I look at her.
“She thinks you are the conduit.”
The bond tightens, not in fear. In resolve.
“We move tonight,” Amelia says.
I nod once.
Because Malrend does not purchase living conduits unless the final ritual is near.
And if the blight is being fed?—
Then the Wildspont is on a clock. And so are we.
Just as Ifinished making plans with Amelia I felt that another problem was approaching. Velcryn magic coils along the skyline like distant lightning, restrained but unmistakable. The Matrons have extended their presence beyond diplomacy now. Their wards overlap the city’s outer perimeter in thin, invisible lattices. Surveillance disguised as protection.
They are watching.
Ron waits at the end of the courtyard when I reach the palace entrance. He is not armored for war, but he might as well be. His stance is relaxed only to someone who does not know him. I do.
“You met him,” he says without preamble.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Worse than expected.”
His jaw tightens, but he does not ask further. He reads enough in my face. Behind him, two Velcryn sentinels stand at discreet distance. Not palace guard. Not Nytherian. Matrons’ observers.
“They requested audience again,” Ron says quietly. “With you.”
“On what grounds?”
He gives me a flat look. “On the grounds that you are behaving unpredictably.”
Of course.
“They are concerned,” he continues, voice lowering, “that your… attachment is influencing military judgment.”
The word attachment is deliberate.
“They believe Nytheria’s instability is compromising Velcryn succession.”
“They believe many things,” I reply evenly.
Ron steps closer. “They’re discussing contingency,” he says. “Temporary transfer of command authority.”
There it is.
“They will not strip you openly,” he adds. “Not yet. But they are positioning.”
I feel the bond stir faintly, Amelia sensing the ripple of threat without knowing its shape.
“I don’t care about the title,” I say.
“I know,” Ron answers immediately. “That’s the problem.”
