Page 74 of Song of the Heart Scale
“You're connected. You know half the performers in Elaria. We write a song. Or better yet, a ballad. Catchy. Tragic. Thekind of thing that sticks in your head long after the lute player’s packed up and gone.”
Garrick leaned back, slowly nodding. “Like an earworm. A melody you can't shake.”
“Exactly,” I said. “And before he can crush it, it's already everywhere. A dozen variations. A hundred singers. All of them telling the same truth, whether he likes it or not.”
He let out a long whistle. “That's dangerous, my lady.”
“So is doing nothing.”
“He'll retaliate. Hard.”
“Then we give them something worth singing about.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the air between us vibrating with shared resolve.
Then Garrick grinned. A slow, sharp thing that crinkled the edge of his eye patch.
“Do you want verses or a chorus first?”
I grinned back. “Start with the part where the Immortals curse him. That’ll get their attention.”
Garrick chuckled. “Let’s get to work.”
15
DAMIEN
The air in the Southern District reeked of brine and coal smoke. Far from the polished streets of the Northern District, the alleys here were narrow, damp, and lit by flickering lanterns that precariously clung to crooked beams. The location for our meeting was chosen with care—a forgotten wine cellar beneath an abandoned distillery on the edge of Saltspire Wharf. A place steeped in shadow. Fitting.
I pulled the hood of my cloak lower as Uncle Bai and I descended the slick stone steps. The pungent scent of mildew clung to the walls like rot. A single door stood at the bottom, iron-bound and covered in old rune marks.
Uncle Bai knocked in a rhythm only those from the palace would know—three short, one long, one short. It creaked open.
Inside, a table had been set. Crates and barrels formed makeshift chairs. The two lords and a lady were already waiting. I’d met them all before, but this was the first time we’d allformallymet.
Lord Rolen, the Minister of Finance, was a thin, angular man with a hawkish nose and the greying hair of someone who had long stopped trying to hide his age. His robes weredeep burgundy, embroidered with gold coins and scales. Cold, calculating eyes appraised me the moment I stepped inside.
“Prince Damien,” he greeted with a stiff nod. “I must admit, I never thought I’d see you outside the shadow of exile.”
“There are many things people never thought I’d do,” I replied. “Yet here I am.”
Lord Vauren, the Minister of Defense, was built like a fortress. Square shoulders, a blunt jaw covered in white stubble, and a scar running down his left cheek. He didn’t speak at first, merely studied me with narrowed, gray eyes. His hands, thick with calluses, rested on the hilt of a short blade strapped to his hip.
Lady Mirena of Ships sat relaxed, lounging on an upturned cask. Her auburn hair was braided with seashells and her robe, stitched from deep blue silk, rippled like ocean water. Mischief danced in her eyes as she lifted a goblet of spiced wine to her lips.
“So this is the infamous Shadow Prince,” she drawled. “I expected someone broodier.”
“Give it time,” I said, taking a seat opposite her. “The night is young.”
Uncle Bai remained standing, his arms crossed behind me like a sentinel. “We don’t have long,” he said. “The emperor’s imperial guards are watching the docks. They suspect the Southern District will be a problem.”
“Because it is,” Lord Vauren grunted.
Lord Rolen raised a brow. “We are not here to discusswhyit is. We’re here to decide what to do about it.”
I leaned forward. “You want Thorne gone. So do I. But make no mistake—I will not trade one tyrant for another.”
“And yet you're the third prince,” Lady Mirena said, arching a brow. “One would assume you have a vested stake in the throne.”
