What the Shadows Show

The summons came at dusk.

Elara received it in her rooms—a modest suite in the palace's guest wing, far from the noble residences but far from the servants' quarters too. Exactly the placement a minor baron's daughter with pretensions might expect. The Syndicate had thought of everything.

The note was written in Kaelen's own hand, she was almost certain of it. The script was educated but hurried, the kind of writing produced by someone who had thoughts faster than his fingers could record them.

*Lady Vane—The trade agreements require further discussion. My study, nine o'clock. Do not be late. The guards have been instructed to admit you. —K*

She burned the note, watching the paper curl and blacken in her chamber's fireplace. The flames were ordinary fire, not Light-purification or shadow-manifestation. Just fire, doing what fire had done since the world began. There was something comforting in that.

At eight-forty-five, she left her rooms and navigated the palace corridors with the confidence of someone who had memorized the floor plans. The east wing was quieter than the public areas, lined with portraits of Veltharim monarchs going back five centuries. They watched her with painted eyes as she passed—kings and queens who had ruled, fought, loved, and died within these walls.

She wondered how many of them had hidden the same secret Kaelen carried.

The guard at the study door was young, nervous, and clearly under instructions. He admitted her without question, closing the door behind her with a soft click.