Page 61 of Song of the Heart Scale
And we were standing in the heart of the storm.
Thorne raised his hands high, and his voice boomed unnaturally over the square, magically enhanced to pierce the fear. “ENOUGH!”
The crowd stilled, frightened eyes turning upward to the dais.
Thorne stood tall, his crown gleaming despite the unnatural chill that had spread through the air. “Do not mistake a freak of nature for divine protest. The Immortals are not so fragile, nor so foolish.”
He gestured, and rows of guards began to march from the palace gates, lining the perimeter with drawn blades.
“No one leaves,” he commanded as gates began to shut and lock.
Gasps rippled through the nobility and royalty.
“Until my authority is recognized, no one departs. Any man or woman who refuses to bow will be deemed a traitor—and will be executed on the spot.” One by one, guards pulled out their swords to intimidate the crowd.
Screams erupted. Mothers clutched their children. Council members rose in protest, but the guards closed in. Several people dropped to their knees in terror. A few, reluctantly, followed suit.
Julian simply crossed his arms and stared. Almost as if bored, but also as if not believing his own brother would kill him. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t put it past Thorne to kill either of us for his own goals. I wanted to warn Julian, but he was too far away.
I could feel Uncle Bai’s tension beside me, his hand drifting to the hilt of his sword. But even if he drew it, it would be pointless. He would be only one against dozens of guards who were armed and ready to fight. We wouldn’t stand a chance.
Thorne’s gaze swept across the plaza like a hawk.
“Bow,” he growled. “Or bleed.”
I clenched my jaw.
He may have taken the throne.
But today, the Immortals had whispered their warning.
And I heard it loud and clear.
A ripple passed through the nobility. The High Priest, still pale, was the first to kneel. One by one, the rest followed, either from fear or pressure. The council fell to their knees. The dignitaries bowed. Even the guards—those not already under Thorne’s command—lowered themselves to the ground.
And slowly, one by one, Elaria bent the knee—not to a crowned emperor blessed by the Immortals, but to a man who had seized power with blood, shadow, and steel.
Not because they believed.
But because they feared.
And still, the flowers remained black.
The wind, cold and unnatural, continued to howl through the plaza.
He had taken the crown.
But not the blessing.
And all of Elaria would remember it.
The palace corridorswere a serpent's maze—endless stone passageways draped in silks and shadows. I moved through them like a plume of smoke, my steps silent, my presence tucked into the folds of darkness that clung to the walls. The marble beneath my boots gleamed with firelight from the sconces, flickering as I passed, the only proof that something had disturbed the stillness.
Everyone was too preoccupied with the chaos of Thorne's coronation to pay attention to a ghost slipping through the halls. It worked to my advantage. I hadn’t been back inside the palace since my last visit the other day to see Malachar. Other than that, I had very few memories of the palace. I’d snuck in there a couple of times in my youth, but my memories of these corridorswere fractured and distant, colored with resentment and exile. But instinct guided me; that strange sixth sense the shadows gifted me when I wore them like armor.
I knew where I needed to go.
Malachar. The emperor’s seer.
