The Gilded Cage district lived up to its name. It was a sector of the Sky City separated from the rest by high wrought-iron gates that hummed with exclusionary wards. Here, the mansions didn't just float; they sat on private, tethered clouds, accessible only by gondolas piloted by mute automata.
Elian sat opposite Vane in the open-air gondola, the wind ruffling the midnight-blue velvet of his new tunic. He felt ridiculous. The fabric was soft, expensive, and fitted so well it felt like a second skin, but it marked him as something other than a servant. He wasn't wearing the Wolf's crest anymore. He was wearing Vane's colors, but in a cut that suggested... intimacy.
"Stop fidgeting," Vane murmured, his eyes scanning the approaching estate. "You look fine."
"I look like a kept boy," Elian muttered, tugging at his cuffs. "The collar was almost more honest."
"That is the point," Vane said, his gaze snapping back to Elian. "Corin is a Truth-Seer. He can detect deception in the spoken word, but he is also a master of reading intent. If we walk in there as Master and Servant, he will see the lie immediately because I do not treat you like a servant. And you certainly do not obey me like one."
"So what are we?" Elian asked, holding Vane's gaze.
The gondola bumped gently against the docking pier of Lord Corin's estate. Vane stood up, the moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face.
"We are complicated," Vane decided. "Let him draw his own conclusions. People usually assume the most scandalous option is the truth. It distracts them from the dangerous reality."
Vane offered a hand. Elian took it. This time, Vane didn't let go once they were on solid ground. He tucked Elian's hand into the crook of his arm, pulling him close.
"Stay attached," Vane whispered. "Corin's house is old. The shadows here have teeth."
They walked up the marble steps. The doors opened before they even touched the knocker.
Inside, the salon was dimly lit by floating candles that burned with a blue flame. The air smelled of beeswax, old parchment, and dry sherry. A dozen guests were scattered around the room—elderly retired generals, matriarchs of fading houses, scholars. They were the "Old Guard," the generation that remembered the time before Queen Valeriana's icy grip tightened.
Conversations stopped as Vane and Elian entered. Eyes landed on them. Judging. Calculating.
"High Commander," a raspy voice called out from the far end of the room. "And his... plus one."
Lord Corin sat in a high-backed chair by the fireplace. He was ancient. His skin was like crumpled papyrus, and his hair was a wispy halo of white. But it was his eyes that made Elian's breath hitch.
They were solid white. No iris. No pupil. Blind.
"Lord Corin," Vane said, bowing his head respectfully but not releasing Elian. "Thank you for the invitation."
"I didn't invite you for your manners, Wolf," Corin wheezed, tapping a cane against the floor. "I invited you because my spies tell me you caused a scene at the Queen's banquet. A duel with a servant?"
Corin turned his blind face toward Elian.
"Come closer, boy. Let me see you."
Elian hesitated. Vane nudged him forward gently. They walked until they were standing on the Persian rug in front of the old man.
Corin didn't reach out with his hands. He sniffed the air.
"You smell of ozone," Corin murmured. "And fear. And... sandalwood." A dry, knowing smile cracked his face. "Vane's scent is all over you."
Elian felt a flush creep up his neck.
"He is my personal archivist," Vane said stiffly.
"Is he?" Corin chuckled. "Is that what we call them now? In my day, we had other names for beautiful young men we kept in our private quarters."
"Careful, Corin," Vane warned, his voice dropping.
"Oh, calm down," Corin waved a hand. "I'm too old for propriety. I summoned you because I want to know why the High Commander of the Guard is fighting duels for a 'servant' with violet eyes."
The room went deathly silent. The other guests seemed to fade into the background, their chatter dying out.
"Violet eyes are a genetic quirk," Vane lied smoothly. "Nothing more."
"A lie," Corin announced instantly. The air around him shimmered. "I taste copper when you lie, Vane. Try again."
Vane's jaw tightened. "He is important to me."
"Truth," Corin sighed, leaning back. "Sweet, like honey. He is important to you. Why?"
"Because he saved my life," Vane said.
"Truth." Corin nodded. "And?"
"And he is in danger."
"Truth." Corin turned his blind gaze fully on Elian. "Speak, boy. Let me taste your voice. Who are you?"
Elian looked at Vane. Vane gave a barely perceptible nod. Careful.
"My name is Elian," he said clearly.
"Truth," Corin murmured.
"I am a healer from the Wards."
"Truth."
"And I want to know why my rattle was in the Royal Archives," Elian added, taking a risk.
Corin went rigid. The cane in his hand stopped tapping. The playful, senile act evaporated instantly.
"Clear the room," Corin commanded.
The other guests didn't argue. They stood up and filed out of the salon with the practiced obedience of soldiers, leaving through the side doors. Within seconds, the three of them were alone.
Corin pointed his cane at a chair. "Sit."
Elian sat. Vane remained standing behind him, his hand resting on the back of Elian's chair, close to his neck.
"You found the rattle," Corin whispered. "Then the wards are broken. The Queen's power is slipping."
"We found the entry in the registry," Vane said. "The one you helped erase, Corin. You and Elara Vance."
Corin let out a long, shuddering breath. "Elara. That stubborn, brilliant woman."
"Where is she?" Elian demanded. "We know she swapped the babies. We know Lysander is a decoy. We need her testimony to prove it before the Eclipse."
Corin shook his head slowly. "She is not... approachable. After she took you to the Wards, she didn't just hide. She went mad with grief. She believed she had condemned a god to live as a rat."
"I lived," Elian said fiercely. "I'm not a rat. Where is she?"
Corin leaned forward. "She returned to the place where her clan was born. The Obsidian Isles. Specifically, the Temple of Echoes. She locked herself in the Silent Spire."
Vane swore softly. "The Silent Spire? It's a prison for mages who have lost their minds. It's surrounded by a Siren-Field. No ship can approach it without crashing."
"Correct," Corin said. "Unless you have a Navigator who can see the path through the noise."
Corin reached into his tunic and pulled out a heavy iron key on a chain. He threw it to Vane.
"This unlocks the Sea-Gate at the docks. My personal schooner, The Nightshade, is birthed there. She is fast enough to make the journey in three days if you push the wind."
"Three days there," Vane calculated. "Three days back. That leaves us one day to find Elara, convince her, and return before the Rite begins."
"It is a razor's edge," Corin agreed. "But it is your only chance."
Corin turned his blind eyes back to Elian.
"Before you go," the old man said. "I need to know one thing. The Queen... she eats magic. She is a black hole. If you face her, boy... if you stand before her as the True King... will you hesitate?"
Elian thought about the burn on his hand. He thought about Bram shivering in the cold. He thought about the twenty years of filth he had lived in while his mother sat on a throne of stolen light.
"No," Elian said. The word rang in the room like a bell.
"Truth," Corin whispered, a tear leaking from his blind eye. "By the Sun, that is the truest thing I have heard in twenty years."
Suddenly, the front doors of the mansion blew open.
Glass shattered inward. The floating candles were extinguished instantly by a wave of cold, unnatural wind.
Vane had his sword drawn before the glass hit the floor. He pulled Elian out of the chair, shoving him behind his back.
"Corin!" Vane shouted. "You said we were safe here!"
"We were!" Corin yelled, struggling to stand.
From the darkness of the hallway, figures emerged. They weren't guards. They were sleek, faceless horrors made of silver liquid metal. Inquisitors. The Queen's personal death squad.
"She found us," Elian realized, horror gripping him. "She tracked the rattle."
"Surrender the boy," a metallic, multi-tonal voice echoed from the lead Inquisitor. "And the traitor Corin dies quickly."
"Over my dead body," Vane snarled, the shadows around him erupting into a wall of spikes.
"That," the Inquisitor said, its arm shifting into a long, silver blade, "is the plan."