blue eyes scan me once, checking that I’m decent, then linger a moment longer than necessary. A moment passes between us – acknowledgement of what almost happened, of how close I came to dying while she watched.
“Better,” she says quietly.
Lord Castor shifts at the door. “So what’s the plan? We can’t stay here forever.”
“We wait for the Cardinals to finish their search,” Zevran says. “They’ll want statements from all of us. Especially Cyra.”
“We should prepare for the possibility that the Cardinals will spin this in their favour,” Ren says flatly. “Security should have spotted those assassins long before they got close.”
“You think the Cardinals were involved?” I ask.
“I think, at the very least, someone with access to security protocols was involved.” Ren’s expression hardens. “Whether that’s the Cardinals or someone they trust, I don’t know. Until I do, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Before I can respond, Lord Castor straightens. “Someone’s coming.”
Footsteps echo in the corridor outside. Quick, purposeful.
Ren moves to position herself between me and the door, hand on her blade. Zevran and Lord Castor flank her, weapons ready.
A sharp knock.
“Identify yourself,” Ren calls out.
“Cardinal guard. I have orders to escort Lady Cyra to the High Council Chamber for immediate questioning.”
Ren’s jaw tightens. She doesn’t open the door. “On whose authority?”
“Cardinal Benedict himself. The Council is assembled and waiting.”
Ren looks back at me, and I can see the conflict in her eyes. She wants to refuse, to keep me here where she can protect me. But defying a direct order from the Cardinals might entice them to dismiss Ren from her assignment.
“Give us a moment,” I call through the door.
“The Cardinals don’t appreciate being kept waiting, my lady.”
“They can wait another thirty seconds.”
