LOGINLyra did not notice the first time she was watched. She moved through the fortress with the quiet confidence of someone who belonged there, her steps measured, her expression carefully neutral. If anything, she appeared softer now less sharp around the edges, more subdued exactly as grief was expected to shape a woman who had lost a child and nearly lost another.That was why he chose her then.Councillor Maelor stood near the outer curve of the council chamber, hands folded behind his back, posture relaxed enough to look harmless. He had served the court for decades, long enough that his presence had become part of the stone itself unquestioned, unquestioned, unremarkable. His eyes, however, were anything but idle as Lyra passed through the archway.She did not look at him. She never did.That, more than anything else, drew his attention.Maelor had made a career of noticing what others overlooked. Patterns. Si
Lyra returned to her chambers with pity all over her that she did not feel. The door closed softly behind her, sealing in the quiet and the weight of what she had just done. For a moment, she leaned her forehead against the wood, breathing through the sharp pulse beneath her ribs, then straightened as she turned and saw Vera stirred in her cradle.The baby made a small sound one that was stronger than before, impatient rather than weak, that alone showed that she was getting bigger. Lyra crossed the room immediately, every ache forgotten as she lifted Vera into her arms. Her daughter rooted without fuss this time, latching easily, greedily, as though hunger were no longer a threat but a certainty she trusted would be answered.Lyra watched her closely this time with her heart beating hard. Vera’s cheeks were fuller now, her color were warmer, her cries sharper when she pulled away to breathe. Strength was
Aziel did not expect Lyra to come to him, I mean, she was still angry with him and with the rumors he was hearing, he never expected to be talking so quick. . He was just standing by the tall windows of the council wing, with his hands braced against stone, when the guard announced her presence with visible hesitation. For a brief moment, Aziel thought he had imagined it another cruel trick of hope rising where it had no right to exist, cause it looked impossible. Then he turned, and she was there, framed by torchlight and shadow, composed and unreadable.She looked thinner. Paler. There was a stillness to her that felt deliberate rather than fragile, as if every movement had been measured and approved before execution. Aziel straightened instinctively, his body reacting before his mind caught up. Whatever words he had prepared for a confrontation scattered the moment her eyes met his.“I won’t stay long,” Lyra s
The corridors beyond Tarian’s study did not sleep, even as night pressed its weight against the fortress walls. He could hear voices everywhere. Suspicion had found its footing, and once it did, it rarely stayed quiet for long. The threads Lyra had pulled were beginning to vibrate. Everyone could see that she was up to something. Aziel walked the inner passage alone, his steps echoing softly as he moved without escort. He had left the training grounds later than usual, sweat still cooling against his skin, his mind fixed on nothing and everything all at once. Isolation had become a habit, a shield against questions he did not yet have answers for. He did not expect the voices ahead to sharpen his awareness so suddenly.“…I’m telling you, it’s not normal.”Aziel walked a bit and then stopped just short of the archway that opened into the council antechamber. He could hear his elders and maid, they
Lyra left her chambers as the fortress settled into an uneasy quiet, the kind that came not from peace but from watchfulness. The corridors at that time were dim, the only light that could be seen was a spaced torches that flickered like nervous eyes along the stone. She moved out of her chambers carefully. Her steps were measured, careful, as she tiptoped out of the room. In truth, every turn she took had been chosen long before the night fell.She paused when she got to a point in the corridor that branched away from the main hall, a place that was rarely used except during patrol rotations. A single guard stood there, posture relaxed in the way of someone counting down the minutes until relief. Lyra slowed as she approached him, her expression composed, her voice soft enough to sound incidental. Nothing about her suggested urgency, and that was the point.“Forgive me,” she said quietly, as though hesitan
Morning came without gentleness. Light crept through the narrow window in thin, pale lines, touching the stone floor and climbing the walls as if testing whether it was welcome. Lyra woke up very early , she sat up right with Vera cradled firmly against her chest, her heart was heavy and her mind was sharp as bitterness was written all over her. The night had not softened her resolve; it had only sharpened it into something colder and more deliberate.She rose up slowly as she dropped Vera's head on the pillow, she did that carefully so as not to wake her up. Her body protested in smal treacherous ways, a tightening in her chest, a dull throb behind her eyes, a weakness in her limbs that felt new and unwelcome. Lyra ignored it all with practiced ease. Pain was an old companion, and weakness, she told herself, was a lie the body told when the will pressed too hard.Elira was already standing outside the room whe







