The throne room exploded with information. Dozens of heartbeats, each one a distinct rhythm, but all of them rushing for some reason or another. And three that stood apart from the rest; elevated in position, slower than everyone else, radiating the particular confidence of people who expected to rule.
The pretenders.
They weren't just politicians. Through the lens of the Blood-Sense, they looked like bonfires in a dark forest. Their Gom; old tongue for their power. Distorted the air around them.
"People of Zetun."
The voice rang out clear and perfect, without a single moment of hesitation.
High Priestess Ysolde stood on the raised dais at the far end of the chamber. Her robes were white and gold, so pristine they seemed to glow in the light streaming through the high windows. Her hair was platinum, pulled back from a face that was beautiful the way statues are beautiful; perfect proportions, perfect symmetry, and absolutely no warmth. Her eyes glowed faintly golden. And as I watched her speak, I realized she wasn't blinking. It felt like watching a statue of an angel mixed with an actual angel emerging right before mortals like us.
"That's divine possession," Malgrin whispered. "Advanced stage. More god than person in there now. So keep it in your pants, Yozi."
"The empire suffers," Ysolde continued. "Not just from war, not just from famine, but especially from corruption. From the moral decay that has been allowed to spread through every level of our society like decomposition of a Lion’s carcass."
Murmurs of agreement from the crowd.
"The First Emperor understood sacrifice. He gave his blood to seal the darkness. And what have we done with his gift?"
Her golden eyes swept across the room. Never blinking. Never wavering.
"We have grown complacent. Greed has become our engine, when kindness can take you just as far. We have forgotten that power requires purity."
"I don't trust her," Nyssara whispered.
"Because she doesn't blink?"
"Yes, she doesn't blink. Also, look at her shadow."
I haven't noticed up untul now. The shadow pooling at Ysolde's feet was darker than it should have been. Too solid. Too present.
"Divine corruption, Yozi," Malgrin said. "She's hollowing herself out to make room for something else. The only thing human left in there is the fleshy exterior."
A second voice cut through the chamber, smooth as silk.
"Beautiful words, Ysolde. Though I wonder; does purification truly require such severity?"
Damian Carthros stepped forward, and I immediately understood why he was considered the favorite. He moved like he was doing everyone a favor just by existing. Black robes with silver embroidery. Dark hair artfully disheveled. Silver eyes that held the kind of charm that made people trust him against their better judgment.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
My Blood-Sense showed me something impossible. Two heartbeats in his chest. One human. One other.
"Oh shoot," Malgrin whispered. "That's a high-tier demon. Way above my pay grade."
"The empire needs stability," Damian said. "Unity. Not radical upheaval."
"And what would you offer instead?"
"Continuity. Strength. A return to glory without the pain."
The applause was louder than it had been for Ysolde.
"He's good," Malgrin admitted.
A third voice. Hard as iron.
"Pretty words from both of you."
Duchess Marella stepped forward. Armor rather than robes. Grey-streaked hair cut short for efficiency. Scars visible even from across the room.
"Words don't stop rebellions."
"And swords do?" Damian asked.
"Swords do what needs doing."
"How refreshingly brutal."
"Better brutal than possessed."
Silence. The crowd stirred uncomfortably.
Ysolde stepped between them before the tension could escalate further. "Peace. We are all servants of the empire. Tomorrow, the gods will choose."
Her golden eyes found Marella. Then Damian. Then swept across the room in a way that made me want to shrink back from the vent.
"May the worthiest of us three prevail."
The way she said "worthiest" made my skin crawl.
Movement near the edge of the throne room caught my attention. A woman in commander's armor had separated from the crowd and was walking toward a side corridor with purpose in her stride. Pale hair pulled back in a severe braid. The insignia of the palace guard on her shoulder.
Beside me, Nyssara went completely still.
"What is it?"
No answer. Her hand had found her sword hilt, gripping so hard her knuckles had gone white.
"Nyssara."
"That's Selyse." The name came out like it hurt her to say it. "Commander Selyse. She runs palace security."
I looked back through the vent. The woman had stopped in the corridor, and now I could see what had drawn her attention; a young servant, barely more than a boy, cowering against the wall while two guards held him in place.
"Please," the boy was saying. "I didn't do anything. I was just carrying linens. I don't know anything about any conspiracy."
Selyse studied him the way a butcher studies a cut of meat. "You were seen speaking with a known associate of the Grey Hand three days ago."
"I don't even know what that is!"
"The accusation has been made." Her voice was calm. Almost gentle. "Accusations never come from nowhere."
"But I'm innocent! Let me live!"
"Innocence is determined by investigation. Not by protest." She turned to the guards. "Take him to the lower cells. Standard questioning protocols."
The boy started crying. Begging. The guards dragged him away and his voice echoed off the stone walls until it faded into nothing. Selyse watched him go with no expression on her face. Then she straightened her uniform, adjusted her braid, and walked back toward the throne room as though nothing had happened. I turned to look at Nyssara. Her face was pale. Her jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscles jumping beneath her skin.
"Standard questioning protocols," she whispered. "Do you know what that means?"
"Let me take a guess."
"That boy will confess to whatever they want him to confess. And then he'll disappear. Because the accusation was enough." Her voice cracked on the last word. "Because that's how she operates. That's what she believes. Suspicion equals guilt. Mercy equals weakness. The process exists to confirm what she's already decided, not to find the truth."
"You know her well, right."
Nyssara's eyes were fixed on the spot where Selyse had stood. "We were... close. Once. Before she became this."
There was more to that story. Much more. But this wasn't the time or place to ask.
Performance Rating: ???? (4/5) Malgrin's Note: "Three potential tyrants. The Zealot (Ysolde) is hollowed out by light. The General (Marella) is exceedingly violent. But the Pretty Boy (Damian)? He has two heartbeats. One of them sounds... familiar. I like him. He's hiding the best secrets."
ANTAGONIST PROFILES:
-
High Priestess Ysolde: Status: Possessed. (Threat: Extreme).
-
Duchess Marella: Status: Armed. (Threat: Physical).
-
Damian Carthros: Status: Dual-Nature. (Threat: Demonic).
-
Commander Selyse: Status: Nyssara will take care of that.
TACTICAL INSIGHT:
-
Objective Identified: The Brass Seal (Carried by Lord Valric Thenn).
-
Strategy: Theft during Coronation Chaos.
CORRUPTION: ██████???? (17%) - Blood-Sense active. Watching the monsters requires becoming one.