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  Chapter 15: Silence in the Court

  Serene Liri approached with barefoot grace, her pale blue robes rippling like waves behind her. Her silver hair was braided with river stones, and a pendant shaped like a droplet of glass rested over her heart. Where Kareth had commanded, she soothed. Where he had cut, she flowed.

  When she reached the center of the dais, she bowed deeply to Vael, then turned with a serene smile to address the gathered Court.

  “We are vessels of the people. To serve as Cardinal is not to wield power; it is to carry it gently, like water in cupped hands. To listen when others shout. To adapt when others break.

  I am Serene Liri of the Water faction. I was born to the River Wards, raised among floods and famine, peace and restoration. For thirty years I have tended to healing halls and village disputes alike. I have seen what happens when leaders forget that the quietest voice is often the one in most need.

  Water remembers. Water endures. It moves around stone and beneath fire, shaping the world with patience and persistence.

  If chosen, I will bring not only wisdom, but empathy. I will speak not only for the strong, but for the forgotten. I will serve not only with insight, but with compassion.

  Let the Court reflect the full strength of our people; not only in fire and iron, but in stillness, in resilience, in grace.”

  She gave another slow, deliberate bow, her eyes calm as a lake at dawn, then stepped silently back to the Water faction’s place in the chamber.

  And from Fire, of course, stood Durnan Eberflame. Broad-shouldered, his beard streaked with embers, his presence a furnace of pride. Father to Ruwan. Loyal to flame. A man whispered to have once turned the tide of a factional riot with a single, roaring speech.

  He stepped forward, firelight flickering across the red lacquer of his breastplate, and gave a nod; not low, but respectful; to Princess Vael.

  “My name is Durnan Eberflame. I speak for Fire. I speak for fervor. We are a people forged in tradition, but tradition must be stoked or it dies to ash. The Court needs strength; not just of arm, but of conviction. In my youth, I quelled unrest with words sharper than blades. In my prime, I defended our lands when steel alone could not. And now, I offer that same fire to the Court, not for vanity, but for necessity.

  Other factions will speak of harmony, of humility, of patience. But fire does not wait. It leaps. It drives. It cleanses. Our people cannot survive on stillness. Not now. Not when the world grows colder.”

  He turned slowly to the assembly, voice rising like a flame catching dry kindling.

  “If you wish a Cardinal to nod and whisper, look elsewhere. If you wish a Cardinal who will speak, who will act, who will burn for the good of the tribe; then choose me.”

  Then, to Vael once more, his voice dipped into something quieter; but no less fierce. “You sit on your father’s throne. Let the flame at your back be worthy of it.” With a slow pivot, Durnan returned to his place, and the silence he left behind crackled with tension.

  The chamber held its breath. Durnan’s words still hung in the air like smoke; thick, acrid, and impossible to ignore.

  Vael did not move. She kept her spine straight, her hands resting lightly on the carved arms of her father’s throne. But inside, her thoughts stirred like wind through dry leaves. “If you wish a Cardinal who will burn for the good of the tribe…”

  She stared past Durnan’s retreating form, past the golden banners of the Fire faction, past the rigid lines of elders and robed Cardinals. Her gaze caught the flicker of torchlight on metal, the shifting shadows along the stone walls, and the towering figures of the Eryshae statues behind her; silent guardians watching all.

  Was that what they needed? Fire? Boldness? The kind of unrelenting certainty that scorched as often as it saved? Her heart beat slower now, heavier. Each word from the candidates had carved their mark across her chest, but Durnan's dug deepest; not because she agreed, but because she almost did.

  She remembered the riot he'd quelled. She had been younger then; barely into her second decade; but she'd seen it in his eyes that day: the raw fury contained only by purpose.

  Her father had called it "controlled destruction." Her mother had not trusted it at all.

  And there it was; that flicker of memory, her mother’s voice like a leaf on the wind: “Never mistake power for wisdom, little root. Fire dances beautifully… until it forgets where the forest begins.

  Elder Bryndel Thornhollow stepped forward with the quiet assurance of deep roots, his moss-colored robes trailing vines that seemed to breathe with him. He bowed low to Vael, seated in her father’s throne, then turned to address the gathered Court.

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  “Honored Princess Vael. Esteemed members of the Court. My kin of Earth, Fire, Metal, Water, and Wood.

  For decades I have served the land and our people; as a healer, as a diplomat, and most importantly, as a listener. In my time, I have found that the truest wisdom often comes not from those born within our walls, but from those who have walked beyond them, and returned bearing lessons we have yet to learn.

  Change is a whisper in the canopy before the storm breaks. We must choose not who comforts us with familiarity, but who challenges us to grow; like saplings reaching toward sun yet unseen.

  And so, I rise today not to put forward my own name, but to nominate one I believe our Court needs:

  Sam Faeloc, the Outsider.

  He who came from beyond our roots.

  Bryndel paused, turning briefly to Vael; his gaze warm, firm, and respectful. “I believe, as your father believed, that sometimes the strongest branch is the one that grew apart, and bent its way home. Let the Wood choose with wisdom. Let us grow forward.”

  With that, he stepped back in solemn grace, vines on his sleeves coiling softly around his wrists as if to ground him.

  Vael blinked. Shocked speechless that Sam was nominated, by the Wood Faction no less.

  She turned her gaze subtly across the Court; at Kareth Voln’s cold conviction, Moraen Stoneback’s resolute patience, Serene Liri’s hopeful pragmatism, and Bryndel’s unexpected choice.

  Sam Faeloc the… Outsider. Not present. Not permitted, perhaps. And yet; his absence weighed more than many presences in the room.

  A name whispered into the hollow where tradition usually lived.

  Was it boldness or recklessness that prompted Bryndel’s nod in her direction? And why did it make her feel like something had shifted beneath her feet? Vael exhaled slowly. The room had not yet moved. But her mind already had.

  The silence shattered like glass.

  Voices rose in a sudden clamor; first a gasp, then a barrage of disbelief, like rain pelting stone.

  “An Outsider?” someone hissed from the Water delegation.

  “Unthinkable,” spat a Metal Cardinal, his fists clenched against the arm of his chair.

  “The laws; ”

  “; tradition forbids; ”

  “Is this a joke?”

  The chamber trembled with outrage, murmurs building into a wall of sound. The great stone rafters of the temple caught every voice and threw them back tenfold, echoing through the sacred space like thunder.

  Several of the Cardinals stood; some in fury, others in confusion. The delegation from Earth glanced toward the Wood faction, brows furrowed in silent judgment. Fire, predictably, burned with outrage; Durnan Eberflame’s eyes glinted, narrowed like coals pressed beneath a smith’s hammer.

  Bryndel, weathered and still, did not flinch. His hands remained folded in his lap. He’d said the name plainly, almost gently; Sam Faeloc; but it now hung in the air like a lit torch in a library.

  Vael’s heart thudded in her chest. Not at the reaction; she’d expected the Factions to respond this way regardless of who Wood nominated, but at the force of it. So much fear for one man’s name. Her man's name, even if he did not know it yet.

  Her gaze swept across the Court, landing briefly on each of the five factions. Every candidate now looked different; not just in poise or posture, but in contrast. Sam, absent and uninvited, had done nothing but be spoken of; and already, he had shaken the room. She felt it deep in her bones. The tides were changing.

  A thunderous crack echoed through the temple as an ancient staff struck the stone floor. The noise cut through the uproar like a blade through cloth.

  “Silence in the Court!”

  The voice was gravel and authority; aged but unshaken. Elder Maevor stepped forward, robes billowing like storm clouds around him, his silver-white hair braided with strips of bark and iron thread. His staff, gnarled and crowned with a shard of petrified wood, hovered in the air a moment longer before he planted it again with a resounding thud.

  “Have you all forgotten where you stand?” he growled, eyes sweeping the room. “This is not a tavern brawl nor a market row. This is the Court of the Eryshae. You are Cardinals.”

  Murmurs died like embers in snow. Even the most indignant among the factions sank back into their seats, chastened by the weight of his words. “Every nomination brought forth in this hall shall be heard; regardless of birth, blood, or bias. That is the law of the Court,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “So if the name spoken stings your pride, I suggest you temper yourselves; before the fire consumes more than your tempers.”

  He stepped back into his place, staff still gripped in his hand like a warning. The silence that followed was no longer stunned; but watchful.

  Vael rose slowly from her father’s throne, every movement deliberate, regal. Her cloak of deep pine-green spilled over the steps like moss over stone, her eyes steady as she looked out over the sea of gathered Cardinals, Elders, and representatives. The hush held. “When I thanked you all for your presence,” she began, her voice low but resonant, “I meant it as a gesture of unity. Not a formality.”

  She let that settle. Her gaze swept across the room; lingering, perhaps a heartbeat longer, on Durnan Eberflame; before continuing. “The Court is a sacred chamber. It endures because we listen, not just to voices we welcome, but to those that challenge us. Every faction has put forth their candidates in good faith. And now the Wood faction has exercised its right to do the same.”

  She stepped down a single stair, closer to the gathered Cardinals. “Whether the name spoken is to your taste or not is beside the point. The process is sacred. It will not be marred by fear, pride, or prejudice.” Her chin lifted. “We proceed. With respect. With resolve. And with the memory of who we are as people of the Eryshae.” There was no thunder in her words; but the silence afterward carried a weight even the most iron-hearted of Cardinals dared not challenge. She nodded at the black robed Elder to take over.

  Footsteps, soft but sure, approached from behind. She didn’t need to turn to know it was Kinan.

  He moved like mist over stone; silent, coiled. The scent of rain-damp leather and pine accompanied him. He stepped close, bowing his head just enough to speak near her ear without drawing attention from the remaining attendants and scribes tidying the chamber. “Princess,” he murmured, voice low and edged with urgency. “Sam Faeloc has been taken.”

  The words struck like a cold blade through her ribs. Vael did not flinch; but her breath did not leave her for a moment too long. “Taken?” she whispered back, eyes still on the empty floor below. “By whom?”

  “We don’t yet know,” Kinan said grimly. “But it was no common snatching. Whoever it was; they knew when to strike.” Her pulse ticked behind her temples. The nomination had barely fallen from Bryndel’s lips before chaos followed. And now, before dawn could even draw breath, Sam was gone.

  “Secure the temple grounds,” she said quietly. “No one leaves the inner city without being questioned, starting with Elder Thornhollow. Discreetly.” Kinan nodded and disappeared back into the shadows, as silent as he’d arrived. Vael sat motionless a moment longer, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed beneath her ceremonial regalia

  Two days, in two days, the vote would begin.

  Tonight, someone had declared war.