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On the dais, Vaerith continues. “Recent incidents have raised troubling questions regarding irresponsible infernal contracts, unlawful residue, and beings altered beyond the safeguards of recognized law. These so-called hybrids are not merely private tragedies. They are destabilizing contaminants.”
The crowd murmurs.
The word hits exactly as he intends.
Contaminants.
Sable’s warning presses through memory while my anger warms the inside of my skin.
Vaerith turns slightly, letting the spell-lamps catch his profile. “They destabilize wards, attract devourers, endanger civilians, and make a mockery of lawful contract enforcement. You have heard reports of street violence. You have heard of essence consumption in public lanes. You have heard, perhaps, that such creatures can pass among us wearing familiar faces.”
Lady Syrenya leans closer without looking directly at me. “He is building his proof before he displays it.”
My fingers curl inside my sleeves. “Do you often narrate traps to strangers?”
“Only interesting strangers.”
“I’m not interesting.”
“Your glamour disagrees.”
I keep my eyes on the dais. “If you are about to signal a guard, try it with your left hand. I’d hate to miss the start.”
Her mouth curves. “If I intended to expose you, half the courtyard would already be staring.”
“Maybe you enjoy suspense.”
“I do.” She lifts a jeweled cup toward her lips, though I doubt she drinks. “But Vaerith enjoys certainty. Today is not merely theater. It is a proof ritual.”
“I gathered.”
“No,” she murmurs, and the humor leaves her tone. “I mean proof in the legal sense. If he creates a witnessed correlation between hybrid presence and infernal attack, he can petition for purge authority.”
My pulse slows.
On the dais, Isolde stands with her hands folded around the strap of her ledger satchel. Her face is controlled, but I see the small, deliberate movement of her thumb against the leather. Counting breaths. Measuring timing. Preparing.
Syrenya glances at me sidelong. “Keep control, and I can vouch that you acted defensively if matters turn unpleasant.”
“Why?”
“Because Vaerith’s certainty is becoming tedious.”
“That’s your moral position?”
“My dear, among nobles, boredom has toppled more alliances than virtue ever managed.”
“I am overwhelmed by your nobility.”
“As well you should be.”
Vaerith’s voice rises slightly. “For that reason, we will conduct a corrective demonstration under full ward observation. My analyst, Isolde Dareth, will serve as expert witness within the circle.”
The bond goes white-hot.
Isolde steps forward.
Every instinct in me lunges even though my body stays still. Vaerith does not touch her. He does not need to. He gestures, and two attendants open the ritual boundary, guiding her into the circular array carved into the courtyard stones before the dais. The runes around her feet remain dark for the moment, but I can smell the old charge in them, waiting.
