Page 85 of Rhapsody of Ruin
I inclined my head once, a soldier’s vow. A dragon’s promise.
The decision was made.
The chamber erupted into chaos. Courtiers shouted, masks gleamed, the veterans shifted to contain the storm. The Masks themselves tightened formation, stepping closer, their presence a wall of inevitability.
But I did not move away from her.
I stood at her side, fire banked low and steady, ready to burn the entire chamber if they touched her.
Let them come.
Let them test dragonfire against twilight.
I would stand. Even if I had to stand alone.
Chapter 40
Elowyn
The council chamber groaned with pressure, a living beast of whispers and shifting silk, of lacquered masks gleaming like predatory eyes. The air was thick with incense, heavy and cloying, as though the Shroud itself pressed down upon us. Every breath scoured my lungs with the scent of roses drowned in ash.
The Black Masks fanned across the floor, their lacquered armor shimmering with faint runes, silver script catching the lantern-light. Beyond them, nobles shifted in their tiers, jeweled masks tilting, fans fluttering as murmurs rippled outward like water meeting stone. I felt every gaze sink into me, measured, weighing, judging.
And then Maelith stepped forward.
The Shadow Counselor’s robes brushed the floor like spilled ink, his obsidian staff glinting where firelight licked it. His voice, when it came, was deep and steady, every syllable wrapped in the gravitas of ritual.
“Elowyn Thalassa,” he intoned, pausing just long enough for the weight of my name to fall over the chamber like a stone into still water. “By law of the Shroud, by oath of crown and council, you stand accused.”
A murmur surged. The Masks stiffened as one, as though braced for the sound to become storm.
“Accused,” Maelith continued, “of disobedience to Her Majesty Queen Vaeloria in her final days, disobedience that endangered the Shroud itself. Accused of disappearance without sanction, of leaving this court unguarded. And accused, ” his gaze slid, deliberate, toward the galleries where Sylara’s mask gleamedlike polished bone “, of consorting in secrecy, implying adultery upon your sacred marriage bond.”
The words cracked through me like ice.
The crowd responded like carrion birds scenting blood. Whispers flared, spreading fast:adultery, betrayal, dragon-blood shamed. A woman’s fan snapped open sharply. A masked noble leaned away from me, skirts whispering as she shifted as though to avoid contagion. One after another, nobles took a half-step back, as though even proximity might stain them.
I inhaled slowly, tasting iron beneath incense. My spine locked straight.
Princess privilege. It was my right. It was the law my mother had invoked countless times to silence challenges, to remind courtiers of her blood’s supremacy. I would wield it now.
“I invoke the privilege of blood,” I said, my voice ringing across the chamber. “As Princess of Lunareth, this council has no right to bind me without sovereign assent.”
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.
Then Maelith raised his staff. Shadows licked higher along the obsidian, curling like smoke. His voice carried, deep and implacable.
“Privilege does not cloak treason.”
The words echoed, picked up by the runes along the walls, whispered by the wards themselves. The chamber trembled faintly, silver chains of glamour running cold along the marble.
My breath caught. For all my rehearsed calm, dread slithered down my spine.
“Treason,” Maelith repeated, his tone edged with satisfaction, “strips privilege. And treason may be proven by absence, by secrecy, by the witness of silence itself.”
My gaze slid instinctively to Iriel.
He sat higher upon the dais, his mask carved of shadowed silver, expression unreadable. He did not speak. He did not move. He watched, eyes bright behind the slits, the faintest curve of his mouth betraying nothing. Judge. Heir. Son. Brother. And yet silent.
