Page 116 of The Sovereign: Part One
We moved on to timelines, to arrangements, to legal formalities that made my stomach tighten just slightly: how long we’d stand beneath the Accordance veil, how long Maxim would be expected to speak, whether I’d want the Tethering Vow to be performed in front of guests or kept private.There was no right answer, only what felt like truth.And in that space, surrounded by transpane and light and the people who knew me best, I could feel something life-changing gathering in my chest.
Hope.That’s what it was.Not the polished variety we’d been conditioned to display, but something far more unruly, achingly powerful, and just fragile enough to frighten me with how fiercely I wanted it to last.
After we offered our appreciation and goodbyes, the panels closed behind us with a wisp, leaving behind Hecta and her palatial gallery.The corridors outside felt cooler, lighter, as if the rest of the world had remembered how to breathe.It was dangerously easy to forget in moments like this, that we could still be targeted.That until our Oathbond was finalized, Maxim’s rights were limited, his protections incomplete.For now, I kept my head down and my presence small—just long enough, I hoped, to carry us across the threshold where we would finally belong to one another, in name and in law.
Avaryn peeled off with a distracted wave, citing a prior engagement that, knowing her, was likely more strategic than social.She didn’t hug me, but she gave Maxim a look that was both appraising and respectful, an unspoken acknowledgment of the role he now played.Then she turned and strode toward the Skith port with the ease of someone who knew her place in the world and didn’t need anyone’s approval to keep it.
“I like her,” Bellam said flatly as we ascended the pale composite incline toward a different platform.
“You would,” I replied.
Maxim smiled faintly.“You adore her.But it’s amusing to watch you pretend you don’t.”
The Skith ride was brief but scenic.It had been nearly a month since I’d taken one, and to my surprise, I’d missed it.There was something meditative about the way the pods moved—magnetic, frictionless, silent save for a low harmonic current that barely kissed the senses.We chose seats in a mid-tier pod, chatting about the various fabrics and décor in Hecta’s gallery as the city passed around us in a blur of motion and color.I’d once taken this kind of travel for granted, but now every movement outside the safety of home felt sharp-edged.Still, in that moment, suspended in speed and silence, I felt something close to peace.
We disembarked in the Clovewood District, where the buildings softened into stone-composite curves and the air smelled faintly of flowering grain.Our destination was a corner eatery tucked into a bend of the promenade, Marin’s Fold.A district local favorite.It had a kind of relaxed charm that didn’t try to impress.Worn microbrushed silica-tile stretched underfoot in a muted grass green, with gentle archways and an interface slate featuring a handwritten-style rendering that hadn’t changed in years.Subtle texture, sun-diffusing awnings, and open counters with trailing greenery—trained to bloom only in certain seasons—hung from the edges in curves that resembled lazy cursive handwriting.Everything about it felt intentionally slow, as if time itself had been invited to sit and stay awhile.
We picked up a selection of seasonal fare—pressed graincakes with savory compote, chilled herb noodles, soft-root crisps, and a tall carafe of citrus-pressed chicory.Then bagged up the food as best we could and walked three blocks to a quiet green tucked between two sky-arched residential towers, Lirael Park.It wasn’t vast, just enough trees for shade, just enough breeze to forget the city.
We found a patch of grass near the far fountain and sat.Maxim set the carafe in the center and poured chicory into slim reusable tumbler cresks Bellam produced from her tote.
I let my shoes slip off and leaned back on my hands, gaze lifting toward the slender leaves overhead.The day was warm but not oppressive, and the conversation meandered with the comfort of people who had nothing urgent to share.
We’d only just finished the last of the graincakes when Roan appeared.
He approached with the awkward confidence of someone who’d rehearsed his entrance and forgotten the script halfway through.His suit was marginally less dramatic than usual—taupe, fitted, and only slightly theatrical at the collar.He carried a small pouch of candied roots, which he offered Bellam with the solemnity of a peace treaty.
“You’re late,” Bellam said.
“Apologies, darling,” he said quickly, lying on his side beside her, propping himself with his elbow.“I had a difficult time slipping away from my driver, but thankfully, I have years of practice.”
“So, you’re really doing this?”I asked, mostly to Bellam.“I need to hear you say you understand how dangerous this is.”
“We are,” Bellam said.“And I do.It’s a risk.So is staying here and watching Roan end up with a woman designed to be his ideal—crafted by the Veritas, rendered through Eidolon.No, thank you.I’m not ready to stand there and smile while Hyperion’s most sought-after bachelor is handed his fantasy.”
“She would look like you,” Roan said, staring at children playing in the distance.He looked up at her, then kissed her bare shoulder.“If the AI could grasp my ultimate desires at all, she would look, act, and love just like you.”
Maxim glanced down at me, surprise and amusement flickering behind his eyes.“Is that what I am?Your fantasy?”
Heat crept up the back of my neck, that awful mix of embarrassment and being caught curling in my chest.I lifted one shoulder in a sheepish shrug, unable to admit the obvious truth.
Bellam touched Roan’s cheek, then leaned in to kiss him.“You know what?If your accordant stepped out looking like my clone, that might actually out-weird everything else.”
I let out a startled laugh, and the others followed.Until Maxim suddenly went still, then rose from the grass in one fluid motion, his frame settling into a protective stance before anyone else had time to react.
“Maxim,” I said, reaching up to touch his pant leg.“Remember, he’s safe.”
“In theory,” Maxim responded, narrowing his eyes at a figure emerging from the far path.
Roan stood now, brushing at his sleeves with nervous energy, his entire demeanor a sharp contrast to Maxim’s composed but alert stillness.Roan was excited, but it was tempered by respect—and a raw desperation that only surfaced when your future hung on someone else’s decision.So much hinged on Joss’s willingness to help.It felt almost cruel, how one person could carry that much weight over the course of another’s life.Roan and Bellam had asked me to be there, hoping my presence might soften the edge of their request, tilt the balance just slightly in their favor.I didn’t blame them.
Joss stopped a few feet from our group and looked to me, saying nothing at first.He didn’t need to.The silence around him was taut, an armor he wore better than most.He waited, eyes steady, unreadable to anyone but me.
He didn’t know why he’d been called here, and I could find no safe way to warn him.From the way his gaze skimmed the others—Roan, Bellam, Maxim—it was clear he didn’t appreciate being summoned into a circle of strangers.Especially not with me at the center of it.And certainly not while I had my hand on someone else.
I let my hand relax to my lap, while Joss’s eyes watched me move as if I were a memory he hadn’t decided whether to mourn or protect.He hadn’t flinched, hadn’t hesitated, but I could feel the tension radiating beneath the surface.He was confident.He always had been.But according to Lev, there was more to him than charm and conviction.Joss was trained.Resourceful.Lethal, if pressed.He’d never revealed that side to me—until now.I was seeing someone I’d only heard about.Someone who weighed every variable, every threat, and didn’t like stepping into unfamiliar territory without knowing who was friend or foe.Joss carried the secrets of The Vale like others carried bone beneath skin, and walking blind into a meeting like this wasn’t his preferred battlefield.
Still, he came—because I’d asked.
