Page 174 of The Shattered Rite
And it would decide soon enough what was worth keeping.
Chapter 28: The Shattered Rite
“There are moments when history bends and it does not bend back.”—The Flamekeeper’s Annals
Before the next dawn, Eliryn was sent back to her chamber. No explanation. No verdict. Only a single sentence from the steward as he escorted them from The Hall of Scribes:
“The Flame will reveal its Sovereign at first light.”
Her room greeted her like a quiet observer. Firelight hummed low in the hearth. The air smelled faintly of juniper and iron.
She stood motionless for a long time, and then tried to settle and nap before whatever came next.
Then: “Vaeronth.”
I’m here.
“What if they name Garic?”
Then we will both stand with him in support.
“And if they name Whitvale?”
Then I will offer to burn down the throne itself, should you desire.
She managed the smallest flicker of a smile, though her throat burned.
“And if it’s me?”
A pause, then his voice was low, absolute.
Then we get to work.
She swallowed hard, pressing her palm over her sternum, where the faint warmth of his tether pulsed.
“I don’t know if I want it.”
I know.
Her knees gave out slowly, folding onto the stone bench at the room’s center. She could still feel the echo of every question they had hurled at her, every gaze that had weighed her like a stone in the scales.
“I don’t want to rule.”
And yet you might.
She closed her useless eyes.
“What happens after, Vaeronth? After they choose?”
Silence stretched for a long moment. When he answered, it was with something like reluctant reverence.
If it’s you… they will kneel.
The thought made her shiver.
She closed her eyes and didn't remember falling asleep, she only remembered stirring at the drifting waves of magic that seemed to cloud the room.
The room had been busy crafting her something worthy of facing the Flame and the thousands that would bare witness.
