My palms go cold. “He’s capable on his own. My work only supports what he already is.”
“Of course.” Her smile is brief, knowing. “You guard yourself closely,” she says, turning to look at me directly now. Her eyes are warm, but assessing. “Not a criticism. Just rare. I can read most people’s fears and loyalties within minutes. You carry yours like something breakable.”
She’s circling the truth without knowing it. I shift my weight on the bench and nod toward the view, my own perceptiveness counteracting hers. “You speak like someone who has secrets of her own. Someone who doesn’t trust easily.”
Her face remains carefully neutral, fingers tracing the edge of the bench absently. “The Sun King taught all of us very early on to be on guard at all times.”
The name lands like ice water. To her, he is a lesson in history and power. To me, he is blood and bone and a shadow I can never step outof. But there’s something personal in her admission, something raw beneath her composed exterior.
“So … Venus fears another tyrant will come out of this Conclave,” I say.
“Venus fears choosing wrong, yes.” She stands and approaches the window, her reflection ghostly in the glass. “We all do. When my brother was Lord of Venus, he made it his life’s mission to change things for the better. I like to think I’m continuing that legacy.” We both sit in the silence for a moment, taking in the stars above and the cities below. “Now the system is straining,” Lady Isolde continues. “Someone will rise. The question is who, and whether anyone can keep them from repeating history.”
I join her at the window but leave space between us. Below, Talis stretches across the void, its surface carved with city structures that burrow into the moon itself. Lights glow from within the carved channels and terraced districts, creating patterns that follow the natural ridges and craters. From this distance, the cities look like veins of gold and silver threading through pale stone, pulsing with life beneath the surface.
“Do you think advisors make that difference, Lady Isolde?”
“I think the right advisor can.” She looks at my reflection in the glass rather than turning to face me. “Honesty. Independence. Loyalty to principle over convenience.” A pause. “Qualities that are difficult to assess from a distance.”
“Is this your way of assessing me … up close?”
“Partly.” She turns her head slightly, and her smile is smaller now, more genuine. “You seem like an enigma, Miss Cyra. That makes you either dangerous … or valuable.”
Outside the window, distant ships move between docking bays like fireflies.
“The first trial starts tomorrow,” I say finally.
“The Furnace.” Lady Isolde’s voice shifts, losing some of its warmth. “Venus intelligence agents briefed me this morning. Does Mars know anything about it?”
I swallow hard.
I need to play this right … if I do, Her Grace might share some useful intel I could take back to Zevran.
“Not really.” I say carefully. “Just that it tests strength.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then moves back toward the benches. “It’s held in a star-core simulation arena. Heat, fire, endurance. Gladiator-style combat in conditions that would kill most people within minutes.” Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows furrow, the only sign of tension.
My throat goes dry. “How do you win?”
“The leaders endure, until only one remains standing … or until the Cardinals call a victor.” She meets my eyes. “It’s brutal, Miss Cyra. People have died in the Furnace before. Not often, but it happens.”
The gravity of that settles over me.
“Mars is strong,” Lady Isolde says quietly. “But strength isn’t always enough. Watch the others. See who fights smart versus who fights angry. That will tell you everything you need to know about how they’d rule.”
She moves toward the door, then pauses. “Get some rest if you can. Tomorrow, the real games begin.”
I watch her leave, her amber fabric catching the light as she disappears down the corridor.
I find Zevran in his chamber, seated at the edge of the bed, still dressed despite the late hour. Maps and datapads cover every surface, holographic displays showing arena layouts and combat simulations. The room glows with the blue light of screens and the red pulse of Mars-tech.
His eyes snap up as I burst in. “What?—”
“It’s called The Furnace,” I say, breathless. “They’re going to drop you into a heat-simulated arena. The winner is the last one standing. I don’t know all the details, but you need to be ready.”
He stands, towering over me, every muscle tense. “Where did you hear that?”
“Lady Isolde. She seemed to want me to know.”
