“You are mistaken,” she counters. Absolute. Undeniable. “We do not sell any resins to Dravara.”
Liar.
Kael scoffs at that. “I’ve always wondered if you can discern your lies from the truth anymore, Maireth. Manipulation is your kingdom’s delicacy, is it not?”
Marin drops her mask entirely, revealing the full beauty of her face. Luminous skin that gleams under candlelight. Long, slender eyes the shape of crescent moons that draw you in. Stunning. Dangerous. Like lightning in a dense forest.
A blade glints at her thigh through the slit in her dress.
“Says the exiled prince who tricked his Starbound into trusting him so he could hand her over to the devil himself. How does hypocrisy taste on the way out, Kael?” she taunts.
But Elyssara isn’t done.
“Will you also tell me you don’t store the Memory Orbs here for Thalmyr? That the history of my people isn’t held in your vaults?” she snaps.
Maireth smiles. Not wide. Not joyful. No. This is the kind of smile that comes with landing a blow.
“I appreciate your tenacity, Elyssara. Quite refreshing from the games of monarchs who speak in tongues and codes,” Maireth praises, though it doesn’t feel like praise. It feels like a serpent wrapping around her spine and preparing to squeeze.
“We do not store Memory Orbs for Thalmyr. No.” Maireth’s words are finite. Complete. Closed to discussion.
Lies.
Kael barks a humorless laugh. “On that basis, I’m sure you’ll also say you didn’t withhold resources from The Wastes when my father rejected you? That you didn’t push Kiva out to the Outside? We all know you’re brutal, Maireth, but that is only secondary to your pettiness.”
Marin claps. Slowly. Loudly. “Gods, the sanctimony. Kael. The humble king of a wasteland. Have you been rebuilding Zerynthia and funding an army with that righteousness you wear so comfortably? How are your coffers looking? Full of pride and no coin? How fucking admirable. Truly heroic poverty.” Her sarcasm drips through the air, thick and oppressive.
“In line, Marin,” Maireth instructs. She doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t scold. Simply commands.
“Yes, mother,” Marin obeys, stepping behind Maireth, hands clasped behind her back.
Kael huffs a laugh at her subordination. “I see you abide by theComply or Dielaw too, Marin. So obedient,” Kael mocks.
“Enough, children,” Maireth says, voice tight and unwavering. “It is time for the performance.”
Maireth raises her hand, gesturing toward the rafters.
Elyssara’s gaze follows.
Silks hang from the vaulted ceiling in loose crimson ribbons that sway gently in the heated air. At first they seem like nothing more than decoration—lengths of fabric meant to soften the cavernous hall.
Then one of them moves.
A performer drops from the rafters in a sudden spiral of motion, the silk catching around her thigh as she spins through the air with effortless control. Gasps ripple through the court asshe twists once, twice, before arresting her fall with a graceful hook of her leg.
And in her hand—light.
A small glowing sphere no larger than an apple burns softly against her palm, its pale radiance cutting through the red lanternlight like a captured moonbeam.
The performer swings forward, releasing the silk entirely before catching another ribbon mid-air with the strength of a warrior and the elegance of a dancer. The orb glows brighter as she spins, its light casting shifting halos across the pillars below.
Another acrobat drops from the ceiling.
Then another.
Soon the air above the court fills with movement—bodies twisting and weaving through the silks like living threads in a tapestry. Their motions are rhythmic, practiced, honed into a dazzling and precise act.
The first performer tosses the glowing orb.
