The three of them remained silent for longer than any of them probably intended. Selene was the first to try to break the silence. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words. She then took a breath and turned to Isolde, her gold eyes dimmed. “I should have come to you,” she said quietly. “When I could.”

  Isolde’s mouth tightened. For a heartbeat, she looked away, down to her feet. She knew the truth even if she didn't want to admit it. “I understand why you didn’t.” The admission came out raw. “If the Sanctum had pressured me then… I can’t promise I wouldn’t have given you up.”

  Her words hung in the air. Held there by the painful truth that they all knew, but didn't truly want to believe.

  Isolde raised her head and looked at the two of them with renewed confidence. “I’m not that person anymore.”

  “I know,” Selene said. “You've proven that more than once in the past few months.” She glanced at Lucen without turning her head. “You’ve already been to the Hallows more than he has. And he has known about me for three years.”

  “I’ve only been once,” Isolde began, instinctive and honest, and then stopped. Understanding slid across her face. She turned to Lucen, her shoulders slumped with disappointment. “Oh, Lucy… what are you thinking?”

  Lucen took in their disappointed gazes for an uncomfortable period of time. He cleared his throat, gathering his courage. “I was going to visit,” he said. “After I became a High Saint. Once I stood level with Augustine, I could go where I pleased without reporting every step.”

  “You became a High Saint over half a year ago,” Isolde said.

  He gave a single unhappy nod. “And they set me out on an assignment the next morning. It’s still not finished. It might take months more if not years.”

  Selene narrowed her eyes. “What could possibly take you that long?”

  He opened his mouth to answer—but the Great Hall doors crashed inward. Cassian came first, breaking through like a thrown spear. Behind him followed the Emperor and his nobles. Rhydan sauntered into the hall, the desert princes right behind. They were followed by Aelun, Augustine, and Eryndor. The Pontifex entered last, hands folded around his staff.

  Cassian’s stride cut straight toward Selene. Lucen stepped across his path, a quiet block more insult than force. Their eyes met—Lucen’s cool and edged, Cassian’s burning hot. Lucen scoffed and shifted aside without a word.

  “Selene—” Cassian began.

  She raised a hand. “Save it. You’ll have plenty of time to say whatever you like… after all, we both know that I am bound to you in more ways than a promised marriage.”

  A muscle jumped in Lucen’s jaw. “What does that mean?”

  “When you visit the Hallows,” she said, not looking at him, “perhaps I’ll tell you.”

  He let out a short, irritated breath and folded his arms, attention cutting toward the dais as the Emperor mounted the steps to the Ashen Throne.

  Valerion set his sword against the throne beside him, a simple act that drew every gaze. “Let us discuss what transpired today,” he said. “High Saint Lucen—You encountered this necromancer personally. Who was it?”

  Lucen stepped forward, and the light from the braziers washed pale against his face. “Who IS it,” he corrected softly. “They escaped.”

  The sound that traveled through the court was not shock so much as disbelief, like crystal chimes bumping in a draft.

  “It’s more accurate to say they were never truly here,” Lucen continued. “What we fought, what commanded that army of the undead, was a corpse puppet. The caster called himself Cursed Bounty.” The air shifted at the sound of the name. Many had heard the name and what they were capable of.

  A noble near the front who wasn't really concerned with the world of witches and saints had no clue who this person was and spoke. “Who in the saints’ names is that?”

  Augustine moved out of the pillar’s shadow, his voice even. “Before I held the highest rank, it belonged to him—though he wore another name then.”

  The court’s attention bent toward the Pontifex. The old man inclined his head, as if acknowledging a weight he had carried for a very long time.

  “When I ascended to this station,” he said, “the foremost among our saints was Severian D’Vayne. He was…” The Pontifex’s gaze flicked to the far arches as if he could see years written there. “An exceptional healer. A strategist who made victories out of assured defeat. We thought there was no ceiling he would fail to break. One of, if not the greatest, saints we ever produced,” He paused. And then looked over at Selene. A tinge of regret washed over him, and then he continued, “And then he vanished. No letters. No body. Nothing.”

  The hall quieted.

  “A decade later,” the Pontifex went on, “after following whispers and ghosts of his shadow, he caught his trail. When he showed himself at last, he had taken the moniker Cursed Bounty. Veins black as the darkest pit. Skin paled beyond anything human. Demonkin, Apostate. And then he was gone again. We have heard no reliable word about him for almost thirty years.”

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  Valerion leaned back, considering. “That would explain it,” he said. “The way the ghouls moved as if they knew the capital. How was he able to so readily and effectively bribe some of the noble houses? Betrayed by one of my Empire's best. Seems the Sanctum makes a habit of squandering talent,” the Pontifex said nothing; he just bowed his head in defeat.

  Rhydan’s arms folded loosely across his chest, a thin grin cutting up on one side. “If that’s the case, then this clearly wasn't a random act of violence. On the night we all met to deal with this Sorcerer Circle. It was a message." His eyes flicked through the crowd. “Look at what one of us can do to you.”Rhydan belted a chuckle, but no one laughed with him.

  Morgan had not moved, but the air around her seemed to thicken. She looked slowly along the ranks—saints, nobles, defenders, inquisitors, her granddaughter—and settled on Lucen. “Why did you come here tonight, High Saint?”

  “I called him,” the Pontifex said, before Lucen could answer. “Citywide corruption. Coordinated violence. We needed the one person who can appear anywhere he must, when he must.”

  Morgan accepted that with a faint nod, though her eyes did not leave Lucen’s face. Then she turned back to the throne.

  Valerion’s smirk returned, gentled by something like interest. “Before you graced us this evening,” he said, “what were you doing?”

  Lucen hesitated. He looked once at Selene. His eyes held a plea for understanding. He turned his attention back towards the Emperor and spoke,

  "I was in the midst of my nearly year-long assignment."

  Rhydan tipped his head, “And what work could take a High Saint a year?”

  Lucen faced the three rulers and set his shoulders confident and proud. “My assignment has been to locate and destroy the Demon Hearts across the continent.”

  The silence changed. It didn’t grow louder or quieter. It deepened.

  Morgan breathed out through her nose. “Oh, dear.”

  Valerion closed his eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Of course.”

  “Fuck,” Rhydan unceremoniously bellowed into the hush of the halls.

  Selene stepped into that echo. “Then all of this was a distraction,” she said. “The ghouls. The undead. Everything. To take a Demon Heart while we watched something else burn.”

  Morgan inclined her head. “That makes the most sense.” Her voice sharpened. “Not chaos. Purpose.”

  Rhydan’s thin grin returned, edged this time. “ And fear.”

  Valerion straightened, all amusement gone. “They have overplayed their hand. Whatever circle hides behind this—Cursed Bounty—fears what stands in this hall.”

  Rhydan, chuckled and said,

  "As they should, one of their own was already brought low by children. They should fear the wrath of the parents."

  Valerion pushed himself up from the throne and let the weight of his voice drop carry into the hall. “Then let us show them it is indeed wise to fear us.”

  He looked to Morgan, then to Rhydan. “I will draft a treaty between Valenfor, the Hallows, and Altheryon. We will convene at the Hallows and sign it.”

  Morgan raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth betraying her. “Oh, we will?”

  “You’re closer to Altheryon than I am,” Valerion said, almost light. “I wouldn’t ask a lady to travel so far twice.”

  Morgan’s smile warmed and darkened at once. She could teleport anywhere she needed to be. This man knew that, “Just say you want an excuse to see the Hallows.”

  Valerion chuckled, the sound honest despite himself. “I want an excuse to see the Hallows.”

  Rhydan’s laughter rolled through the rafters. “Then it’s settled. I’ll sleep, and at first light, I return to the desert. Send word when your ink dries.”

  “You’ll have it,” Valerion said.

  The court began to unspool. Nobles made for doors in rustling lines; priests gathered in soft, urgent clusters; messengers slipped away. Rhydan’s sons disappeared into the wake of their father’s easy stride.

  Morgan stayed by the dais. Valerion leaned down, and the two of them spoke in tones that were not only intimate but sang of an ease usually reserved for those who had known each other for years.

  Across the hall, Selene stood within a small gravity of her own. Lucen, Isolde, Lyssara, and Eryndor were standing near her. Cassian, hands were restless at his sides, a grin fighting a losing battle against worry. Aelun leaned against a pillar next to them. Prince Alaric and Princess Seraphine hovered close enough to listen in on the drama that was bound to brew. Seraphine specifically had not had her fill of what happened in the square.

  Darius kept to the marble’s shadow. He had chosen the distance, but it didn’t feel like a choice anymore. The city’s square was still under his skin. The words he said, but didn't mean, but convinced himself that he did. No, he had to believe it; otherwise, it felt like a spit in the face of Garran. But something deep within him urged him to move forward.

  He moved before he changed his mind. The small circle surrounding Selene quieted and turned as one when he arrived. He saw the way Lucen’s mouth thinned; the way Isolde’s hand tightened on her sleeve; the way Cassian’s shoulders squared.

  "What do you want?" Lucen asked as he took a step forward.

  "Not you," Darius said as he ignored him and focused his attention on Selene.

  “Selene,” Darius said. “Can we talk?”

  Her gaze cut to him. Tired. Too sharp for anyone’s safety, especially her own. “What could you possibly have to say that hasn’t already been said?”

  Something splintered in his control. “Can you—” He caught the word and forced it down, tried again. “Can you, for once, not make this difficult? Please?”

  The last word hit harder than he meant it to. Around them, the circle all looked towards Selene. Selene’s frown deepened. For a moment, Darius thought she would say something cruel enough to break any resolve he had left to try and work things out with this woman. Instead, Selene turned and walked.

  Lucen reached for her hand. She jerked free without looking at him.

  The doors at the far end of the hall opened as the guards made way for her. Selene crossed the threshold, paused beneath the lintel, and looked back.

  “Well?” she called, her voice carrying far too cleanly in the emptied space. “Are you coming or not, Inquisitor?”

  Darius didn’t look at anybody. None of them nor their stares matter. Before this moment, he didn't believe hers mattered either. But the voice of her voice calling out to him made something in his chest leap. Everyone could see the added pep in his step as he chased after her. Even he could feel it, though by the gods he would never admit it.