“There are farms. He keeps humans there for blood production. People who’ve been inside those walls so long they’ve stopped counting the days. This is what Konstantin is building while we debate the cost of an alliance.”
Syrenne’s expression hasn’t changed. She’s still smiling. But the heat around Ember has pulled inward, contracted.
“Iron Claw shifter wolves put down a feral fifty yards from a campground full of families. The same week, three moreferals turned up at locations radiating outward from chosen distribution hubs across the southeastern territories. Konstantin placed them. To prove he could.”
I find Syrenne when I say the next part.
“The Lady of Ember is right that you’ve survived by remaining separate. We’ve survived by fighting. I’m not asking you to fight our war. I’m asking you to see what we’re already losing. My sister. The people in those cells. The families in jeopardy from the ferals. That’s not just our price. That’s the price of every species the Hidden Accords have ever protected. Konstantin is choosing to break them.”
I stop.
“Your world is beautiful. I’d like it to still be standing. And I’d like the people in mine to still be standing when it is.”
Footsteps behind me. One stride. Quiet on the wet stone.
Maximus has closed part of the distance between us. Veyran’s gaze tracks him. Two Fae in the Ember delegation turn their heads. The shadows along the gold-threaded walls darken half a shade and then settle.
It comes off him then. Warm and fierce and absolute. Settles against my chest. Pride. Mine, in his chest, and his, given back.
I keep my face blank. Don’t move. Let it move through me. Let the courts process.
Maeven hasn’t moved. But the mist around his court’s feet has. Shifted toward the center. Toward me.
In the Gales court, Ithara stands.
The magic shifts. The water in the channels stops. The Fae nearest her don’t blink. Her court turns to her, every face.
She speaks. One sentence. Clear and precise.
“The stone remembers what the blood has not yet learned.”
The four courts freeze. Every Fae in every seat.
What?
I don’t get it. The words are plain enough but I can’t parse them.
Nobody moves.
Ithara sits. The Gales court gathers around her.
I find Maximus. His face shows nothing. Seraphina, behind him, has gone very pale.
What the hell did she just say?
I walk back to him. The water channels resume their usual pattern behind my boots.
Maximus’s hand finds the small of my back as I reach him. Brief.
Seraphina steps forward.
She walks past me, past Maximus, into the center.
“High King. Courts of Thessivane.” She inclines her head to each. “I am Seraphina. Daughter of Lanthar. Witch of the Black Forest. I have lived seven centuries in the mortal realm, and I have crossed the Veil and stood in the Lithenmere. I have woven wards into stone and water and ancient forest. I know what binds the boundary from our side.”
She turns slowly. Every court in her gaze.
“The Veil’s strength comes from both realms. The witches, the sorcerers, the elementals, every magical being who lives in the mortal world contributes to the magic that maintains your end of the boundary. We weave it into rivers and stones and root systems. We feed it through our bloodlines. The Black Forest is one such place. There are others. It has been a shared work for as long as either realm remembers.”
