Page 41 of The Reckoning of Starlight

He chewed and swallowed past the burn, tasting nothing.

“Elashor.” Farine’s voice carried across the table, bright as struck glass. “Have you told the council of our little triumph in the Falling Star Crater?”

The question gave Elashor his entrance. Jassyn recognized the performance at once and had no doubt Farine had arranged his role in it too.

The general smirked and lifted his goblet toward the king. “The excavation continues to unearth treasures for the crown. Ancient Aelfyn relics.”

Murmurs rippled through the nobles. A few leaned forward. Others went still, already calculating where new power would settle and who might possess it.

“Such wonders our ancestors left behind,” Farine said. “And perhaps a few surprises the king has yet to divulge.”

Whatever they were extracting from that crater, the room’s careful silence told Jassyn enough. His thoughts turned toward an armory in Galaeryn’s hands.

Farine’s nails grazed Jassyn’s wrist, and the dread scattered.

She turned her smile on him. “Darling,” she purred. “You’ve seen these new realms, haven’t you? Flown over them on these lovely wings.” Her fingers traced the exposed edge of his membrane where it folded against the chair, and the leather flinched from her touch. “Where should House Vallende turn its ambitions next?”

Goblets halted before lips, every eye finding him over rims.

Jassyn’s grip locked around his fork, the bite he’d taken souring on his tongue.

He smiled while everything inside him writhed.

Farine wanted a spectacle, and if he denied her one, she’d make another with his body. Silence would protect no secrets, but a lie would be worse. Elashor had apparently already dragged enough truth from him to recognize a falsehood. So Jassyn chose the damage himself, offering what the table had nearly assembled without him.

“Veyrix,” Jassyn said. “The Zephyrfang.” He lowered his gaze, feigning thought—a performance within a performance. “He’s still bound in the Aetherveil. Skylash’s mate. She tasked the druids with finding him.”

Farine’s laugh trilled beside him, bright with delight. Her fingers slipped into his curls and knotted at the nape of his neck.

“Did you know,” she said to the table, “the dragons have names? How exquisite.”

Elashor arched a brow. “Dangerous,” he said smoothly, “to part with so many of our secrets, Mother.”

At the head of the table, Galaeryn watched, unblinking.

Farine blotted the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “Well. The other houses deserve a fighting chance after the way your daughters ended the Coliseum’s games.” She set the linen beside her plate and reached across the crystal as if to console the nearest councilor. “A pity, truly. All those shaman-blooded pets, charred in the arena. Such promising little beasts.”

“Which reminds me, Mother.” Elashor’s voice dropped, idle and sharp at once. “I’ll need to borrow your pet in the morning. I’m due for a visit to Centarya.”

Farine huffed, her hand closing over Jassyn’s, a claim disguised as affection.

“You may have him in the morning,” she murmured. “If he’s of any use to you by then. I intend to keep him occupied tonight.”

She patted his cheek, then turned his jaw with one finger beneath his chin. “Be a dear and fetch the Vallende blend. You always remember what pleases.”

Jassyn rose, ears ringing with the scream caged behind his teeth.

He didn’t need to ask which wine she meant. The bottle would already be waiting, uncorked and breathing—a vintage laced with Stardust.

The lounging nobles tracked him as he descended the crystal steps and crossed through the main hall. He moved the way they’d taught him—decorative enough to admire, silent enough to forget.

He knew what waited. The wine. The bed. The practiced sequence of being used.

Jassyn took the Vallende blend from the waiting tray without looking.

They would drink, steeping themselves in pleasure until their thoughts blurred and their guard dissolved.

And when that happened, Jassyn would strike. He’d lace commands into minds softened by Stardust, quiet enough to pass unnoticed. Coercion subtle as a heartbeat, the thread that had kept Farine dreaming, the whisper that had turned a servant aside.