“I’ve explained to a mother why I couldn’t save her daughter from an infection we had medicine for. Medicine that was sitting in a warehouse because the paperwork wasn’t profitable enough to expedite.” My hands are shaking. I clasp them behind my back. “So, no. I haven’t governed. But I know what governance costs when it fails. I’ve been close enough to count the bodies.”
Lord Castor’s face darkens. “Pretty words,Princess,” he snarls. “When real crisis hits, you’ll fold.”
The room is completely still.
Cardinal Maria’s voice cuts through the moment. “The recognition stands. Lady Cyra of House Sun will compete in the remaining trials.”
Isolde’s breath ghosts my ear. “Well done, darling.”
I let the silence stretch. Faces tilt toward me, then toward one another. Conversations splinter. Rumours start to grow.
Cardinal Maria lifts her hand for dispersal. “Our next trial begins in one week.”
The spell breaks. People move.
Isolde dips in for a quick, elegant kiss to the air near my cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her smile tightens. “You made an impression today. Let’s hope it’s the right one.”
Zevran lingers until the last cluster near Jupiter pries itself away.
“Dusk. Don’t be late.”
It isn’t forgiveness. It’s a line drawn on the floor, and an invitation to stand on it.
Ren nudges me toward the exit. “Head down. Eyes up.”
We move through the rotunda’s doors, past the banners, into the spine of the arena where heat lives in the walls. Somewhere behind us, the rumours begin to take shape ... and I can only hope it isn’t the shape of my father.
The craving lives deeper than hunger. It’s carved into my bones … this need to heal, to feel that rush of euphoria flood my veins. My body remembers what it was like in the arena. How the sun sigil blazed to life, pain pouring out of me while experiencing an otherworldly high.
I lie in the impossibly soft bed, sheets clinging to skin gone clammy with sweat. My fingers twitch against the fabric … small, involuntary spasms that travel up my forearms. The nausea sits low in my stomach, a constant churn that threatens to rise. I curl onto my side, waiting for it to pass.
It doesn’t.
Home feels impossibly far. No Mother humming while she makes tea, the particular melody she always chose when she was thinking through a problem. No Astrid’s quiet laugh at something I’ve said, the way she’d cover her mouth with her hand and shake her head. No smell of bread baking in the morning, or the weight of familiar routine holding everything in place. Just silence that presses against my skull until I can’t think straight.
Lying still only makes it worse.
I need air, I need distance.
I throw back the covers and cross to the balcony doors, my bare feet cold against the stone floor. The latch resists for a moment before giving way, and then the night air rushes in, carrying the scent of dust and iron oxide.
Outside, the balcony stretches wide, easily ten paces across with room to move. The railing is wrought iron, worked into geometricpatterns that catch the light from below. Talis spreads beneath me, a moon of cities glowing across the pearl-coloured surface. From this distance, the settlements look small, clusters of light separated by vast stretches of darkness. The buildings are squat and functional, built to withstand the thin atmosphere and the relentless wind. Above it all, stars burn cold and sharp, more vivid here than they ever were back home.
The fresh air out here helps. Barely.
I lean against the railing and focus on breathing:Four counts in. Hold. Six counts out.
The iron is cool under my palms, grounding me.
Then a shiver crawls across my skin, familiar and unwelcome. The air shifts, pressure changing in a way that couldn’t be caused by the wind.
I’ve felt this before…
I turn before he speaks.
He’s standing at the far end of the balcony, near the corner where the shadows are deepest. I didn’t hear him arrive, didn’t see the door open … he’s just there, emerged from the darkness itself.
“You can’t sleep either,” he says.
