Chapter Eight · Before Third Bell

First Bell had not yet rung.

The Turquias Chamber had not yet taken on its familiar blue.

A thin early light barely touched the stone before fading.

The Queen opened her eyes.

No sounds. No dreams.

She sat up. Her throat was dry.

The crystal cup on the bedside table was almost invisible in the in-between light. She lifted it.

A faint vibration, like a plucked string far away, passed through her fingertips.

The cup slipped.

Water burst into the air.

A sharp crack split the room.

Crystal shattered.

The Queen did not bend down. She listened.

Not to the breaking, but to the emptiness that followed.

The candle on the table trembled lightly, though the window remained closed. She sensed something before she understood what it was.

She walked to the window and drew back the curtain. Just then, a small point of light flared from the Moontis Chamber in the opposite tower.

Just one lamp.

On the floor, the shards caught the dawn wrong.

Her hand tightened on the curtain.

“Call Obewich.”

Her voice cut through the room.

In the Moontis Chamber, Lyra had been awake for some time. She sat on the bed, still wearing her clothes from last night.

This was the seventh day.

Her chest tightened. Each beat landed heavy.

Voxath lay in her palm.

Still. Cold.

She turned it between her fingers.

Third Bell. They’ll kill Ravok.

One beat too late, it’ll be over.

But... she wouldn’t let that happen.

She stepped to the window, keeping close to the curtain, and looked down at the arena.

The Royal Mages hadn’t arrived yet.

Then she turned back inside and drew in a deep breath.

If I fail?

I’ll regret this reckless decision for the rest of my life.

If I succeed...

Will Father...

She paced once, then went back to the window.

Will Father punish me?

She closed her eyes and shook her head faintly.

He won’t find out. Don’t worry.

Voxath seemed colder. Or was it only her hand trembling?

She tightened her grip around it.

Outside, the guards changed shifts.

Lyra peeked out, then drew back.

Second Bell will ring next.

They’ll come with a lot of soldiers. Ravok won’t have any way out.

Voxath flickered. She stared at it.

You’re with me on this?

The image of a mouth sewn shut to the edge of the jaw flashed in her mind.

Black thread pulled tight across flesh.

The arena.

The stone steps, once soaked in blood.

The dungeon.

Silence, forced into law.

Her heart missed a beat.

Aethrador.

Justice.

Did it truly exist?

Or was it only a word, dressed for show?

While Lyra was still caught in those thoughts, Syveris and the Mages passed through the Inner Court gate in the distance. They would reach the arena soon.

Voxath vibrated, growing stronger.

No time to hesitate.

Now.

Lyra took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

She let the rest fall away.

Lake Lyrenthis began to take shape in her mind, still and deep.

Then she lifted Voxath to her lips.

Blew a long breath.

Outside, no one heard a thing.

But in the Turquias Chamber, the Queen went still.

A thin, bright note pierced through her, every bone in her body trembling.

The color left her face.

She knew this sound.

“Lyra…”

In the Ashen Dungeon, Ravok closed his eyes, waiting for death.

The roasted meat remained untouched. He did not look at it.

His breathing slowed, as if he had nothing left to hold on to.

Then...

A clear note pierced the dark.

Memory stirred.

A sky red with fire.

The battles of the fae clans.

A sound that had once echoed between thunder and blood.

His eyes opened slightly.

The black strands across his mouth began to dissolve.

He sprang up.

“Princess.”

His voice was alive.

Muscles coiled.

Red vapor surged from his throat, hot and violent. Power rushed through him.

He pulled against the rust-eaten chains. They hissed, then crumbled to dust.

Ravok lunged forward. The dungeon’s iron gate cracked beneath the force, then gave way.

Stone shook violently underfoot.

Soldiers broke and ran.

Ravok burst out into the open. His wings struck the air once. Wind knocked the guards down.

A roar tore the sky open. Ravok flew away.

This time, everyone heard it.

The courtyard around the arena buckled beneath the force. Panic ignited.

Syveris and the Mages witnessed it all from a distance. They quickly made their way toward the arena.

Upon reaching the arena, Syveris cast a brief glance toward the Moontis Chamber, then arranged his features into a tense expression.

He threw back his cloak. His voice cut through the chaos.

“Seal the arena! Summon the formation!”

Immediately, the Mages raised rune-etched barriers of light around the arena. Soldiers leveled their spears.

A young mage bowed, his face pale.

“Chancellor—”

Syveris cut him off, then raised his voice.

“The beast has escaped. Reinforce protection of the Royal Palace.”

The young mage bowed and ran at once to carry the message.

Syveris remained where he stood.

He did not watch Ravok’s shadow shrink against the sky. His gaze shifted toward the Throne Hall.

A beast had escaped.

A princess had acted without sanction.

Sonareth magic had freed a condemned beast.

The court would want a culprit.

He would give them one.