I have breakfast in my room with Magdia and Eleni. I remember when they were reluctant to eat with me; now it's almost routine to watch Magdia devour buttered rolls as if there were no tomorrow.
We have almost finished when there is a knock at the door. Both of them gather their plates to erase the evidence, and while Eleni goes to answer it, Magdia positions herself at my side.
In the end, it is useless. Eleni returns with a note, which she hands to me. Magdia, utterly shameless, grabs another roll while I unfold the letter.
Miss Laila Mallory,
If you are as clever as I believe you to be, you will come meet me in my quarters within the hour, if you wish to save what remains of your family—or at least yourself.
Ignasius KrownwellLegatus of House Noxirian
Well. It seems the viper is preparing to strike and is beginning to bare its true fangs.
"Is everything all right, my lady?" Eleni asks, sitting back down beside me.
"Bad news, that's all," I reply, rubbing my face with my hands. "We need to get ready. I have a meeting with the Legatus." I finish with a sigh.
They exchange worried glances but say nothing. They begin preparing me at once.
I end up more polished than I would like; my mind has not stopped replaying how things could have gone wrong… or whether this is merely another trick from the Legatus. Either way, I must see him. There is no alternative. There never is.
"Head high, my girl. Don't let that pompous man intimidate you," Magdia encourages as she studies the final result. "Though I still think you'd look better with a necklace…"
"No necklaces. Now less than ever do I want to feel my air being cut off," I answer firmly, though I smile at her good intentions.
She is right. I have already defeated a man who held himself in as high esteem and believed himself as powerful as this one. I ended him myself.
I straighten and nod to them both, adopting my finest expression of proud, exalted aristocracy. They bow to me obediently, as if moments ago we had not shared a table filled with gossip and laughter.
When they open the door, my paladin, Sir Edmun, is already waiting. He greets me only with a bow. He is a man of few words who follows me without hesitation—even if I lead him into the viper's mouth.
I walk through the wide corridors. Despite the threat that has lingered since yesterday in one of the main wings, light filters through the tall windows, illuminating the warm-toned décor I chose myself, trying to turn this mausoleum into a home.
In the main wing, it is the Legatus's guards who open the doors. A servant leads me to a chamber where more guards stand watch at the entrance.
Ignasius Krownwell sits in the only single chair—a classic piece with armrests—installed as though it were his personal throne.
The moment I cross the threshold, I hear the heavy thud of doors behind me: they have barred my paladin from entering. I stop and turn to face the Legatus, raising an eyebrow, striving to remain calm.
"Oh, Miss Mallory, you've arrived. I'm afraid our conversation must remain between the two of us, so I trust you understand why your escort must stay outside," he says in his falsely jovial tone.
I look at Sir Edmun and nod. He seems uneasy, assessing the surroundings, but obeys without protest. I know that a single scream would be enough for him to try to reach my side—guards or not.
When the doors close, my unease deepens.
"Come now, Miss Mallory, don't stand there. Sit. Time is pressing."
So I do. I choose one of the nearby armchairs, unwilling to grant him the satisfaction of feeling like a king holding private audience.
His strong cologne envelops me—forest-scented, calculated masculinity. As carefully arranged as the aroma he wears. He is undeniably attractive, but I would sooner drive a dagger into him than anything else.
"Well, you're unusually quiet today, Miss," he remarks with a mocking tone, reclining in his seat.
I lift my chin, as though I could look down at him.
"Forgive me if speaking alone with you, after receiving a threat, robs me of my good humor and courtesy."
"A threat? No, darling, I merely wish to help you solve the predicament you and your family have placed yourselves in," he says with feigned sorrow. "You are clever for your age, certainly, but… did you truly believe the lie about your stepmother's engagement would suffice?"
Though he tries to conceal it, I hear the relish in his words.
"No, Miss. Arkitectus Noxirian's wrath is not so easily appeased. You know he is a man who could make you—your entire family—disappear with a snap."
He snaps his fingers theatrically.
"Oh, great benevolent savior!" I exclaim, unable to stop myself from ruining his performance. "Then what do you propose?"
His expression hardens. Surprise betrays his irritation before he smooths it away. He crosses his legs and rests his head lightly against his fist, posing like an enlightened thinker.
"That attitude could get you killed, Miss. Even so, I have arranged a deal on your behalf, because I find you agreeable, despite everything," he says in the tone of a loving father addressing a wayward child. "The truth is, you resemble his late daughter. I showed Arkitectus Noxirian your portrait, and he has agreed to let everything pass… if you consent to serve him personally in Lunagran."
Damn it. This was one of the outcomes I most wished to avoid. One of the reasons I poisoned the former Regentus Mallory.
I restrain my outburst, clenching my fists.
"Come now, child. It is wonderful news, truly. You may bid farewell to this miserable place forever and rise higher than you ever dreamed."
He sells it as though I had won the lottery. But I know the truth. Nothing is free. They want to use me for my appearance until I am no longer useful… and then discard me like refuse.
"And if I refuse?" I ask, though I already know the answer. Hope is a wicked thing that refuses to die.
"Laila, Laila, Laila… I thought you were clever. You disappoint me. But since you insist: Arkitectus Noxirian will annihilate everything connected to House Mallory and hand this nation to Admiral Crastor."
He says it as casually as one might replace tableware.
And I know it is true. They would do it—just as that book I found once foretold.
My heart tightens at the thought of a world without Malcol's kindness, without the people in this house who have earned my affection. But before that swell of emotion can drown me, I force it down. For appearances' sake.
"Then I accept—if and only if he leaves this place and my family in peace," I say without hesitation, maintaining a proud façade.
"Of course," he smiles, satisfied. "A few minor adjustments will be required so that you may serve the Arkitectus as he wishes. Trifles, really. Now go and pack your things. We leave the morning after next."
He dismisses me with a flick of his hand, as one shoos away a dog.
Perhaps he believes everything has unfolded precisely as he intended… unaware that I am no dog, but a wolf unafraid to bite.
But now is not the moment. With a silent nod, I withdraw.
I waste no time. As soon as Katlya is free, we meet in the greenhouse for tea at our usual table.
"That's the 'deal' he offered me… if it can even be called that," I tell her after recounting everything.
She sighs and sinks into her chair, taking a sip from the teacup she holds with both hands.
"I can't promise he's telling the truth. The Arkitectus never reveal how many heirs they have, nor do they appear without masks. Only direct descendants inherit a Kalyx stone… and if they are eliminated, their divine power—and their territory, at least in time—fall with them."
I notice her exhaustion in the way her rigid posture slackens. She must keep this nation afloat—far from the most prosperous on the continent—while managing the uprising of the surviving rebels that began two months ago.
"I mean… an Arkitectus can do as he pleases. They're practically demigods: manipulating inorganic matter, distorting gravitational fields. But what truly unsettles me is this… why would he relinquish an entire nation for you? No offense, but it sounds absurd."
"For the gods' sake… have you not looked at me? I am divinely beautiful and charming," I joke, though my teacup trembles in my hands.
Her furrowed brow answers faster than words.
My smile fades.
"Can they really do all that?" I ask more seriously.
I have felt the earth tremble each year when the Supremus Arkitectus—ruler of this planet and the lunar houses—renews his bond with the world through a Kalyx stone so it may remain habitable.
And yet I still struggle to believe in magic—or as they call it here, "divine power"—despite the curse that brought me into this world.
From what I have read, that divine power has little to do with what afflicts me. Life—any form of life—escapes its reach. It may shape an environment to sustain it, but it cannot alter or modify life itself. Arkitectus die like any other human.
That is why I have not studied that power in depth. I have found nothing suggesting it could benefit me—and I have no access to it.
Katlya does not know how much I know. She is aware I have purchased certain sacred texts illegally, but not how deeply I have gone; she likely attributes it to passing youthful curiosity.
"Of course it's real," she says in a professorial tone. "In Development and Conservation, we studied what a Kalyx heir can do to the environment, to accelerate reforestation should we ever need to colonize another world. But this stays between us."
"Then I suppose I'll report you to the Order and have you arrested, so I can keep your books for myself," I reply in mock indignation, crossing my arms.
"Then I'll say you're an atheist who doubts the Supremus Arkitectus—and the gods themselves—so they'll burn you in the public square," she counters playfully.
"Touché… but we've strayed from the urgent matter," I say with a humorless laugh.
I know what Arkitectus Noxirian hopes to gain by using me—thanks to the book that foretold the true Laila's future—but I cannot tell Katlya. She would think me mad. Only I can see its words.
An alarm sounds.
Katlya straightens in her seat and looks toward the entrance, where one of her guards runs toward us. Reaching her, he kneels on one knee and bows his head.
"My lady, one of Miss Mallory's chambermaids has come to the greenhouse and insists she must speak with her urgently. I know I should not disturb you here, but Miss Mallory's paladin ordered me to report it."
He barely finishes before I am already moving toward the door, nearly running. For Magdia or Eleni to break protocol before others in order to reach me is a bad sign. A very bad sign.
I curse the vast size of this glass-and-humidity cage as I cross it, until I spot Sir Edmun and what appears to be Eleni standing near the doorway beside Katlya's other two guards.
When I step outside, I finally see Eleni clearly. She is pale as a ghost, on the verge of collapsing.
I do not manage to speak. The moment she sees me, she throws herself forward, crumpling at my feet in tears.
"My lady… they've killed her. Magdia is dead," she sobs.
And something inside me collapses as well.