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Caelith dismounted in silence, the chains clinking softly as his boots struck stone. The sound was swallowed quickly by the rising murmur of the crowd gathering behind them. Maia heard them; the whispers sharpening like knives.

Monster, oath-breaker, shadow-spawn.

She glanced again at Caelith. His expression was as cold as ever, but he looked at her before he could stop himself, or so it seemed.

Heat rose to her cheeks, as though the accusations were her own. Something told her the danger lay not only in the streets of Meridon, but in the halls they were about to enter.

The council chamber was colder than the streets outside. At the top, councillors waited in a crescent of carved chairs, cloaks heavy with black and amber trim. Their faces were drawn tight, some lined with years, others with suspicion. At the centre sat a woman whose opulent rings flashed like warning lights each time she shifted her hand. Her eyes were the colour of dull steel, sharp enough to strip pretence from the air.

“From Eryssan?” she said, voice carrying sharp as the gull cries. “And bringing that with you?” Her jewelled finger stabbed toward Caelith.

“Honoured councillors,” Deyar said, his salute sharp enough to still the air. “We come to inform you that the Fracture stirs. The tremors that were felt here in Meridon were worse in Eryssan… and the deaths. Nineteen of them. It comes for all of us.”

Murmurs rippled through the chamber, as quick and restless as tidewater.

“You think we do not know of the Fracture?” another councillor asked, voice dripping with disdain. “And then you insult us with his presence. Why chain him, if you are so convinced by the Vow? That you can live and work together to stop the Fracture? Surely recent events have proven your ways of living are fruitless.”

Before Deyar could answer, Caelith lifted his head, voice rolling low, a shadow of thunder. “For our Elders, fear is easier than trust.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Deyar cleared his throat, regaining control. “The Elders still command his presence. He witnessed what occurred in Eryssan. The quakes, the widening cracks. New glyphs in the fragments. His testimony is necessary.”

At that, Maia forced herself a step forward. Her heart hammered, knowing what her words would cost her. “It is true,” she said. “He has been assisting our translations. And when the tremor struck, one of them saved me.”

The councillors’ eyes turned on her, sharp as daggers. Whispers rose, one scribe defending a shadow-bound. Maia felt Julen stiffen beside her, his hand brushing hers briefly in warning.

One councillor, a heavy-browed man with silver in his beard, leaned forward. “You are a scribe? A member of Eryssan’s court?”

“Yes, Councillor,” Maia said, bowing her head.

“Then perhaps your gratitude blinds you. Shadows save no one. They consume. Do not mistake one moment’s fortune for truth and then give them a seat at your table.”

Her tongue felt thick with the words she’d already said and the ones she hadn’t dared. She looked at Caelith without deciding to. He was already watching her, the way he always seemed to be half a step ahead. She made herself look away first. It cost her more than it should have, and she told herself it was the council’s eyes on her, the cold of the chamber, anything but the particular weight of being seen by him in a room full of people who wanted him dead.

“Still,” Rhelas said, his voice too quick, betraying nerves. “The tremors are undeniable. Should the Fracture spill, none of us - not scribe, soldier, nor shadow - will matter. We must plan.”

The word spill seemed to catch the council like a hook. Murmurs swelled louder, until one voice, shrill with panic, cut above the rest: “You brought this with you! The quake followed you, and now you deliver it to our gates and call an Umbralyn a saviour! Meridon will not be made another Eryssan!”

The chamber erupted. Shouts, fists striking the wooden arms of chairs, accusations hurling through the room.

Deyar slammed a hand to his sword-hilt, the steel ringing sharp. The sound cut through the uproar. “Enough!” he roared. “If the Fracture swallows Eryssan, Meridon will not stand untouched. Do you think the sea will save you? Its tides carry darkness too. We are bound together. Whether you choke on it or drown in it.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the surf pounding against the cliffs far below.

The bearded councillor leaned back, exhaling slowly. “So, you say the Fracture grows restless. Then the question is not if, but when. And if Eryssan’s Guardians are truly oath-bound, then let them prove it. Not within our walls, but at the rift itself.”

Chains rattled softly as Caelith straightened. Maia felt the air shift, as if something vast and unseen had turned its gaze their way. “It does not matter where you place me,” he said. “When the dark comes, it will not stop to ask your leave.”

A shiver worked down Maia’s spine. She had no words for the look in his eyes then.

***

The chamber doors shut behind them with a dull boom. The corridor felt thinner for it.

Rhelas let out a breath he’d clearly been holding. “That went as well as expected. Which is to say, we’ll be lucky if Meridon sends so much as a single company when the time comes.” He adjusted his satchel with brisk, businesslike hands, already moving past it. “Political theatre. They needed somewhere to point before they’d agree to anything useful.”

Julen wasn’t thinking about companies or agreements. His eyes kept flicking to Maia. “They were ready to blame him before we even spoke,” he said, lower, and it wasn’t the council he sounded angry at. “And you stood up in front of all of them. Do you understand what that costs you if word of it reaches the wrong ears in Eryssan?”