Chapter 20
The arena library is quieter than anywhere I’ve been since arriving on Talis.
I step through an archway carved with astronomical symbols, and the noise of the corridors drops away at once.
The chamber opens into a wide, circular hall with shelves of transparent crystal rising three stories high.
Rows of data slates and preserved texts glow faintly behind containment fields.
Long tables stretch across the polished floor, their surfaces inlaid with constellations that shimmer when I pass.
A handful of scholarly Cardinals sit scattered around the room, heads bent over ancient volumes. The air carries the dry scent of old paper and dust.
Near the far wall, a ladder glides soundlessly along a rail. Lord Evander stands atop it, his grey hair catching the cool blue light as he searches the upper shelves.
I cross the floor. Just as he frees a heavy tome from its slot, another book slips beside it and drops.
I catch it before it hits the ground – surprised by my own dexterity, which seems to be improving since starting all this training – and pass it back.
“I imagine the archivists here aren’t a violent group,” I can feel a small smile spread across my lips.
“But I think in this case, they would make an exception if you damaged a book.”
Lord Evander glances down, a brief flicker of surprise softening his reserve. “Believe me, Saturn archivists would do the same.” There is the faintest thread of humour beneath his formal exterior.
He descends the ladder and sets both books on the nearest table. “You have quick reflexes, Lady Cyra.” He gestures to the volumes already arranged across the surface. “If you have a moment, help would be welcome. I am searching for early Conclave records.”
I join him at the table. Sorting the ancient bindings brings a steady rhythm that quiets my thoughts.
“What exactly are you researching?” I ask.
“Governance,” he says. “Or what is left of it. The original framework of the Conclave before it was rewritten.”
I place another book into a neat stack. “I thought the trials were simply a way to choose a ruler that could unite all of the planetary kingdoms. Were they different before?”
He sits, resting a volume across his knees. “The founders called it the Covenant of Twelve, back when there were lesser moons and outer rim colonies that had kingdoms like ours. It was meant to help determine who could lead justly,” he says.
I take the seat across from him. “How did it work?”
Approval crosses his face, brief but sincere.
He opens the book again. “Each House sent a candidate who demonstrated three virtues: strength, intellect, and empathy. The trials were not meant to determine who was strongest, smartest, or anything like that. They were actually meant to reveal which candidates could not be trusted with power.”
“How did they do that exactly?”
“No one ‘won’ any trials or competitions,” Lord Evander explains.
“They all worked together. The Houses talked. Argued. Forged alliances. Once consensus formed around the candidate least corrupted by ambition, the Covenant allowed them to lead. Any House could halt the process with a single refusal. Unity was required, not victory.”
I blink, letting this information sink in. “That sounds … impossible.”
“It was difficult by design. Which is why it worked.” He turns a page with careful admiration.
“The Houses depended on one another. Resources, trade routes, military support. No one dared manipulate the outcome because they could not afford to lose the others. And the Cardinals guarded the Covenant with absolute authority.” He pauses. “Until Solric of House Sun.”
I swallow hard.
Lord Evander turns another page, the blue light cutting fine lines into the skin around his eyes.
“He discovered loopholes. He followed every rule … technically. Never outright tampered with a trial. Never left enough evidence to prove he swayed a vote.” His fingers rest on the page.
“But he shaped each trial so that no other candidate would be as successful as him. He arranged the structure, and by virtue, the outcome. The spirit of the Covenant fractured.”
I furrow my brow. “How could something so strong break that easily?”
“Because the Covenant depended on belief,” he says.
“The original Covenant only endured because the Houses trusted one another to honour it. Once fear replaced belief, replaced trust … it eroded from the inside. Somehow, Solric – the Sun King – knew that fear is the strongest solvent in political structures.”
My stomach clenches. “Fear of what, exactly?”
He closes the book with careful admiration.
“The outer rim threat. The shadow armies. The first attack struck the Sun Kingdom 35 years ago,” His Grace says gently.
“It did not destroy it outright, but it left it broken and vulnerable. Those who survived believed Solric could save them. Then others in the system started to believe that too, once the fear and the rumours spread.”
I let the words settle, piecing together the pattern: fear as a weapon. Survival as currency. My father hadn’t just seized power – he’d made himself indispensable.
“So my father convinced people that only he could protect them against this threat?”
“Yes,” Lord Evander says. “Because he was one of the only survivors who witnessed the attack on the Sun Kingdom, and lived to tell the tale. The other leaders were willing to do anything to make sure their kingdoms wouldn’t be destroyed next.”
I absorb that. The Covenant that lasted six centuries undone by fear and a ruler who saw every threat as an opportunity to seize power and control.
“Do you think the Conclave can work again?” I ask. “The way it was meant to.”
Lord Evander’s gaze drifts across the towering shelves, then returns to me. “Possibly. The idea was sound. The structure endured longer than any empire.”
“What stands in its way now?”
“People forget why it mattered,” he says. “Or they stop believing anyone else remembers.”
I hesitate, then ask the question that has been forming since we started this conversation. “Is there someone you believe should lead?”
He gives a low chuckle of amusement, returning the book to its shelf.
“I’ll have you know – I do not wish to take the throne myself,” he says. “Saturn serves best as counsel. We see the patterns, but lack the hunger to change them.”
“Then who?” I ask.
His Grace considers the question.
“Some contenders come armed with ambition. They wield it like a blade and expect it to cut a path for them.” He pauses, choosing his next words with care.
“Others carry duty. Not proudly, not loudly … simply because someone must. It weighs on them, but the system has always endured better under those who feel that weight.”
His gaze moves over the shelves once more. “Lord Zevran has known duty better than anyone. He would not be the worst outcome. Although … we have all noticed his declining health. The other House leaders and I share the same concerns on how that might impact him in the future…”
The words settle with unexpected weight … Zevran, steady despite his scars. Zevran, who bears duty the way others wear armour … his illness the only thing in his way.
I rise and incline my head as Lord Evander turns back to the table. “Thank you, Your Grace, for entertaining this conversation, answering my questions … and the enlightening history lesson.”
A faint, genuine smile touches his lips.
I leave the library with the quiet still lingering in my ears. The corridor beyond is brighter, warmer, a return to movement and voices.
Isolde waits just outside the archway, her expression a careful blend of curiosity and satisfaction.
“Well,” she says. “You spoke with Saturn’s most stoic relic and returned intact. That’s promising.” Her eyes twinkle, humour behind her tone. “How did it go?”
“It went well,” I affirm. “I learned more about history than I expected.”
She tilts her head in approval. “Saturn never wastes breath. If he spoke at length, he judged you worth the effort.”
We pass a tall window where the arena lights flicker, casting shifting reflections across the glass. Isolde studies me through them.
“What did you learn?” she asks.
“That the Conclave was meant to find a just ruler to unite, not control,” I consider my words. “That the system fell apart long before the Cardinals called us here.”
Isolde’s mouth curves. “Good. Most contenders fixate on the trials and forget the truth behind them. If you want to navigate this game, you need more than power. You need knowledge and perspective.”
I glance at her. “Did you know Lord Evander might support Lord Zevran if he had to choose?”
She exhales a soft, amused sound. “Saturn admires duty when they see it. Evander definitely has no appetite for the throne.”
“Do you think he’s right about Lord Zevran?” I ask.
Isolde answers with a shrug elegant enough to double as strategy. “Right or not, it tells you where Saturn stands. Just remember … every House is watching every conversation you have. Including this one.”
We reach the branching corridor that leads toward the residential wings. Isolde stops there, her eyes reflecting more than her expression offers.
“Good work today,” she says. “You listened. Keep doing that … it will matter later.”
She turns away, her steps unhurried and poised, leaving me with the feeling that the conversation we just had – that I thought was a debrief – was also a test. And that I passed, at least for now.