Commander Kaelix’s expression doesn’t change, but something calculates behind their eyes. “And you know this how?”
“Venus’s intelligence networks – according to Isolde, she has sources inside the Cardinals’ administrative structure. People loyal to the Houses rather than Cardinal authority.” I meet their gaze steadily. “The trial isn’t about testing our ability to govern collectively – it’s about manufacturing our failure so the Cardinals can reclaim control.”
“Interesting theory.” They lean against the alcove wall, arms crossed. “Even if true, what do you expect me to do about it?”
“Help me recognize the trap before we step into it.” I move closer, urgency bleeding through. “If we achieve unanimous consensus on something they didn’t script, we prove we don’t need them to govern ourselves.”
“Unanimous consensus.” Commander Kaelix laughs – short and sharp. “Among eight House leaders who can barely agree on what day it is? That’s your plan?”
“It’s the only way to beat them at their own game.”
They study me with renewed intensity, reassessing. “I can’t tell if you’re very clever … or very naive, Lady Cyra.”
“I grew up in the slums,” I say quietly. “I watched the Cardinals’ policies create suffering they never had to see. Watched people die because resources flowed toward maintaining power structures instead of keeping communities alive. This isn’t political theory for me, Commander. It’s lived experience.”
Commander Kaelix watches me for a long moment. Then they nod once, decisive. “All right. I’ll help you.”
Relief floods through me. They extend their hand. I take it. Theirgrip is firm, brief, sealing an alliance that could either save the Conclave or destroy it entirely.
As we return to the main staging area, I catch Isolde’s eye across the room. She gives the slightest nod – acknowledgment that she saw the conversation, approval that I took the risk.
Ren moves to my side immediately. “Well?”
“Commander Kaelix is with us,” I say quietly.
Astrid appears with water, pressing the cup into my hands. “You look like you’re about to start a revolution.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “Or maybe just finish one that’s been building for a dozen years.”
The holding chamber for the third and final trial feels electric, with stone walls that seem to press closer, and air that carries a tension that wasn’t there before the masquerade. I sit on a bench, hands folded in my lap, but my eyes track the subtle changes in how everyone positions themselves.
Lord Castor paces near the far wall, his restless energy more agitated than usual. But now his route keeps him between the entrance and the smaller leaders – Lady Tavia and Lady Nerida. Protective positioning that wasn’t there before.
Lady Tavia herself sits closer to Lord Evander, their quiet conversation punctuated by glances toward the door.
Lady Nerida stares at nothing, her shifting eyes distant, but every few minutes they snap to focus on whoever moves too quickly. Her usual detachment has gained an edge of wariness that makes my chest tight.
Commander Kaelix stands alone as always, but their usual contempt for the proceedings is gone. When they catch me watching, they nod once. Acknowledgment of our alliance.
Even Isolde seems subdued, her usual warm smile present but careful.
Zevran stands near the entrance, but I can see the tension in his shoulders even from across the room.
“Well,” Lord Castor breaks the silence. “That was quite the party the other night.”
Before anyone can respond, the chamber doors grind open.
A Cardinal page appears in the doorway, young and formal in white and silver robes.
“The Cardinals request your immediate presence in the assembly chamber for the start of the third and final trial,” he announces, then leaves abruptly.
The finality in his tone leaves no room for questions.
There’s something wrong with the corridor leading to the Cardinal assembly.
Our footsteps echo too loudly in the silence, bouncing off stone walls that should be lined with guards. The page is nowhere in sight. The usual bustle of servants, the quiet conversations of people preparing for sessions, the general hum of activity that marks the heart of political power – all of it absent.
“Where is everyone?” Lady Tavia whispers, unsettled by the emptiness.
