Page 171 of The Shattered Rite
The word echoed through the Hall of Scribes like a verdict.
Eliryn’s spine straightened instinctively, her hands curling briefly against her knees. Her unblinking gaze saw nothing now but the ghostly world Vaeronth offered her—heat and presence and light like threadbare silk. But her mind was sharp. Her posture, regal.
She heard Garic shift beside her. Calm. Ready.
The panel of judges loomed ahead—three figures, draped in gold-edged robes, unmoved by the weight of history pressing around them.
“You have survived what many do not,” the first judge said—an older man with a voice like riverstone, smooth but heavy. “The physical trials. The mental minefields. Each other.”
Eliryn fought the urge to huff. Barely.
The judge’s voice continued, cold and steady. “But blood and strength are not enough to lead. Not enough to guard the balance of kingdoms. And certainly not enough to understand the burden of power.”
She heard the quiet rustle of the female judge leaning forward.
“This trial will test your judgment. Your reasoning. Your knowledge of war, of law, of the bones that hold this realm upright.”
Eliryn could almost hear the smile that wasn’t on her face.
“You may speak freely when called,” the third judge said, voice clipped behind a golden circlet. “If you lie… the Flame will know.”
Of course it will,she thought, her throat tight.Everyone’s watching. Even the gods.
A pause thickened the air.
“Eliryn of Lirin’s Edge. Garic of Stonefell. Vraxxis of Whitvale.”
She felt Whitvale stiffen slightly at the use of his true name, the edge of pride seeping from him like poison.
“You sit not only before us, but before the will of the realm,” the oldest judge said. “The trial begins now.”
A silence followed—calculated, suffocating.
Then:
“Garic of Stonefell.”
She felt Garic’s quiet intake of breath beside her, steady as clockwork.
“Tell us the tactical flaw in the Battle of Hollowmere, and what you would have done differently.”
Eliryn listened. And quietly, she smiled.
Garic answered clearly with precision and patience. Strategy spun into steady words. She didn’t need Vaeronth’s sight to sense the interest prickling from the panel.
The judges wrote. And moved on.
“Vraxxis of Whitvale,” came next. “Define the Edicts of Succession—Queen Sanna’s reforms and their application following civil upheaval.”
Eliryn resisted the urge to roll her eyes as Whitvale answered, smooth and swift as oil on glass.
You’re clever,she thought.But you seem too rehearsed.
And then—
The woman judge’s voice rang out.
“Eliryn of Lirin’s Edge.”
