Marco Graves prided himself on making the right decisions when faced with uncertainty. When Archon Aldertree vanished into the Empire, he did what any self-respecting man would do.

  He seized power.

  But when she returned—dragging a dangerous Terran along for the ride—everything snapped back to the way it was with surgical precision. Not that he minded much. Running Sylvarus had been a far bigger headache than he'd ever imagined, especially with Dara looming over every decision like an overzealous Oathbound, scrutinizing his every inquiry with unmatched suspicion.

  Marco was still just a Master Runebinder. The mysteries of Grand Mastery and Archonship continued to elude him like smoke through his fingers, and it didn't help that the Tower spirit treated him like a petulant child. Dara guarded Sylvarus's treasures with jealous intensity, doling them out only through grueling trials. Even then, she made it feel like he was cheating the system.

  Now he stood outside Diana Aldertree's personal chambers, seething with barely contained frustration. His son Dorian claimed she'd dressed him down publicly, torn into him on the trial grounds, and rigged the rules in favor of her apprentice. As Head Instructor, Marco knew it fell to him to confront her.

  Even if every instinct told him to run.

  He sighed heavily. Truth was, he'd been avoiding Diana ever since her return. Between her berating him for repainting the head office and swinging her political weight around like some Sunspire Noble, keeping his distance had felt like the smart move. But now? Now he had no choice.

  "Oh, just fucking come in, Marco. Stop brooding out there like a lovesick teenager."

  Diana's voice cut through the door, sharp and annoyed. Of course, she knew he was there. He'd been standing around for several minutes, lost in thought and self-doubt. Either she'd been watching the door or Dara had tipped her off.

  Probably both.

  Pushing the door open, Marco entered Diana's chambers at the apex of Sylvarus. The circular room boasted a domed ceiling that revealed the massive set of concentric rings rotating around one another like a gyroscope suspended impossibly above the already immense tower.

  The Arcadian Mana Lens.

  Marco stared up at the rings, their constant motion mesmerizing and slightly nauseating. It never got easier to witness them. Made of some unknown metal with a purpose barely understood—allegedly even by Dara, though Marco doubted that was true. The Tower spirit had to know more than she let on.

  He was fairly certain the Lens was more than a weapon. More likely, it interacted with mana in ways that defied conventional understanding. During his time running the school, he'd tried to activate it with absolutely no success. The damn thing had ignored him completely.

  "You're awfully deep in thought tonight," Diana's voice drifted from behind her bronze-colored wooden desk, carved from a shed branch of the Aldertree in the Greatwood. The desk alone was probably worth more than Marco's entire family estate.

  She always insisted on wearing those gaudy dresses, and tonight was no different—flowing white silk draped lazily over her shoulders, her platinum hair completely down, spilling over the desk. She was hunched over several books and scattered missives, all bearing Seals from various factions across Ark.

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  Marco steeled himself. Time to get this over with.

  "I heard you verbally assaulted my son earlier today," he said, hesitating only a moment. "And shifted the rules of the trial grounds to favor your apprentice. You, of all people, should know better than to humiliate him in front of his peers."

  Diana looked up with uncomfortable intensity—and he felt her immense aura press down on him. He almost dropped to his knees.

  "Your son was being a little shit and stepped far beyond his station," she said with brutal honesty. "He's lucky I didn't throw him out of the Trial Grounds permanently for his tone. As for shifting the rules, I hardly think asking Cassandra Winters if she'd cede her turn to her friend qualifies as corruption."

  "Ah." Marco sighed, some of his indignation deflating. "When Dorian arrives for the tournament, I'll handle this properly."

  "You parent your son however you wish, Marco. But he's building a reputation that reflects poorly on us both."

  Marco narrowed his eyes. He'd dealt with Diana for over a decade before she disappeared, and he recognized that shifting tone. Something else was coming.

  "Grand Mistress, why am I really here?" he asked carefully.

  Diana's smirk was sharp as a blade. "You've been my Head Instructor for years now, Marco."

  Something twisted in his stomach. With that tone, she was about to get serious. Had something happened? Something he'd missed?

  "So you'll forgive me for being slightly pissed off that you've been informing Maris Valerian of my movements over the last week."

  Marco recoiled as if she'd slapped him, his mouth falling open. "Archon—Grand Mistress, I would never betray your trust like that. Dara can confirm—I haven't sent a missive anywhere but to La-Roc for standard reports."

  Diana's unrelenting aura faded, her gaze turning razor sharp.

  "Shit." She turned to the paperwork spread across her desk like battle plans. "We've... I've been outmaneuvered somehow."

  She threw several envelopes onto the front of the desk, and Marco stepped closer to inspect them. They bore the Graves family Seal and looked almost identical to his handwriting—almost, but not quite.

  "Look here." Marco pointed to two particular letters, his voice tight with controlled anger. "It's close, but my stylus leaks ink on the left side. When I write them, the letters are thicker than normal. I considered replacing it months ago, but kept it specifically to prove forgeries."

  Diana stared at the papers before leaning back in her chair, running a hand through her hair with obvious frustration.

  "Something fucking massive is happening, Marco. If Maris has an unknown ally in Sylvarus, who knows what fresh hell's about to break loose. I need to contact Grace, but she's already en route."

  Marco nodded grimly. "I can prepare a Circinae to fly along her planned path with a message. The Oathbound ships are incredibly fast, but—"

  "Those birds are too damn slow to return with a reply," Diana interrupted, shaking her head. "It'll have to be Stanley. Do me a favor—keep an eye on Ben and his friends tomorrow. He doesn't officially have a third team member, but I have a feeling that won't be the case for long."

  She paused, her expression becoming more serious. "And as far as Ben knows, you're still informing Maris, so keep up an air of mystery. We don't want whoever's working against us to think we've figured this out."

  Diana hesitated, then added more quietly, "I'm... sorry for thinking it was you."

  Marco nodded solemnly. "The Graves family is no stranger to subterfuge, Grand Mistress. It was an excellent forgery—whoever did this knows my writing intimately."

  "There's a lot more at stake here than just Ben," Diana said, her voice carrying an edge of something that might have been fear. "Maris hasn't exactly been cooperative for a long time. This tournament could be the excuse she's been waiting for."

  Marco considered her words before speaking, a new worry forming in his mind. "Now that I think about it, something strange occurs to me. It's not what's been sent—it's what hasn't."

  Diana's eyes narrowed, her gaze shifting from the forged documents back to Marco. "Go on."

  "I haven't received a single letter or registration intent from Alexander and the Guardians. Not even a courtesy notice."

  Diana's face went pale. "That can't be a good sign."

  Or it could be the worst possible sign.

  The silence stretched between them, filled with the soft sound of the Arcadian Lens rotating overhead, as both realized that the Grand Tournament might be far more dangerous than they had expected.