Page 101 of The City Of Fractured Memory

The council chamber rises like a gilded illusion, an immense domed hall shaped like a golden amphitheatre, its tiered platforms gleaming beneath lattices of enchanted light. Tall, fluted pillars support the sweeping curve of the ceiling, every surface polished to a mirrored sheen as though no dust has ever dared to settle here. Intricate mosaics coil across the floor in spirals of gold and white marble, and the ceiling is covered in frescos depicting the city’s supposed glory, a stark contrast to the crumbling streets and smoke-choked alleys outside these walls.

It is decadent, opulent and impossibly pristine, so extravagantly removed from the squalor of the world beyond that stepping inside feels like I’m crossing into an entirely different reality, one built on denial, power, and the luxury of looking away.

As I enter, every councillor in the semicircle of elevated seats turns to face me—twenty pairs of eyes, sharp as blades and twice as cold. Their robes shimmer with iridescent thread, draped over bodies that have never known manual labor, or humility…or, I note, femininity.

Twenty men and not a single woman. Not shocking. Disappointing, but not shocking.

My jaw tightens.

We’re changing that. After all this is done. If I survive it.

The only way I’m going to be able to figure out who is compromised, is by compromising myself. I have a plan, but it’s a risky one. I force my stride to remain steady as I walk toward the centre dais. I've never been allowed inside this chamber before, but today, I didn’t bother asking permission. I guess I’m kind of past that now.

A ripple of whispers start up again between the councillors, quickly stifled as I lift my chin.

“Councillors,” I say, my voice echoing round the cavernous space. “I’ve come with urgent information regarding the Codex of Thorns.”

All of them stiffen.

Three avert their eyes. One on the far left goes very, very still.

Good. Keep reacting. Show me who you are.

The Councillor of Records—Meredin, I believe his name is—leans forward, his mouth twisting, the open book icon woven into his robes betraying his identity. “You are not permitted to speak on matters of classified relics.”

“Luckily,” I reply, my voice calm even though my pulse is thrumming loud enough that I’m sure they must hear it, “I didn’t come to ask permission.”

A few gasps.

A scoff.

“Insufferable girl–”

I continue, louder. “I am aware of our history, that Augustus was tasked with keeping the Codex hidden, for the safety of our city. This was the inciting factor that birthed this council. I have reason to believe the Codex’s location has now been compromised.”

A tremor of alarm flashes across two faces at my carefully chosen words. They school it away quickly, but not quickly enough.

There they are.

My heartbeat spikes.

Meredin slams his palm onto his lectern. “Impossible. The Codex is secure, as it has always been under this council’s protection.”

I let out a thoughtful, sarcastic hum, though I wonder how far I can take this before I tread too far. “Is that so? Then, of course, its current keeper won’t mind confirming its whereabouts.”

A chorus of outrage breaks out like a flock of startled birds.

“You overstep–”

“You presume too much, girl–”

“This is not a matter for–”

“Enough!” one of the councillors bellows, rising to his feet. His robe flares with the movement, spilling at his feet across the marble. His eyes bear into mine like hot irons. “You will cease this line of inquiry. Immediately.”

The chamber goes deathly quiet once more, a silence so penetrating, all I can hear is a faint ringing in my ears.

I meet his glare without flinching, even as adrenaline coils through my limbs. “Because you’re worried I’ll find something I shouldn’t?” I ask softly. “Or because I already have?”