Then she stepped back.
For a long moment, she simply looked at Sabine.
Her face was controlled, but her hands trembled once before she pressed them together.
“I have dressed many brides for trials,” Lysa said quietly. “But you are the first one I thought might break the room instead of letting it break you.”
“I intend to try.”
“I know.” Lysa’s voice roughened. “I am still frightened.”
“So am I.”
“If anything happens.”
“Do not speak as if I am already gone.”
Lysa’s jaw tightened.
“I am speaking as if someone has to survive the story. If it is not you, I will make sure Elara gets the score to Corvyr. Your brother should know what you tried to do.”
Sabine crossed to her and caught her hands.
“Then we will both have to survive so you can tell him yourself.”
Lysa’s eyes reddened, but she did not cry.
She squeezed Sabine’s hands once, then released them.
“Sit. I need to fix your hair before the temple sends someone worse than me.”
Elara arrived as Lysa was pinning Sabine’s hair back in a severe style that left her face and throat fully visible.
“King Aeron will attend the rite in person,” Elara said without preamble.
Sabine met her eyes in the mirror.
“You are certain?”
“Yes. Ilyra and I forced the witness question into royal jurisdiction. Serast tried to limit observers to temple and council authority, but Corvek cited precedent for crown family attendance at sanctified unions.”
“Why does that matter?”
Elara crossed to the desk and spread a folded parchment.
It was a rough diagram of the Vow Chamber.
“Once you enter, Serast controls ritual language. Maelor controls the blade and blood sequence. Corvek controls the record. Ilyra will control political interpretation afterward.” Elara pointed to the diagram. “Aeron is the only person with authority to halt the rite once it has begun.”
Sabine studied the layout.
A central basin.
Blood channels carved into the floor, radiating outward like veins.
Witness positions marked in faded ink.
“Where will Maelor stand?”
