I nod, throat tight. We redirect to my chambers. Ren does a full sweep anyway before positioning herself outside the door. “No one gets in without going through me.”
When the door seals, Astrid releases my arm. She sits on the edge of the bed, and I join her.
“Now tell me everything,” she says. “Start at the very beginning, and don’t leave anything out.”
We spend the rest of the day in my quarters, just talking.
Not the careful, edited version of the truth I’ve been giving everyone else … but the raw, unfiltered reality. I tell Astrid everything – about Zevran, about my time in the Mars palace, the discovery of the empty healers workshop. About the assassination attempt, shadow wrapped around my mouth, unable to fight, unable to even scream. About Lord Lucien.
Astrid listens the way she always has – without judgment, without interruption, taking in every detail. When I finally run out of words, she’s quiet for a long moment.
“You’re carrying too much,” she says finally.
“I know.”
“And Liora’s planning something,” Astrid says. “Whether it’s to help you or protect herself, I don’t know.”
“Maybe both,” I offer.
“Maybe.” She doesn’t sound convinced.
By the time the light through the window shifts to deep amber, we’ve covered everything – the political factions forming among the Houses, Lord Lucien’s dangerous interventions, the Cardinals’ failing authority, what the second trial might demand of me.
“You need to eat properly,” Astrid says, eyeing the half-finished plate from breakfast I’ve been pushing around. “You’re already running on empty. If you show up at the trial looking weak, your team will see it.”
She’s right. I quickly make myself look presentable.
“Ready?” Astrid asks after a moment.
“No,” I admit. “But let’s go anyway.”
The dining hall is already crowded when we arrive. It’s not a formal state dinner – no assigned seating, no ceremonial protocols. Just a large communal space where House delegations gather for informal meals. Long tables stretch across the floor, some claimed by specific Houses, others holding mixed groups. Servers move through the space carrying platters of Talis delicacies – foods from across the system, rare and expensive.
The background hum of conversation fills the air. Laughter from one corner, heated debate from another, the clinking of dishes and glasses creating a constant rhythm underneath it all.
Astrid’s arm is still linked through mine as we enter. I feel the weight of attention shift toward us immediately.
Conversations don’t stop, exactly. But voices lower. Eyes track our movement through the space.
“They’re watching you,” Astrid murmurs. “I suppose they want to see how you handle being team leader.”
I catch fragments of whispered conversations as we pass:
“...wonder if she inherited his manipulative mind...”
“...gave that speech yesterday, though. Stopped them from tearing each other apart...”
“...still just a girl from the slums...”
Ren takes up position near the wall close to where we choose to sit, her hand resting casually near her blade. Not threatening, just present. Her ice-blue eyes scan the room thoroughly.
I look for my team in the crowd.
Lord Castor sits with Jupiter’s aides at a table near the far wall. His voice carries across the hall, loud, dominating, punctuated by harsh laughter. He’s already several drinks in, judging by the flush across his cheeks and the aggressive way he gestures while telling some combat story. His advisor and aides hang on every word, feeding his ego with appropriate reactions.
Lord Evander sits alone at a small table near the windows. He has adatapad propped against his water glass, reading while he eats. He doesn’t engage with anyone around him, doesn’t even look up when servers pass.
Lady Nerida isn’t here at all.
