THE PRIEST AND THE PUPPET MASTER

Elara Vance

The library was bathed in the flickering amber of a hundred candles. The scent of lilies was replaced by a sharp, acidic incense that made my skin crawl. Sitting in my father’s high-backed chair, the seat of the Vance lineage, was a man draped in the crimson robes of the High Priest of the Sun.

He didn't look up as we entered. He was slowly turning the pages of the Thorne Chronology. My heart plummeted. The decoy. I had given the fake to Caspian, but this man held a book that looked disturbingly similar to the iron-bound one I had hidden in my bodice.

"Lord Vance," the Priest said, his voice like dry parchment rubbing together. "You seem to have lost your voice. A pity. Silence is usually the refuge of the guilty."

My father stood trembling, his hands clawing at his throat, unable to utter a sound.

"High Priest Malachi," Kaelen growled, stepping forward. His shadow-mantle surged, darkening the corners of the room. "You are far from the Capital. Does the King know you’re playing librarian in a dead woman's house?"

"The 'dead woman' is standing right there, Your Grace," Malachi said, finally looking up. His eyes were milky white, he was blind, yet he looked directly at the mark behind my ear. "Though she smells more of the Shop than the living. Tell me, Lady Elara, how much of your soul is left? Is there enough for a wedding, or are you just a hollow vessel for the Archivist's errands?"

I focused my "Sight." The room transformed. From Malachi’s chest, thousands of thin, golden threads radiated outward like a web, connecting to every corner of the estate. He wasn't just a priest; he was a Station, a living hub for the debts of the South.

And then I saw it. One of his threads didn't go to the King or the Church. It went straight to my father’s heart.

“Ting.”

The Archivist appeared, sitting on the desk next to Malachi, mimicking the Priest’s blind stare.

“Task Twenty: The High Priest is ‘Listening.’ He cannot see you, but he can hear the rhythm of your heartbeat to detect lies. To survive this interrogation, you must synchronize your pulse with Kaelen’s. If your hearts beat as one, Malachi will only hear the shadow, and the shadow cannot lie.”

I reached out and grabbed Kaelen’s hand. His skin was burning. I closed my eyes, trying to find the heavy, rhythmic thrum of his heart. It was difficult, his pulse was a war drum, mine was a frantic bird.

"You speak of souls, Malachi," I said, forcing my breathing to slow, matching the rise and fall of Kaelen’s chest. "But you’re the one holding a stolen book. That is Northern property."

"This?" Malachi held up the book. "This is a record of a debt unpaid. Your father promised the Church a 'Sacrifice of the Firstborn' in exchange for the grain monopoly twenty years ago. You were never meant to be a Duchess, Elara. You were meant to be the Church’s tithe."

I felt it, a sudden, deep thud in my chest that didn't belong to me. My heart slowed, falling into the deep, echoing rhythm of Kaelen’s. Our pulses locked. In that moment, the room felt colder, and the "Sight" intensified.

"The tithe was cancelled when you let Caspian poison me," I said, my voice resonating with a strange, double-toned depth. It wasn't just my voice; it was the shadow’s. "The debt was settled in blood. My blood. I owe you nothing."

Malachi tilted his head, his brow furrowing. "Strange. I hear only one heart. A cold, monstrous heart. Where is the girl?"

"She is the heart," Kaelen said, stepping closer to the desk. "And the heart is mine."

Malachi slammed the book shut. "The King will not see it that way. He is already on his way to the border. He expects to find a grieving father and a traitorous Duke. Instead, he will find a silent Lord and a girl who speaks with the voice of a demon."

The library doors burst open. It wasn't a guard. It was Isolde, her face streaked with soot and rain.

"Your Grace! My Lady!" she panted. "The Northern gate of the estate... it’s been breached. But not by the King."

"Caspian?" Kaelen asked, his sword half-drawn.

"No," Isolde said, her eyes wide with terror. "It’s Lady Lyra. She didn't come alone. She brought the Grey-Walkers from the Shop. She’s claiming the 'Right of the Second Choice.' She’s here to take the Duke and she’s brought the Archivist’s personal bailiffs to collect him."

Malachi let out a chilling laugh. "It seems your sister has a better contract than you do, Elara. The Archivist has found a new favorite."

I looked at the Archivist on the desk. He wasn't looking at me anymore. He was looking at the door, a hungry, expectant grin on his face.