The runes flared, washing over her in cold light. I watched her casual posture, the way she kept her chin up, the defiance in even this small surrender. The arch pulsed once and went dormant.
Clean.
The guards stepped aside without apology.
We entered the Chancellery in silence. The atrium stretched above us in the same grandeur I’d seen my entire life. Marble floors were polished to a mirror shine; vaulted ceilings were held up by columns carved with the names of famous hunters who’d protected Grimora since the last Burning.
To the left, witches in gray uniforms shuffled in and out of the Department of Magical Regulation, their heads down, arms full of paperwork that documented every spell they were permitted to cast. Only a few clerks had arrived this early, visible through tall windows as they sorted through yesterday’s unfinished forms. To the right, the Department of Inter-Species Relations sat mostly empty, though I could see one exhausted lycan diplomat still at his desk from the night shift, probably finishing reports on whatever border skirmish the nymphs had started this time. A massive bronze pendulum swung through the center of the atrium, counting the hours with deep, resonant chimes that echoed off the marble, a reminder that the Chancellery never truly slept, even when its workers did.
The door to my father’s office stood open, and inside I could see Tiberius Veyne freshly seated behind his desk with the particular stillness which always preceded his violence.
Lucette stood before him, along with the three hunters I sent on the search.
My jaw tightened. Apparently, my hold on my own men wasn’t as absolute as I’d thought. They’d reported to him first, bypassing me entirely. I’d remember that for their next training session.
We filed in. First me, then Syneca, Calder, and Pip fluttering nervously near the ceiling in front of me. My father didn’t acknowledge us, instead choosing to sit in his chair. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even look up from whatever document he’d grabbed.
The silence stretched.
One minute. Two. Five.
I was used to this, the waiting. The test of patience and composure. We’d played it my entire life, measuring who broke first, who showed weakness.
Pip’s wings had stopped their nervous flutter. Even she understood movement would be noticed. She hung in the air like a hummingbird caught in amber, her tiny hands pressed over her mouth as if physically holding back words, eyes darting frantically from person to person like a trapped animal. The effort of staying still and silent was clearly torture for a creature who existed in a state of perpetual motion and chatter.
Ten minutes.
Calder’s expression remained empty, but I caught the slight tension in his shoulders. Lucette shifted her weight almost imperceptibly. Syneca stood perfectly still, but her fingers drummed once against her thigh before she caught herself.
Twelve minutes, if the pendulum’s chime was to be believed, and it always was.
He set down his document with deliberate care, then raised his eyes to sweep across us. His gaze lingered on Syneca. “I’ve implemented new protocols. For efficiency. All Venatori will be housed at Chancellery House permanently. Effective immediately.”
I’d learned years ago when to speak and when to shut the fuck up and take whatever my father was doing. This was a shut-the-fuck-up moment.
“Understood, sir,” I said.
The three hunters who’d accompanied Lucette stepped forward, their boots striking the floor in unison. Kessa held a leather-bound journal wrapped in protective cloth.
“Magistrate,” she said, extending the book. “Found in the Phoenix’s bedroom. Hidden beneath a loose floorboard.”
My father unwrapped it with deliberate care. The journal fell open to pages filled with detailed notes, sketches of Fury symbols, snakes and wings.
It was planted.
The handwriting was too perfect, the research too conveniently damning. A Phoenix that’d been deliberately hiding in the city might have been reckless, but they couldn’t have been foolish enough to keep a journal documenting her supposed plans to murder a fury-born.
Across the room, Lucette’s eyes found mine. Just for a heartbeat. Just long enough for me to see she’d reached the same conclusion. She was smart. Decisive. And she’d learned quickly to keep her mouth shut.
My father’s eyes narrowed on Syneca. “What do you know about this, witch?”
I watched her face carefully. Saw the moment she understood the trap, saw her make the calculation faster than most trained hunters would.
Her voice came out respectfully. “Nothing, sir. We must have been moving too quickly in our search last night. I’m glad you sent the second team.” She paused, then added with perfect deference, “What should we do with this information, Magistrate?”
Good little witch.
My father’s smile widened, and I knew that look. A predator recognizing worthy prey. He set the journal aside with theatrical care. His eyes fixed on Syneca again. “You will perform a locator spell. Now. Using materials I provide and methods I specify.”
