Chapter 25
We spend the rest of the day in my quarters, just talking.
Not the careful, edited version of the truth I’ve been giving everyone else …
but the raw, unfiltered reality. I tell Astrid everything – about Zevran, about my time in the Mars palace, the discovery of the empty healers workshop.
About the assassination attempt, shadow wrapped around my mouth, unable to fight, unable to even scream. About Lord Lucien.
Astrid listens the way she always has – without judgment, without interruption, taking in every detail. When I finally run out of words, she’s quiet for a long moment.
“You’re carrying too much,” she says finally.
“I know.”
“And Liora’s planning something,” Astrid says. “Whether it’s to help you or protect herself, I don’t know.”
“Maybe both,” I offer.
“Maybe.” She doesn’t sound convinced.
By the time the light through the window shifts to deep amber, we’ve covered everything – the political factions forming among the Houses, Lord Lucien’s dangerous interventions, the Cardinals’ failing authority, what the second trial might demand of me.
“You need to eat properly,” Astrid says, eyeing the half-finished plate from breakfast I’ve been pushing around. “You’re already running on empty. If you show up at the trial looking weak, your team will see it.”
She’s right. I quickly make myself look presentable.
“Ready?” Astrid asks after a moment.
“No,” I admit. “But let’s go anyway.”
The dining hall is already crowded when we arrive.
It’s not a formal state dinner – no assigned seating, no ceremonial protocols.
Just a large communal space where House delegations gather for informal meals.
Long tables stretch across the floor, some claimed by specific Houses, others holding mixed groups.
Servers move through the space carrying platters of Talis delicacies – foods from across the system, rare and expensive.
The background hum of conversation fills the air. Laughter from one corner, heated debate from another, the clinking of dishes and glasses creating a constant rhythm underneath it all.
Astrid’s arm is still linked through mine as we enter. I feel the weight of attention shift toward us immediately.
Conversations don’t stop, exactly. But voices lower. Eyes track our movement through the space.
“They’re watching you,” Astrid murmurs. “I suppose they want to see how you handle being team leader.”
I catch fragments of whispered conversations as we pass:
“...wonder if she inherited his manipulative mind...”
“...gave that speech yesterday, though. Stopped them from tearing each other apart...”
“...still just a girl from the slums...”
Ren takes up position near the wall close to where we choose to sit, her hand resting casually near her blade. Not threatening, just present. Her ice-blue eyes scan the room thoroughly.
I look for my team in the crowd.
Lord Castor sits with Jupiter’s aides at a table near the far wall.
His voice carries across the hall, loud, dominating, punctuated by harsh laughter.
He’s already several drinks in, judging by the flush across his cheeks and the aggressive way he gestures while telling some combat story.
His advisor and aides hang on every word, feeding his ego with appropriate reactions.
Lord Evander sits alone at a small table near the windows. He has a datapad propped against his water glass, reading while he eats. He doesn’t engage with anyone around him, doesn’t even look up when servers pass.
Lady Nerida isn’t here at all.
“Your prophetess is missing,” Astrid observes.
“Someone mentioned she’s in the Neptune wing’s meditation pools,” a nearby Venus aide offers, clearly eavesdropping. “She doesn’t eat with the rest of us often.”
Astrid and I find an empty table near the edge of the hall. Not isolated, but not in the centre of attention either. A server approaches, offering the evening’s selections. I choose some roasted vegetables and grain, nothing that will make my already sensitive stomach worse.
“Look at them,” Astrid says quietly once the server leaves. She’s watching my team with clinical assessment. “They’re not just divided. They’re actively avoiding each other.”
She’s right. Lord Castor hasn’t even glanced toward Lord Evander. Lord Evander seems unaware anyone else exists. And Lady Nerida might as well be on a different planet.
“Now watch his team,” Astrid continues, nodding toward Zevran’s table.
I follow her gaze. Lady Tavia is explaining something, using her hands to sketch out what looks like communication pathways.
Commander Kaelix leans forward, adding technical details.
Isolde listens, then offers a strategic observation that makes both of them nod.
Zevran orchestrates it all with subtle guidance – a question here, a redirect there, keeping the conversation flowing and productive.
“They’re already strategizing,” I say.
“And your team is scattered across the hall getting drunk, reading, and meditating in another wing entirely.” Astrid’s tone isn’t unkind, just factual. “That’s your challenge – somehow, some way, you need to bring your team together.”
The food arrives. I try to eat, but my hands shake slightly when I reach for the fork, exhaustion and stress making simple tasks harder. I manage a few bites before the nausea builds again.
I reach for my water glass and nearly knock it over.
Two hands move simultaneously – Ren stepping forward from her position near the wall, Astrid’s fingers already closing around the stem. Their eyes meet and for a heartbeat, neither moves.
Then Astrid steadies the glass while Ren pushes it closer to my reach, the movement coordinated without a word passing between them.
Astrid nods once. Ren returns it before stepping back to her post.
I take the water glass, hands still shaking slightly. Something has shifted between them – a mutual respect, maybe, as they realize they’re both watching over me now.
I drink the water slowly, letting it settle the nausea. Across the hall, Lord Castor raises his glass in mock salute when he catches me looking. His grin almost looks like a challenge. I hold his gaze for a moment, then deliberately look away.
Not worth engaging. Not here, not in front of his aides.
A server approaches our table, setting down a bowl of plain bread and mild broth I didn’t order.
“Compliments of Lady Tavia,” the server says before moving on.
I look across the hall. Lady Tavia catches my eye and gives a small nod, aware of how sickly I look. Her quiet support is much appreciated.
The broth is warm and settling. I manage several spoonfuls before the nausea forces me to stop. But it’s something.
Around us, the dining hall continues its rhythm. Conversations rise and fall, delegates move between tables, forming temporary alliances and testing boundaries. It’s a social battlefield, every interaction weighted with political implication.
I catch more whispers:
“...Sun King’s daughter can’t even control her own team...”
“...give her time. She’s barely been here two weeks...”
“...doesn’t matter. The maze will eat them alive if they’re not unified...”
The weight of expectation presses down from all sides. Everyone watching to see if I’ll succeed or fail. If I’m my father’s daughter in more than just blood.
“You can’t approach them here,” Astrid says, pulling my attention back. “Lord Castor’s performing for his aides. Lord Evander won’t engage in a social setting. Lady Nerida’s not even present.”
I pause, gathering my thoughts. “What if tomorrow, I approach each of them? One-on-one meetings. Private spaces where they’re not playing to an audience.”
Astrid nods enthusiastically as I continue. “Lord Castor first – he’s the biggest threat to my authority.”
“Yes, meet him on his terms, in his space. Show him you’re not afraid.” Astrid adds.
“Then I’ll approach the others. Lord Evander should be easy, we’ve already had a few conversations. Lady Nerida—” I pause. “Honestly, I have no idea how to prepare for someone like her. But she seemed to already know the teams before they were announced, so maybe she’ll guide herself.”
Across the hall, Zevran’s team is standing, preparing to leave. They move as a unit, still talking, still engaged. A team that’s ready.
“You have your work cut out for you tomorrow,” Astrid says.
“I know.”
We stand to leave. The dining hall feels too loud, too full of watching eyes. Ren falls into step behind us, silent and protective.
Two days until the trial.
Tomorrow I meet with each of them.
And somehow, I have to turn three volatile strangers into a team that can survive a maze designed to exploit our deepest fears.
Nothing about this is going to be easy.