Page 39 of The Reckoning of Starlight

She’d noticed the color change that morning, and he’d lied without thinking twice. Proximity to the dragon, he’d told her.

Farine had accepted the answer because it didn’t occur to her that the dragon could touch him in a way she hadn’t permitted. To Farine, Blossom was only another conquered marvel chained in the Vallende estate.

There’d been no time to search for the Heart of Stars that bound the dragon. But Elashor would never leave the instrument of her obedience beyond reach. It was either locked somewhere within the estate’s private vaults or carried on the general himself.

Essence brightened under Jassyn’s boots, dragging him back to the platform.

At its center, a glass lift waited with its crystal doors sealed, transparent on every side. The noble was still talking when the doors parted without a sound, and Farine drew Jassyn inside alone while her favorites remained on the platform.

Crystal closed around him—walls, ceiling, floor—with black lake water pressing against the glass at his feet and the drowned palace lurking below.

The lift fell.

His stomach lurched upward. Instinct twitched through his wings, a helpless urge to flare against the drop. Farine’s fingers tightened on his arm. His body gave her no flinch, long past remembering how.

She rose onto her toes, pushing into his side, her breath damp against his ear.

“Try to smile, darling. The nobles wonder what I see in you, and I’d hate to disappoint.”

Jassyn’s mouth curved before the coercion could force it. He couldn’t decide which frightened him more—that she could command the expression, or that she didn’t need to.

His reflection flickered across the glass as they descended, hollow-eyed but watching.

The lift settled into a crystal socket at the palace base with barely a sound. Essence flared along the seams, sealing the chamber to the atrium while lake water pressed against the outer walls in dark, wavering sheets.

The doors swept open into music, harp strings plucked through a melody polished smooth.

Farine’s heels rang against the floor, announcing her passage while Jassyn followed at her side, a silent adornment.

The hall opened under the lake’s weight, vaulted glass holding back the water on every side. Beyond the walls, the other spires receded into depths blurred by drifting silt. Spheres of illumination hovered overhead in slow orbits, casting constellations across the floor.

Nobles lounged across divans and crescent-backed chairs, arranged in pastel silks with goblets lifted and jeweled throats tipped back in laughter. Conversation dwindled as Farine entered. Their attention slid toward Jassyn’s wings with the unhurried appraisal of collectors measuring rarity and price.

Farine held her head high and glided through the gauntlet, nodding as she passed, smiling as they stared.

At the hall’s heart, shallow crystal steps climbed to a dining platform raised above the gathering and open to the vast room. Farine ascended without slowing, Jassyn borne along as part of her display. The glass ceiling curved overhead, silver fish darting through the water beyond it.

A table stretched the length of the dais, carved from crystal and lit from within. Veins of Essence pulsed through the surface, undulating like a tide.

At the head sat the king.

Jassyn had known Galaeryn would be waiting. Still, he tensed against Farine at the sight of him. The few nobles already in attendance had arranged themselves around the king—every chair angled, every voice muted, every body turned toward him.

Galaeryn sat motionless as they approached, fingers draped over the stem of his goblet, silver hair cascading over his shoulders. His beauty had been refined past softness, polished past warmth, every feature arranged in symmetry too precise to feel alive. Those silver eyes held the worst of that perfection, depthless and bright with the wrong kind of stars.

Elashor sat at Galaeryn’s right, his gaze raking over Jassyn.

Jassyn’s wings twitched, his chin lowering by a fraction, breath slowing to a careful measure. He hated the efficiency of it, obedience moving through him, arranging his posture into submission.

Two open seats waited beside the general. Farine led him toward them without hesitation. Jassyn held her chair first, then took his own.

The back pressed flat against his folded wings, pinching his joints, the frame too narrow for membranes designed to span twice his reach. Jassyn adjusted once, only enough to confirm there was no comfortable way to sit.

A scattering of nobles climbed the crystal steps, council members and companions taking their places with the ease of those accustomed to ruling from any table they touched. Servants arranged themselves along the outer edge of the dais, close enough to pour, distant enough to disappear.

Jassyn envied how easily they vanished.

“This Asharyn.” Galaeryn’s voice cut through the low murmur, his attention on Elashor. “What Centarya pried from our prisoners matches what your mother’s pet yielded?”