Page 33 of Burning Her Beautiful
“Your eyes are shadowed,” she murmurs. “Long night?”
“Long week.” I move closer, brushing aside a curl that has escaped her braid. “You remember the pathways?”
Her chin lifts. “The crystals anchor to three harmonics. I will hum only the lowest pitch; your runes will weave the rest.”
She recites it with a calm I envy. I take her hands, pressing them to my chest so she feels the pounding truth beneath my ribs. “If Sarivya presses, I may need to escalate. The display will remain threads and mirrors. No harm will reach you.”
She studies me. “Mirrors cannot hide forever. Are you certain this is the right path?”
“Right? I no longer know the shape of that word.” I exhale. “It is the path that keeps you free today. Tomorrow we forge a better one.”
She squeezes my fingers once, then steps back, letting responsibility settle across my shoulders.
Marble tiers risein a half-circle around the council floor, packed edge to edge with nobles in layered silks and gleaming armor. Murmurs echo like bees in a stone hive. I walk the aisle alone until I reach the central plinth. Each heartbeat thunders, yet my face betrays only cool detachment.
Chancellor Velyth stands at his lectern, scroll unfurled. He clears his throat and begins reciting docket items, but attention already drifts to Sarivya, who reclines on a chaise beside herretinue. She has chosen crimson today, a deliberate echo of blood. At her feet kneels a human attendant holding a silver tray of obsidian flowers—nightshade again, a threat hidden behind perfume.
When Velyth finishes preliminaries, he gestures to her. “Matron Sarivya of House Velinth petitions first voice.”
She rises with languid grace, though venom shines in her smile. “Honored council, I stand for integrity. Recent events have sown doubt about Dominus Varok’s control over unregistered sorcery.” Her gaze flicks toward Iliana, seated quietly with Yalira on an upper tier. “If this mortal commands power that bypasses our registers, we must witness it in a neutral setting. Demonstrations in closed rooms no longer suffice.”
Whispers bloom like mold. Velyth turns to me. “Dominus?”
I incline my head. “I welcome transparency. The resonance gallery awaits. The pillars record every arcane pulse. A test there will leave no room for speculation.”
Sarivya’s brows arch, as if surprised by my concession. She recovers, claps slender hands. “Let the court adjourn to the gallery.”
Figures rise, rustling silks and clinking chainmail. I descend the dais, pulse racing faster. Risk multiplies with each spectator—but the larger the crowd, the harder it becomes for Sarivya to twist the story afterward.
The gallery humswith layered conversations when we enter. I position Iliana near the central pillar, while scribes unroll parchment to record spectral readings. Matron Yalira stands behind a cluster of half-blood nobles, ready to launch our forgeddocuments if this charade cracks. Garrik watches from a side arch, fingers drumming, eyes tracking each guard.
Chancellor Velyth’s voice cuts through the noise. “The mortal will perform her alleged hum. Dominus Varok will remain at a distance to prevent channel manipulation.”
A knot forms in my stomach. Separation strips my runes from her hum’s path. I planned to stand close enough to lace her note with controlled power. Now I must improvise. I step back until I reach the evaluation dais, forty paces away. The runes woven into my coat may catch her resonance even across that gap—if I feed them blood.
I bite my thumb, letting a drop bead along the sigil at my wrist, hidden by my sleeve. The rune flares faintly, accepting the pact.
Iliana meets my gaze—steady, sure. She closes her eyes, draws a breath, and releases the first low tone. It vibrates through the crystal, a soft rumble felt more than heard. The pillar brightens, but only modestly. A second note threads upward, layering complexity. My runes drink it like rain. I channel a thread of chaos energy down the column’s spine, subtle enough to mask its origin. Light blooms brighter; gasps ripple through the audience.
Sarivya steps forward, jewel eyes narrowing. She senses tampering yet cannot pinpoint the source. She lifts her hand, perhaps to protest. Before she speaks, I twist the energy again, splitting it into seven whisper-thin strands that race through each pillar. On cue, the columns ignite in a ring of emerald fire reflecting the color of Iliana’s cloak.
The audience erupts in astonished applause. Engineers scribble frantic measurements down parchment. I see a mix of wonder and dread on every face. Iliana holds the final tone until my nod signals release. As the echo fades, the crystals dim, leaving faint after-images floating behind eyelids.
Chancellor Velyth clears his throat. “The resonance registers stable output, with no destructive spikes. The court recognizes the mortal’s gift as controlled under Dominus Varok’s guidance.”
Applause swells again. Sarivya’s smile wavers, slipping at the edges. She bows theatrically, but her eyes burn. The trap springs when Yalira strides forward, scroll in hand.
“Honored peers,” she calls, voice rippling. “House Velinth speaks of regulation, yet its coffers swell with untaxed sapphire imports.” She unrolls the ledger; scribes scurry to copy. “Here lies record of contraband shipments and payments to smugglers who supplied banned nightshade.” She flicks a glance at the tray by Sarivya’s attendant.
Gasps turn to shouts. Half-blood nobles surge, demanding explanations. Velyth signals guards. In moments, both the ledger and the nightshade blossoms are carried to auditors. Sarivya’s poised mask fractures, then shatters in silent fury.
I step from the dais. Every eye pivots to track me. I find Iliana, still standing beside the central pillar, hands clasped before her as though nothing extraordinary just happened. Our gazes lock. Pride and gratitude flood through me, fierce enough to banish lingering fear.
Chancellor Velyth raises his staff of office. “Until further investigation, House Velinth’s motion regarding collars is suspended. The decree is tabled.”
Relief sweeps the chamber in waves. Half-blood nobles sag as if a guillotine vanished. Sarivya opens her mouth to object, but Velyth’s staff strikes marble, silencing her.
“Council adjourned,” he states.
