Since Luc is accepting the role of Praeceptor for a second term, Honorate Anleck is responsible for the passing of the crown.
Luc sinks into the green and gold cushioned seat on the stage—his throne. Anleck stands over him, holding the crown as he intones a series of platitudes about the importance of the role of the Praeceptor.
As he nears the end, he raises the crown higher. “Do you, Lucien Kyler, promise to uphold the values of this great Republic?”
Luc takes a breath. “I do.”
“And do you, Lucien Kyler, promise to protect the people of Virdei from any and all threats, to the best of your abilities?”
“I do.”
The ballroom is silent as Anleck begins to lower the crown. “With this, you are crowned the next Praeceptor of the great Republic of—”
The chamber plunges into darkness.
Anleck’s words stall. The crowded ballroom erupts with startled whispers, but nobody moves.
It takes several moments for my eyes to adjust to sudden dim and gray. There are a few candles burning within the chandelier overhead, but the torches on the walls aren’t lit,because the windows are wide and the turrets provide more than enough light in here.
At least, they did.
Now the beacons—the pillars that have lit this mountain for over a century—have been snuffed.
In the darkness, I can’t see what’s happening at the front of the room. As panic fills the ballroom, I dart into the aisle. I need to reach the stage—and Luc—before people begin to flee.
I’m halfway down the never-ending central walkway when the doors to the ballroom burst open.
A member of the decurio rushes inside. He holds a lamp, illuminating his frantic expression, and raises his voice, so it echoes around the chamber. “Widow’s Hall is under attack.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
GIRL MADE OF SHADOWS
The audience is in an uproar. Whatever other announcement the soldier tries to make is lost to horrified shrieks. People leap from chairs and flood the walkway in their scramble for the ballroom doors.
I’m shoved in a dozen directions at once. There’s a heavy thud as the doors slam shut, trapping us here. More people scream. The shoving in the aisle intensifies. The decurio lining the room try to herd people back to their seats, but no one listens.
I force myself through the throngs of terror, headed for the stage.
Unlike everyone else, my racing heart calmed with the decurio’s announcement.
Virdei believes the Republic is under attack because they saw the remnants of the fake battle I staged at the Sulen gatepost.
I hadn’t counted on the beacons going out, but this is merely the pieces of this game aligning themselves. Next I need to stoke the flames of panic and guide Luc to the trap awaiting him.
Manufacture a crisis, incapacitate Luc, force the Honorate in line.
Step one is complete.
By the time I fight my way to the front, my breaths have evened. I haul myself onto the platform and move behind the curtains.
Luc stands with Kaidren and the decurio who delivered the news. “What were you thinking?” Luc is uncharacteristically angry, yelling at the soldier. “Why would you announce something like that to the entire room? Were you trying to cause mass panic?”
“I’m sorry.” The soldier ducks his head. “I thought the people had a right to know.”
“Before the Praeceptor? Why was I not informed first? And why—”
He stops as the entire building rumbles.
