Chapter 25
The council chamber felt like descending into the belly of some ancient beast. Carved directly from the mountain's heart, the circular space opened before us in tiers of stone seating that spiralled upward into shadow.
Fire-pits burned with that eerie shadow-flame I'd grown accustomed to seeing around Taveth, casting dancing light that made the carved clan banners overhead seem to writhe and shift.
The acoustics were perfect—every whisper, every intake of breath echoed through the space with crystal clarity.
And it was packed. Not just the formal council members in their ceremonial robes, but clan leaders, warriors, even curious citizens who had somehow gained entry to witness what promised to be either our salvation or our complete humiliation.
The weight of their collective gaze pressed down on me like a physical thing, and I had to remind myself to keep my spine straight, my chin lifted.
Show no weakness. Show no desperation, even though that's exactly what we were—desperate.
Our escorts led us to the centre of the chamber, where seven simple stone chairs waited in a circle.
The symbolism wasn't lost on me—we were being judged, evaluated, dissected by people who had already made up their minds about us.
I could feel the hostility radiating from certain sections of the crowd, the way conversations died as we passed, replaced by calculating stares.
Beside me, Jalend moved with careful composure, but I could sense the tension coiled in his shoulders.
This was his moment—his chance to prove that his royal blood could be turned to good purpose, that his knowledge of Imperial weakness could save lives.
The weight of leadership sat heavily on him, and I found myself wanting to reach for his hand in support.
Taveth walked like a man barely containing an explosion.
Shadows flickered around his fingertips despite his obvious efforts to control them, and more than one council member shifted uncomfortably as we passed.
I could feel his rage through our bond—fury at having to justify himself to people he'd spent his life protecting, anger at being treated like a dangerous weapon rather than a man with a plan.
Tarshi stayed close to his twin, his presence the only thing keeping Taveth from doing something that would damn us all.
I watched him monitor every micro-expression on his brother's face, ready to intervene the moment the darkness threatened to take hold.
Septimus, of course, walked on his other side.
Marcus, Antonius, and Sirrax arranged themselves around me in a protective formation that probably looked defensive to the watching crowd. Their solidarity was both comforting and potentially damaging—it made us look like a military unit rather than desperate allies seeking help.
The High Priestess Aytara rose from her seat at the apex of the chamber, her silver hair gleaming in the shadow-flame light. When she spoke, her voice carried easily through the perfect acoustics.
"We have gathered to hear a proposal from these... guests," she said, and the slight pause before 'guests' made it clear what she really thought of us. "Speak and let the council judge the wisdom of your words."
Jalend stepped forward, and I felt a surge of pride at the way he carried himself—straight-backed, confident, every inch the prince despite the simple clothes he wore. When he spoke, his voice was clear and strong, carrying the kind of natural authority that came from being raised to lead.
"Honoured council, clan leaders, warriors of the Talfen people," he began, his gaze sweeping the chamber. "We come before you not as conquerors or supplicants, but as allies who have seen the Empire's true face and chosen to stand against it."
A murmur rippled through the crowd—some sceptical, others intrigued. Jalend waited for it to die down before continuing.
"The Emperor is planning something beyond mere conquest. In twelve days, he will hold games in the Imperial capital—a grand spectacle designed to break your people's spirit before the final invasion begins.
Thousands of Talfen prisoners, men, women and children captured during raids, will be executed for the entertainment of the masses. "
The murmur became a roar of outrage, voices raised in anger and grief. Many of these people had lost family members to Imperial raids, had watched loved ones dragged away in chains. The thought of their deaths being turned into entertainment was more than they could bear.
"But this spectacle also presents an opportunity," Jalend continued once the noise died down. "The Emperor will be there, in person, presiding over the massacre. Completely exposed, surrounded by the very people he claims to rule. We can use his arrogance against him."
"What are you proposing?" called out one of the clan leaders, an older woman with ritual scars covering her arms. "That we march our armies to the Imperial capital and lay siege?"
"No," I said, stepping forward to stand beside Jalend. "We don't need armies. We need something the Empire will never expect—the truth."
I let my gaze sweep the chamber, making eye contact with as many people as I could reach.
"The Emperor's power rests on lies. His people believe dragons are mere beasts, that Talfen are savage raiders, that the Empire brings civilization to barbaric lands.
But what if they saw the truth? What if they witnessed, in front of thousands, the Emperor's dragons breaking free of their collars?
What if they saw Talfen prisoners fighting back, revealing themselves as people with families and hopes and dreams? "
"Impossible," scoffed another council member. "Dragon collars cannot be broken. The metal comes from the mountain itself—"
"Can't they?" Antonius interrupted, producing an object from his robes. The crystal was no larger than his fist, but every shadow mage in the chamber recoiled as if he'd drawn a blade. The thing seemed to absorb light, its dark fire swirling with hypnotic malevolence.
"The source crystal," Aytara breathed, her face going pale. "How did you—"
"Taveth showed us where it was," Antonius said calmly. "And more importantly, he's willing to use it. To draw the shadow magic out of every mage it's touched, to break every collar the Empire has forged from its metal."
The chamber erupted into chaos. Some council members surged to their feet, shouting questions.
Others backed away from the crystal as if it might contaminate them through proximity alone.
Warriors reached for weapons they weren't carrying, and I heard at least three different people invoke protective prayers.
"Madness!" one of the elder council members shouted above the din. "That thing consumed Sayven! It will devour anyone who tries to use it!"
"Aytara says that Taveth is stronger than our father ever was," Tarshi said, his voice cutting through the noise with surprising authority. "If anyone can master the crystal, it's him."
But I could see the doubt in their faces, the fear that had been bred into them by generations of watching shadow mages fall to madness. They looked at Taveth and saw not their greatest weapon, but their greatest liability.
"Even if such a thing were possible," the High Priestess said, raising her hand for silence, "you speak of infiltrating the most heavily defended city in the Empire.
The Emperor has hundreds of thousands of soldiers, elite dragon riders, and spy networks that span continents.
What makes you think seven people could succeed where armies have failed? "
"Because armies are what they're prepared for," I said. "They're expecting resistance at the borders, rebellion in the provinces. They're not expecting the Emperor's own son to turn against him."
The silence that followed was absolute. Not the murmur of interested discussion, but the shocked quiet that comes when the world suddenly shifts beneath your feet. I watched as every face in the chamber turned toward Jalend, eyes wide with disbelief and calculation.
Then the chamber erupted.
"Impossible!" someone shouted from the upper tiers.
"The Emperor's son?" another voice called out. "Here?"
"Seize him!" came a cry from one of the military commanders. "Hold him as hostage!"
Warriors surged to their feet, hands moving to weapons that weren't there, confusion and opportunity warring in their expressions.
The carefully maintained order of the council dissolved into chaos as people pushed forward, trying to get a better look at the young man who might be their salvation or their doom.
Jalend stood perfectly still in the centre of the storm, his chin raised with royal dignity despite the tumult around him. When he spoke, his voice carried with the kind of natural authority that comes from being raised to command.
"I am Prince Jalius Aurelius," he said, and the admission rang through the chamber like a bell. "Son of Emperor Valerius, heir to the Imperial throne, and the man who will help you destroy everything my father has built."
The noise died away as people strained to hear every word.
"Hostage?" Jalend continued, and there was something almost amused in his voice.
"You could string me up in the public square and broadcast it across the Empire, and my father wouldn't pay a single copper coin for my release.
He has other sons, other heirs. I am valuable to you not as a prisoner, but as a weapon turned against the hand that forged me. "
"You expect us to believe the Emperor cares nothing for his own blood?" demanded one of the council members, though uncertainty coloured his voice.
"I expect you to understand what kind of man rules the Empire," Jalend replied coldly. "My father sees people as tools, nothing more. Useful tools are maintained. Broken tools are discarded. I became a broken tool the moment I refused to slaughter Talfen children for his amusement."