Theformalitiesendedandthe crowd broke. The color drained from the air, and the audience returned to the practical work of whatever it was demons did.
After nearly everyone had left, Lydia and Nora found me at the foot of the dais, where the heat of the pillar had barely begun to fade.
Neither hugged me. Neither reached for my hand.
Instead, Lydia put her face six inches from mine and said, “You did good.” The words were not casual. They were gospel. She held my eyes, then nodded, and only then did she let a smile break the line of her mouth.
Nora was chewing something, a crust of bread or a stolen piece of fruit, and when she swallowed she wiped her hand on the hip of her dress and said, “You look like you’re about to pass out.” Her tone was dry, but her eyes were bright, and in them I saw an echo of my own relief.
I said, “Is it that obvious?”
She said, “Yeah. But that’s good news. It’s normal.”
We found a corner away from the aisle, behind the column of the Wrath pillar, where the view of the Throne was partially obscured by the architecture. For the first time since the beginning of all this, I felt safe.
We stood in silence for a minute.
Then Lydia, in a voice low enough that it would not carry, said, “It gets easier. Being looked at. The room. The attention. You get used to it.”
Nora snorted. “Speak for yourself. I still hate it. The brothers are easier than they look. The courts, though—Jesus. Even after a year they freak me out.”
I said, “How will we know when the Throne is decided?”
Nora shrugged. “We’ll know. It’s not a contest. The pillars just . . . choose.”
Lydia said, “The King only matters until he doesn’t. You’ll see.”
I looked at them. For a second, I tried to imagine what my own life would have been if I had known either of these women in the real world. I couldn’t do it. They would have been too bright,too much; I would have been afraid to stand near them. Here, though, they were not competition. They were sisters.
I laughed. Not the laugh I used at work, or at parties, or on the phone with Margot when she needed me to be warm and pliant. I laughed my own laugh, the one I’d used as a child, before the world taught me to minimize it.
The color in the air changed.
The other brothers were circling, each with their own orbit. Pride approached first, white-bronze and careful, every move rehearsed, the lines of his coat so sharp you could have cut a signature in the air with them. He nodded to Lydia, then to Nora, then to me, and in that order I realized that we were a known quantity, a problem to be solved or at least acknowledged. When his gaze flicked to Vael, across the room, it lingered, as though cataloging a rival at a conference.
The women closed ranks.
It was not overt. It was the shifting of a foot, the tightening of a shoulder. But when Pride approached, he did not break the triangle of our bodies. He hovered, just outside, and waited.
Lydia said, “Not today.”
He inclined his head. “Of course.”
He retreated.
Nora said, “He’s less of an asshole than you’d think, but don’t let him corner you. He likes to win.”
I said, “Noted.”
Lydia touched my elbow. “We’re here for you, if you need us.”
“You know, Lyd, I have a feeling she’ll be just fine.”
I nodded.
A shadow fell over us. I turned to see Vael, who had crossed the room without my noticing. He said nothing to the other women, only looked at me, and I felt the bond at my wrist steady, then soften, like a door closing gently behind you at the end of a long, hard day.
He offered me his arm.
