Page 84 of Rhapsody of Ruin
I fixed my gaze on the Masks barring the doors, straightened my shoulders, and walked forward.
Not hurried. Not faltering.
If they wanted a princess to break, they would have to tear me apart in front of them all.
And I would make them bleed for every piece they took.
Chapter 39
Rhydor
The council floor seethed with anticipation, as if the very stones hungered for blood.
I entered first, the echo of my boots ringing sharp against marble veined with silver wards. The air was damp with incense and sweat, clinging heavy to the lungs. Masked courtiers leaned forward from the galleries like vultures poised above a battlefield, their lacquered faces catching the light of the floating lanterns. Whispers slithered from tier to tier, my name, Elowyn’s, words likebetrayalandheircutting deeper than steel.
I did not falter.
My veterans fanned behind me, each step disciplined, their presence a wall of fire disguised in human form. Torian peeled away at my left, his ledger hugged to his chest, quill tucked like a blade in his sleeve. Brenn moved light as a fox toward the far columns, already grinning at some jest unspoken. Draven let his charm spill into the air like honey, drawing the gaze of half a dozen courtiers. Korrath’s cane tapped out a rhythm, measured, inevitable, as he took his post in the shadow of a pillar where no detail could escape him. Thariac marched beside me, broad-shouldered, iron jaw tight with barely restrained contempt for every silken mask that watched us.
I stopped at the foot of the dais and turned slowly, letting the silence stretch. My gaze swept the chamber, marking every ally, every threat, every Mask whose fingers twitched too close to the hilts at their belts. The taste of iron filled my mouth, memory or omen, I couldn’t tell.
The great doors creaked open again.
Elowyn entered.
The chamber tilted.
She walked as though she were made of glass and fire both, fragile, untouchable, dazzling. Her mask glittered with a sheen that caught every lantern’s glow, but I knew the steel beneath it, the pain she cloaked behind serene composure. Each step of her slipper against marble cut through the silence like a heartbeat.
And still, she came alone.
The crowd shifted, whispers flaring anew. Accusations. Desire. Malice.
I moved.
We met at the center of the floor, the charged space where law turned to execution, where words were chains heavier than iron. I did not touch her. Not even a brush of fingers. But when her eyes lifted to mine, I felt the collision of fire and twilight strike through me as surely as if we had clasped hands.
A breath passed between us, sharp as a blade.
The Mask captain stepped forward, lacquered armor gleaming black as obsidian. His voice carried like a tolling bell. “The council proceeds. Charges stand. By law of the Shroud, judgment will be rendered.”
The crowd rippled, masks turning in unison. Expectation pressed like a weight upon my chest.
I lifted a hand, subtle, a gesture practiced and precise. Torian caught it. He dipped his quill, whispered an order, and the signal passed like fire through dry reeds.
The doors closed with a thunderous boom, the iron latches falling into place. Courtiers gasped, some surged to their feet, but the veterans were already moving. Korrath tapped once with his cane, Brenn grinned like a devil and blocked the nearest exit, Draven’s voice rose in easy laughter that masked the snap of a lock.
The chamber was sealed. No one would leave until I chose.
The Mask captain’s head snapped toward me, black eyes narrowing behind lacquered slits. “What is this?”
I did not answer him.
I looked at Elowyn.
Her breath caught, visible in the trembling rise of her shoulders. For a heartbeat, I thought she might deny me again, might keep the mask of lies between us. But then her chin tipped down, the faintest of nods.
It was enough.
