I watch a cluster of Jupiter aides laugh over wine, their storm-green uniforms buttoned despite the informal environment. Across the room, a Saturn scholar in purple robes speaks with a lesser Cardinal, both bent over a dusty tome.
“If you want to survive the trials, you need to understand how each House operates,” Isolde continues, guiding me past a cluster of Mercury aides chattering away. “Their methods, their weaknesses, what they value and what they fear.”
“And you’re going to teach me?” I ask.
“I’m going to give you the opportunity to learn,” she replies smoothly. “What you do with it is up to you.”
We move deeper into the wing. I catch glimpses of myself in the glass reflections from portraits hanging on the walls: my blonde hair loose and unadorned, my simple gold dress plain against Isolde’s elegant gown beside me. I look as much out of place as I feel. A few conversations stutter as we pass, eyes flicking to the sigil hidden beneath my collarbone like they can see it through the fabric.
Isolde draws my attention to a room with a small crowd.
“Everyone here is positioning themselves,” Isolde murmurs. “Watch Lord Castor near the archway. See how he never stands with his back to a door? That’s military thinking applied to everything, even in casual, social environments. He’s always calculating exits and angles of attack.”
I find Lord Castor easily. His burly build stands out among the Jupiter delegation. When his gaze lands on me, his expression hardens. The look he gives me is cold and assessing, tinged with a hint of resentment. Then he turns back to his aides as if I’m not worth his attention.
He’s surrounded by officers but somehow still commands the centre. When he lifts his glass with his good hand, three aides shift position. When he turns left, a path clears through the crowd.
“People follow him without realizing they’ve moved,” Isolde observes. “That’s how he operates.”
We pass through another junction of the wing.
“There,” Isolde says, nodding toward a figure standing alone near a holographic display. “Commander Kaelix. Always apart, always watching. They’re planning to tear down everything the system stands for and replace it with something none of us can predict.”
As if sensing my attention, Commander Kaelix glances in our direction. Their eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second before they deliberately turn back to the display, dismissing me as thoroughly as Castor did.
I press my lips together.
“Isolde, I … I don’t think Commander Kaelix or Lord Castor want me anywhere near them right now…”
“Of course they don’t,” she says lightly. “Which is exactly why we will go to them eventually. But not as your first lesson.” She pauses, considering. “Let’s start with Mercury then. They move fast and value efficiency. Watch how Tavia operates.”
I furrow my brow. “You think she’ll even talk to me?”
“Only one way to find out, darling.”
The Mercury communications gallery occupies a circular chamber two levels above the main arena floor. The walls curve in a smooth sweep of dark metal threaded with embedded circuitry. Thin ribbons of holographic data twist through the air, each one tagged with House colours as they cross and reconfigure in shifting patterns.
Lady Tavia stands at the central console, her fingers moving with the kind of speed that comes from long practice rather than urgency. She wears a fitted Mercury jacket in polished silver, high-collared and sharply cut. Her dark hair, streaked with cobalt blue, is pulled into a practical knot.
A young aide approaches with a tablet. “Lady Tavia, the Saturn grain shipment is requesting priority clearance through the Belt corridor.”
“Denied.” She doesn’t look up. “They had priority last cycle and missed their window by forty minutes. They return to standard queue.”
“But Your Grace … they’re claiming equipment failure...”
“I’m sure they are.” She flicks through another data stream. “Send them the maintenance schedule they ignored for half a year. Remind them what preventive care looks like.”
The aide hurries off.
Isolde stands near the doorway, arms crossed, gaze sharp. Her presence feels supervisory rather than social. I clear my throat.
Lady Tavia glances back at me, her expression settling into cool politeness. “Lady Cyra. Are you lost?”
“Observing,” I say. “I’m trying to understand how the Houses operate behind the scenes.”
“Then Mercury may disappoint you.” She turns back to theconsole. “We manage communications and trade routes. Efficient, but not exciting.”
It’s a dismissal. I ignore it and step closer, drawn to a blinking red tag near the outer belt. Ships cluster around it, their progress stalled like blood pooling around an obstruction.
