Chapter Seven · Seven Days to Silence

A week had passed since Sonareth.

The palace had not changed. The same private lessons, the same corridors. New knowledge pulling Lyra deeper into their rhythm.

She let herself sink back into it.

It was easier than thinking about...

Anyway, she should focus on the magic awakening within her for now.

Then someone came to mind. Someone she hadn’t seen in quite a while.

She missed him.

Lyra ran her fingertips over the cedar paper. This kind of paper was reserved for the royal family, each sheet carrying a subtle, pleasant scent.

Obewich set a tray of cookies on the table.

“Are you going to write to Orlas?”

Lyra covered the page by reflex, then laughed.

“I have something I want to show off.”

Obewich did not ask anything more. Her smile always disarmed him.

Lyra wrote slowly. Each letter was precise. At the bottom of the page, she drew a few small stars.

She set the quill down and looked at them for a while.

“Done. Call the Spirit Bird.”

Obewich’s whistle cut through the quiet afternoon.

From a distant watchtower, a silver speck shot downward, unfolding into shimmering wings.

The Spirit Bird landed on the windowsill.

Lyra pressed the wax seal into place and tied the letter to the bird’s leg. Obewich gave its wing a gentle pat.

“Take it to the Chancellor’s residence.”

The bird took flight.

The white voile curtains fluttered, the scent of butter and tea lingering in the air.

Lyra watched until the silver speck disappeared from sight.

Orlas would be excited.

In the Outer Court, the Chancellor’s residence was the grandest estate.

Orlas sat reading. A candle burned on the table, though it was still daylight. The room always felt too dark to him.

Since the incident at the Umbral Tower, he had not left home.

For as long as he could remember, every step he took had fallen within his father’s shadow. Even his marriage had already been decided.

His mother had left when he was too young to remember her face. His father was the only family he had left. He did not even dare let himself think badly of his father.

And yet, when he thought back to that night—the night of the incident with the Vael’Kharoth Stone—something about his father’s behavior seemed strange.

A Spirit Bird landed on the balcony. Cold wind slipped through the narrow gap in the door.

Orlas stepped forward and untied the letter from its leg.

“It’s from Lyra.”

A faint warmth touched his expression.

“She still remembers me.”

He moved to open it at once, then stopped.

But...

If I get too close to her,

will I hurt her again?

Orlas stood by the window, the letter in his hand. He held it there for a long moment before finally breaking the seal.

Lyra had invited him to the palace for a walk.

He was free.

And he missed her.

“Maybe I should go,” he murmured. “I should at least see how her wrist is healing.”

He had just stepped downstairs when he saw his father in the great hall.

Orlas stopped.

Then quietly turned back.

If I go now, he’ll ask where I’m going.

If I say I’m going to the palace...

No.

Not again.

He returned to his room and closed the door softly, locking it behind him.

For a moment, he thought of escaping this cage.

The thought stayed longer than it should have, even though entertaining it felt almost like a betrayal of his father.

He sat at the desk, took up the quill, wrote a few words, crossed them out, and began again.

I hope you are well.

I have been quite busy lately.

I will let you know when I have time.

When the letter was finished, he did not sign it with his usual flourish.

It was folded and placed beside the family seal on the table.

Orlas looked out into the distance.

There were many things that should not be written down.

But if I don’t go,

will she be disappointed?

He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Still, he did not move.

It was not until three days later that Lyra received his reply.

She opened it. Her smile faltered. Her voice dropped to a murmur.

“He said he was busy.”

She read it again, slower this time, trying to understand why. But the words offered no answer.

Because of what happened last time?

Perhaps. He hadn’t come to the Royal Proving after that day.

I should explain, so he doesn’t feel guilty.

With that thought, Lyra took another sheet of paper at once.

This time, her quill moved faster, and the page filled with more words. She wrote about the magic awakening within her, and about Voxath.

There were no stars at the bottom. The letter was sealed and sent off at once.

Beyond the Royal Palace, the Chancellor’s residence was quieter than usual.

Orlas wasn’t home. His father had sent him to deliver a gift to a noble close to his father.

Finding the balcony doors closed, the Spirit Bird circled once before dropping toward the main gate.

A streak of light cut through the air and struck the cord around its leg.

The letter fell.

Chancellor Syveris caught it between two fingers. He opened it. His gaze moved across a few lines, then stilled.

“Resonance magic?”

He frowned slightly, the corners of his mouth turning down.

So that was what had happened. Vael’Kharoth had cracked the seal.

He had never expected the blow to reach that deep.

And now, what he had tried to contain was beginning to surface.

His fingers tightened on the edge of the paper. His eyes darkened.

He read on.

“Voxath?”

He had heard of it before.

A strange instrument. A dangerous one in war.

During the old campaigns, the High Lord of Sonareth had once used it to silence an entire Aulith assault, unraveling their spell-threads before they could strike.

Syveris narrowed his eyes, deep in thought.

Before she left for Sonareth, his raven had seen the princess return to the arena more than once.

Could it have something to do with the beast with its mouth sewn shut?

If that was truly the case, he would have to test what she could do.

Set a larger snare. It did not need to close cleanly.

Even if it failed, he would lose nothing.

Silence stretched.

Very well.

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

I’ll seek an audience with His Majesty. Soon.

He exhaled a stream of dark purple mist over the letter.

It burned to ash.

A few days later, Lyra passed by the arena after class.

The wind had picked up, clouds thickening overhead, making her stop.

Guards were everywhere, sealing the arena’s gates one by one.

She slowly stepped forward, still clutching her books.

Black wax stamped with the royal seal marked the heavy gates. Even the guards kept their distance.

The air felt wrong.

She came closer.

Two guards stood at the main gate, their faces cold and unreadable.

She needed to know what was happening.

Another step.

Spears dropped in unison.

“By royal decree, the arena is sealed.”

“Why?”

“The Silent Beast will be executed in seven days.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

For a moment, the words refused to make sense.

“Seven days?”

Only then did the number sink in.

She turned and ran back to the Moontis Chamber, the corridors blurring past.

Once inside, the doors slammed shut behind her.

In the mirror, her face was pale.

What crime did he commit?

Why did Father order his execution?

Her breath was still coming fast.

She dropped onto the bed, burying her face in the pillow. Her hands clenched tight.

No.

Father isn’t like Grandfather.

There has to be a reason.

But she couldn’t ask him directly.

Just then, a harp melody drifted from the Queen’s Turquias Chamber in the opposite tower.

It ached in her chest.

Why does it feel so heavy today?

She squeezed her eyes shut.

What do I do?

Her hand went to the drawer beneath the desk and pulled it open.

A soft green glow spilled out.

Voxath.

At the sight of it, her grandfather’s words at Sonareth came back to her.

Lyra stared at it for a moment.

I have to do something...

Then she pushed the drawer shut.

Night fell.

Lyra drew on a black cloak and moved quietly toward the arena. She glanced around to make sure no one had noticed her, then slipped into the shadowed stretch of the wall above the dungeon.

She pressed her ear to the granite and focused, sending the thought downward on a low, steady hum.

Ravok. It’s me.

A slow drag of chains came from below.

Then his voice rose through the stone in a faint vibration.

You’ve already found out?

Yes. My grandfather told me.

Who?

The High Lord of Sonareth.

Maldorel.

His breath caught, then eased.

...I remember.

A beat.

So what? All of you are finally going to kill me.

Lyra didn’t answer at once.

I can’t let them kill you.

Ridiculous. Useless words.

Lyra’s grip tightened on her cloak.

She said nothing.

I can save you.

Ravok shifted in the dark, his silver armor scraping against the stone floor.

How? Will you break the wall with a sword?

No.

She drew in a breath.

I have Voxath. It can dissolve the spells of Aulith thread.

No response came.

No vibration.

Only silence.

Lyra waited, hoping he would say something.

After a moment, his voice returned through the stone.

You don’t know what you’re stepping into, princess.

A breath followed, low and tired.

The vibrations faded.

Then stilled.

Why? Doesn’t he trust me?

She straightened and stepped back.

Her foot caught on a loose pebble. It scraped softly across the stone.

“Who’s there?” a guard called from the main gate.

Lyra pressed herself against the wall, holding her breath.

Her pulse roared in her ears.

When the arena fell quiet again, she pressed her ear to the granite once more and let the hum return.

I don’t want you to die.

Go back.

Ravok’s voice was quieter this time.

There’s nothing left for us to say.

No edge.

No force behind it.

Please.

Lyra stayed there a moment longer, then turned and slipped away.

Above, torchlight flickered along the stone walls.

A raven watched from the shadows.

When she vanished into the dark, it took flight toward the Chancellor’s residence.