Stepping out from the protective ring of the Miou warriors, the Zagfer archivist is pale. His hands tremble violently as he clutches the iron lockbox containing the restricted tomes Megan extracted from the lower vaults. He knows that exposing those ledgers is an act of total, irreversible treason against the ancestral house.
"Bring the true sum to the table."
Swallowing hard, Eldric nods once and advances toward the polished stone presentation table.
Pivoting toward the high seats, my towering, seven-foot frame commands the center of the blood-stained floor. Unleashing my magic, a sudden, concussive shockwave of force projects outward, slamming against the obsidian benches to physically crush the remaining nobles into silence. The shouts die in their throats. The clash of steel in the eastern tier ceases as Kryven is dragged away in thick iron chains.
"The Tribunal convenes to vote upon the validity of my claim." The reverberation rings off the vaulted ceiling, striking the obsidian walls with absolute finality. "Lord Kryven argued that my bond with this human destabilizes the realm. He claimed she is a parasite. But it was not the mortal who brought assassins into this hall."
Extending a gauntleted hand, I gesture to Megan. Stepping out from behind my sweeping coat, she stands fearlessly beside me in the light.
"It was the mortal who saw the flaw in the ledgers." Pinning Varynth with an inescapable, violent stare, I press the attack. "It was the mortal who stabilized the northern trade routes. And it is the mortal who found the rot buried deep within the foundation of the ancestral palace."
Varynth’s skeletal hands tighten on the armrests of his throne, a flicker of genuine unease crossing his severe features.
"The Patriarch claims the Thosti bloodline does not deal with the shadows." The glacial, carrying threat coats the air in frost. "He claims he did not authorize the slaughter today. The High Assembly will now decide if the Patriarch’s word holds more weight than his own signature."
A single nod toward Megan sets the execution in motion.
Approaching the presentation table, she refuses to tremble. The crushing, hostile attention of the gathered immortals fails to make her cower. Reaching into the iron lockbox, her small hands extract the iron-clasped tome of the restricted archives.
The massive ledger drops onto the stone table. The impact echoes like a falling anvil in the silent chamber.
"Read the board." The directive carries absolute ruin.
The Patriarch’s war ends tonight. And I am going to sever the head of the snake in front of the entire Undercity.
25
MEGAN
Resting upon the polished table, the undeniable reality of the iron-clasped tome shatters the oppressive tension of the Tribunal hall.
Before Patriarch Varynth can raise a skeletal hand to call for a recess and bury the scandal under parliamentary procedure, my bare feet carry me fully into the middle of the floor. The ambient, blood-red light of the alchemy spheres bleeds over the indigo silk of my gown. Hundreds of immortal stares press their crushing, collective hostility down upon my fragile frame, yet the freezing power of Zhetrin’s magic radiating directly behind me acts as a massive, unyielding wall guarding my back.
"The Patriarch claims the Thosti bloodline does not deal in shadows." Projecting my tone upward to the high benches, the sheer volume slices effortlessly through the quiet. "He claims Lord Kryven acted alone. But the ledgers do not lie. And these ledgers were sealed in the lowest, restricted vaults of the ancestral palace."
Hauling the thick leather cover open, the brittle vellum pages rustle sharply in the quiet chamber.
"Eldric." I gesture sharply to the Zagfer archivist.
Bridging the distance with trembling hands, the archivist unrolls a massive, blank vellum sheet across the table, extracting a thick stick of charcoal.
"Seventy harvests ago." My ink-stained finger drags ruthlessly down the faded Khuzuth sigils. "The neutral houses petitioned the Patriarch for a lower grain tithe. The petition was denied. The following season, a sudden, devastating famine swept the eastern foundries. The laborers starved. The neutral fleets were forced to purchase emergency rations from the Thosti granaries at four times the standard value, entirely bankrupting their fleets."
Murmurs of dark, angry realization ripple through the lower benches. Lord Vane, the master of the southern granaries, leans forward, his gaunt face hardening into a furious scowl.
"It was not a natural blight." Elevating my volume entirely drowns out the whispers. "Eldric, cast the sum."
The archivist rapidly sketches the ancient tally onto the blank vellum for the assembly to see. The numbers are stark, undeniable proof of a massive, sudden withdrawal of grain from the foundries, directly followed by a shadow-transfer of wealth back into the Patriarch’s personal vaults.
"Varynth poisoned the aqueducts to simulate the blight," I press the attack, pointing directly at the encrypted Khuzuth seal at the bottom of the page. "He starved my people simply to drain the wealth of the neutral lords and force them back onto their knees."
"Silence the beast!" The Patriarch’s outrage tears from his ancestral throne.
Rising to his feet, Varynth's pristine white robes sweep around his skeletal frame. His pale silver eyes burn with a feral, desperate malice. The foul, grave-rot scent of his magic floods downward, attempting to crush the oxygen from the room, butit smashes uselessly against the freezing, impenetrable dome of Zhetrin’s protective wards.
"She is a filthy, lying mortal!" Gripping the stone balustrade of his high seat, Varynth's knuckles turn completely white. "She brings forged parchment into the sacred hall to defame the crown! She seeks to destabilize the realm on behalf of a Warlord who has lost his mind to a surface-whore!"
