The council chamber was colder than the rest of the palace, the stone walls high and imposing. Iona’s banners were dropped over the far wall like a reminder of who really ruled Milana. And in the center of the room was a long, polished table, lit only by flickering lanterns and the pale gray light that filtered through narrow windows.

  Callista and the others stood at one end, facing Adela Rummi and Onesta Geurla, who sat in their respective seats of power— though neither seemed particularly comfortable in them.

  Adela, as always, looked sharp and unreadable, her red robes immaculate, her dark hair pulled into a precise braid. Onesta, older and heavier, wore the weariness of leadership openly, her ink-stained fingers tapping an absent rhythm against the armrest of her chair. Between them, an empty seat sat unclaimed.

  Evadne Sharmure stood just behind them, her presence quiet but unmistakable, her dark eyes flicking between the rulers as though already predicting their every move.

  Callista hated her.

  Julia stepped forward first, setting a carefully copied transcription of their findings onto the table. “We searched the archives.”

  Adela smirked. “So you can read. Congratulations.”

  Julia ignored her. “The records have been altered.”

  Onesta let out a long sigh, rubbing her temple. “Of course they have. It’s politics. What exactly is new about all of this?”

  Callista narrowed her eyes. “The fact that they didn’t just alter the past. They’ve been covering up what’s happening now.”

  That caught their attention.

  Adela leaned forward slightly. “Go on.”

  Julia glanced at Callista before continuing. “The Mirrorwood isn’t just some unnatural phenomenon. It’s being sustained. The souls trapped by the Curse keep it going, and someone is preventing their escape.”

  Onesta frowned. “Soul magic?”

  Brenna nodded grimly. “Specifically, Eldramoric magic. We don’t know how deep it runs yet, but if our research is right, the Curse isn’t just some lingering remnant of the Cleansing. It’s alive because someone is making sure it gets fed.”

  Silence.

  Adela sat back in her chair, eyes flickering with interest. “And let me guess. You have absolutely no idea who might be behind it?”

  Callista tensed, feeling Evadne’s gaze settle on her. She knew what the Soul Stealer was waiting for— her to say something, her to throw suspicion in a direction that Evadne could twist to her advantage.

  She refused.

  “We don’t know yet,” Julia said smoothly, her voice careful. “But we have enough evidence to prove that it wasn’t some act of the Saints. This was deliberate.”

  Onesta exhaled through her nose, folding her arms. “And what, exactly, do you expect us to do about it?”

  Melissa let out a frustrated groan. “Oh, I don’t know, help?”

  Adela chuckled. “Help who? You?”

  Callista clenched her fists. “Help Milana. Your own nation, fallen as it is, is dying and you’re treating this like a political game.”

  Adela’s smile didn’t waver. “Because it is a game. And the ones who forget are the ones who get killed first.”

  Onesta scoffed. “Oh, spare me your theatrics, Adela.”

  Adela turned sharply toward her. “Do you even understand what this means? If this is true, if someone really is sustaining the Curse, then they have power. More than you. More than me.”

  “Then we deal with them,” Onesta said flatly.

  Adela barked a laugh. “Oh, yes, let’s deal with them— as if you have any control over this city anymore.”

  Onesta’s expression darkened. “You’re one to talk. You only hold power because you terrify people into submission.”

  “And you hold power because you bore them to death,” Adela snapped.

  The argument spiraled fast.

  Julia tried to intervene. “This isn’t about—”

  “No, let them go,” Callista muttered, arms crossed. “Let’s see how long it takes for them to remember they’re supposed to be in charge.”

  Adela and Onesta were barely listening anymore.

  Onesta’s voice was sharp. “Do you even care what happens to the people who live here, or are you too busy playing queen of the ashes?”

  Adela’s eyes gleamed. “That’s rich, coming from a woman who hasn’t won a political battle in years.”

  The council chamber grew colder, and Callista knew, with sinking certainty, that their chances of getting anything useful from this conversation were slipping away.

  And then— a soft, almost pleasant voice cut through the tension like a knife through silk. “Perhaps,” Evadne said, her voice measured, smooth, carefully calculated, “it is unwise to make decisions in such a heated atmosphere.”

  The room went silent.

  Callista turned toward her slowly, watching as Evadne gave them all a placid smile. As if she had merely been observing, waiting.

  Adela’s lip curled. “You have something to add?”

  Evadne folded her hands. “Only that cooperation is difficult when there is so much distrust.” She tilted her head slightly. “If neither of you can be certain of the other’s intentions, how can you possibly move forward?”

  Callista felt her blood go cold. It was subtle— so subtle— but she saw it.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Evadne wasn’t trying to unite them. She was keeping them apart.

  Adela scoffed. “She has a point.”

  Onesta scowled. “So what? We do nothing? Just let this fester?”

  Evadne smiled softly. “Not nothing. But caution is wise. Perhaps we should seek further clarity before any rash decisions are made.”

  Callista’s hands curled into fists. She was so close. Evadne was so close to revealing what she really wanted.

  Julia, beside her, took a slow breath. She had seen it, too.

  Onesta exhaled heavily. “Fine. But we’re not ignoring this. If there really is someone behind the Curse, we need to find out who.”

  Adela smirked. “By all means. Enjoy your search.”

  The conversation was over.

  Callista clenched her jaw, watching as Evadne stepped back into the shadows of the room, her expression unreadable.

  She had won this round. But the game wasn’t over, yet.

  Julia had always been good at recognizing when someone was lying to her.

  It wasn’t just about words— it was in the pauses, the deliberate choice of phrasing, the way people weighed what they were saying before they said it. And Evadne Sharmure? She weighed everything.

  They left the council chamber with little more than a vague promise from Onesta and a smirk from Adela, and by the time they returned to the suite, Julia was pacing.

  “She knows too much,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

  Melissa, flopping onto one of the chairs, groaned. “Oh my God, obviously. We’ve been saying that from the start.”

  Julia shot her a sharp look. “No. I don’t just mean in general— I mean specifically about the Curse.”

  Brandon, still standing near the door, frowned. “She said she had contacts.”

  Julia shook her head. “No, it’s more than that. She isn’t just advising Adela and Onesta. She’s steering them. And did you notice how she never actually gave us any real answers? She lets us reach conclusions just close enough to the truth, but not all the way.”

  Callista, sitting by the fireplace, exhaled through her nose. “She plays the long game.”

  “Exactly,” Julia said, snapping her fingers. “She knew things about the Curse long before we came to her. Maybe even before she assumed her position.”

  Brandon crossed his arms. “So what’s the theory? She’s behind all of it?”

  “No,” Julia said slowly, “but I think she knows who is.”

  Silence settled over the room.

  It was an impossible thought but the more Julia turned it over in her head, the more it fit.

  Brenna rubbed her temples. “And yet, we’re still supposed to be working with her.”

  Callista’s expression darkened. “For now.”

  Annemarie sighed. “Great. So we’re just... pretending we don’t suspect anything?”

  Julia nodded. “Until we know more? Yes.”

  Melissa groaned. “I hate politics.”

  Brandon had no argument for that.

  That night, long after the others had retired to their rooms, Brandon found himself unable to sleep. Something about Evadne’s presence in Swynden unsettled him. She was too careful, too measured. Even when she smiled, it never quite felt real.

  And she had known his name.

  Without thinking, he found himself walking the corridors of the palace, moving without purpose— until he heard voices. He stilled immediately, pressing himself against the cold stone wall.

  The voices were coming from a side corridor, one of the older sections of the palace where few people walked this late at night. He recognized the first voice immediately— Evadne.

  But the second? Deep. Low. Smooth as velvet, but carrying something dangerous below the surface.

  Brandon’s stomach turned.

  Carefully, he moved closer, stopping just at the edge of the archway. He couldn’t see them, not fully, but in the dim torchlight, he could make out two shadowed figures standing near a column— one unmistakably Evadne, the other cloaked in darkness.

  He held his breath and listened.

  “Their presence here complicates things.” Evadne’s voice. Calm, composed.

  The second figure— male, taller than her— let out a slow exhale. “Let them dig. When the truth is unbearable, we will be waiting.”

  Brandon’s fingers curled into a fist.

  “Onesta’s paranoia grows— soon, she will turn to us.”

  A pause.

  Then Evadne spoke again— softer this time, but Brandon caught the words nonetheless. “It is almost time.”

  Something cold curled in his stomach.

  The second figure shifted slightly, just enough for Brandon to see the edge of his face— a sharp cheekbone, the glint of a pale eye in the darkness. Then, as if sensing he had an audience, the man turned his head ever so slightly.

  Brandon’s heart stopped. He didn’t know how, but in that instant, he was certain the man had seen him.

  He took a slow, careful step back. The conversation had ended. And by the time he gathered the nerve to move forward, the corridor was empty.

  One thing was certain— Evadne wasn’t acting alone. And whoever that man was? He was waiting for them to fail.

  The room was quiet, save for the slow crackling of the embers in the fireplace. Moonlight filtered through the heavy curtains, casting pale silver streaks across the floor. Annemarie lay curled beneath the blankets, her breathing slow and steady, her hair fanned out against the pillow in dark curls.

  Brandon slipped inside as quietly as he could, shutting the door with careful precision. He hesitated for only a moment before moving toward the bed, his muscles still tense from what he had just heard, what he had seen.

  The moment he slid beneath the covers, warmth enveloped him. Annemarie.

  Without thinking, he curled around her, pressing himself against the familiar curve of her back. His arm draped over her waist, and he breathed in deeply, letting the scent of her lull his pulse into something calmer.

  God, she smelled the same. She always had— something sweet, something warm, something that had intoxicated him for years.

  She stirred, shifting slightly against him. A soft, sleepy sigh escaped her lips as she pressed back into his embrace. “Mmm.”

  For a moment, he thought she had drifted off again.

  Then— “Where’d you go?”

  Her voice was drowsy, thick with sleep. She barely opened her eyes, but her fingers found his hand underneath the blankets, lacing with his.

  Brandon exhaled slowly. He should tell her tomorrow. Should let her sleep, should let himself rest.

  But he could never keep anything from her for long.

  “I heard something,” he murmured, his lips brushing the bare skin of her shoulder. “Evadne. She was meeting with someone.”

  That woke her up a little more. She shifted again, rolling onto her back just enough to see his face. “Who?”

  “I don’t know.” His grip on her tightened slightly. “Tall. Pale. I didn’t get a good look at him, but he knew I was there.”

  Annemarie frowned, blinking sleep from her eyes. “What were they talking about?:”

  Brandon’s jaw tensed. “Us.”

  That got her full attention.

  She sat up slightly, turning toward him, their fingers still intertwined beneath the blankets. “What do you mean?”

  Brandon’s mind replayed the conversation, each word etched into his skull. Let them dig. When the truth is unbearable, we will be waiting.

  He swallowed. “They’re watching us. And Onesta— Evadne thinks she’ll break soon. That she’ll turn to them.”

  Annemarie was silent for a long moment. Then, softly— “We need to tell the others.”

  “I know.” Brandon reached up, brushing a stray curl from her face. He could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the weight of everything pressing down on her just as it pressed down on him.

  But even now, even knowing what was coming, she was here. With him.

  Annemarie sighed, leaning into his touch. “Tomorrow,” she murmured.

  “Tomorrow,” he agreed.

  She settled back down, but not before pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone.

  Brandon pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair, letting the warmth of her body ground him.

  For tonight, at least, they were safe.

  They wouldn’t be for long.