Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
“Ican't believe you brought me to the square,” I hiss as we shoulder past a sea of dark green cloaks.
The crowd presses in on all sides, suffocating, the air thick with perfume and anticipation.
“Everyone is supposed to be here tonight,” Naima mutters back.
“Draven specifically told me not to come.”
One of the Council's residents shoots me a silencing glare. I bite my tongue and keep moving. The crowd's attention is fixed on the man speaking from the stage. I can’t see him, but his voice drifts over the square, low and honeyed. Together. Unity. Peace.
Naima leads us up a set of stairs, and we each claim a step overlooking the square. My eyes land on the man on stage. Constantine. Even from here, his presence commands the square the way a spider commands its web.
I've only seen him twice, both from a distance, but he's impossible to forget.
His skin is pale as bone, his features so symmetrical they seem carved rather than born.
Silver hair falls past his elbows, gleaming under the torchlight.
He looks like the portraits of the old aristocrats that hang in the Veritas archives, the ones the Sages warn us about.
The ones who ruled through fear and called it order.
He wears a dark green cloak with thick gold brocade at the shoulders, a matching doublet stitched with gold thread, and shoes polished to a mirror shine. Every detail is calculated. Every thread is a statement of power.
“This Moon Festival will be the biggest we've ever hosted,” he announces, his voice carrying effortlessly across the square. “And the longest.”
The crowd erupts in cheers. Constantine grins, drinking it all in. “Our usual esteemed guests have already arrived, most of whom are here tonight. But there are many more to come.”
The gold ring on his pinky catches the torchlight as he gestures, the glint of a tiny amber stone catches my attention before I turn back to the crowd.
I watch the way they lean towards him, their faces upturned like flowers seeking sun.
There’s something hypnotic about the cadence of his voice.
Something that slips beneath the skin and settles there.
It reminds me of a compulsion, but this is subtler.
Softer. The kind of poison you don't taste until it's already in your blood.
“Of course, that means we must remain vigilant,” he continues. “Any outsiders who enter without reporting to the House of Justice will be dealt with accordingly.”
The threat lands softly, but it's a threat all the same.
I scan the stage behind him. Freida and Anala sit in dark red cloaks, their faces unreadable.
Mother and Draven are beside them, still wearing the green I saw earlier.
The other two Council members flank them, their features obscured from this distance.
I've never seen them up close. I'm not sure I want to.
I scan the crowd near the stage, searching for Arlo and Cas.
For Malachi, so I can point him out to Kage.
The handful of Veritas residents near the front stand out like drops of blood in a field of green.
A few purple and pale blue cloaks cluster on the far side, visiting merchants or dignitaries from distant courts.
Every face is tilted toward Constantine as though he's delivering prophecy rather than the same tedious reminders they recite every year. Wear your amulets at all times. Adhere to each evening's color theme. Duels at the amphitheater are free but require a ticket. I could recite it in my sleep.
A flare of warmth blooms in my chest without warning.
The sensation of being watched. I turn instinctively toward the field on the far side of the square, where three massive alatuses graze underneath the dark clouds above.
Their wings stretch and fold in slow, languid movements, casting long shadows across the grass.
And there, standing near them, is a hooded figure. Tall and broad, still as stone. I can't see his face, but I know it's Malachi. And I know, with bone-deep certainty, that he's staring directly at me.
Naima’s gasp yanks me back. I turn toward the stage and stop breathing.
Casimir and Arlo step closer to Constantine wearing dark green coats with gold brocade at the shoulders.
The same gold brocade Constantine wears.
The same gold the highest-ranking officers of the Lunarian Legion are granted when they've proven their absolute loyalty to the Council.
Gold wings. They've been given gold wings.
“Oh gods,” Naima breathes beside me.
She sounds as horrified as I feel by this sudden promotion.
We knew it was a possibility, of course.
We figured it would happen eventually, with the way the Council has taken interest in them.
But seeing them in those uniforms makes it real in a way I wasn't prepared for.
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Gasps.
A few scattered cheers and whistles from Lunarian residents.
“Most of you have had the pleasure of watching Casimir the Handsome and Arlo the Undefeated duel in our amphitheater,” Constantine says, grinning as the crowd roars its approval. “I'm proud to announce that after years of loyal service, they have earned their gold wings.”
Gold wings. The words echo in my skull. The gold wings are not just a promotion. They're a chain.
Once you wear them, you belong to the Council completely. You follow their orders without question. You hunt whoever they tell you to hunt. You kill whoever they tell you to kill.
Arlo and Cas have just become weapons. And the Council now holds the blade. The cheers are deafening. I press my hands over my mouth, unable to look away, unable to breathe.
“Their first task,” Constantine continues, his voice cutting through the noise. “Will be finding the renegades."
Another wave of cheers. My stomach turns.
“Whoever is leaving these hateful messages on our walls, mocking our ideals and threatening our peace, will be punished.” He steps to the edge of the stage, and his pale eyes seem to sweep the entire crowd at once.
“There is nowhere on this island you can hide from us. We will find you. We will protect Lunaris!”
The words settle over the square like the Shroud itself, dark and foreboding and inevitable.
He gestures toward Arlo and Cas. “You've seen their skills in the arena. Come the final evening of the festival, anyone deemed a renegade will face their wrath!”
The crowd erupts. The sound is distant, muffled by the drumming in my ears. My gaze flies to the Sages. They're whispering amongst themselves, their expressions unreadable.
Mother's jaw is tight. Freida's hand rests on the arm of her chair, knuckles white. They didn't know. I'm certain of it. They didn't know this was coming.
I look at Arlo and Cas again. My oldest friends. My family, in every way that matters. Cas was my first everything.
My first kiss, my first heartbreak, the first person outside the Estate I ever trusted completely.
And Arlo has always been as much a brother to me as Jordi.
I would die for either of them. I thought they would do the same for me.
Now they stand on that stage in gold wings, and I don't know what they are anymore.
When they became legion guards a few years ago, they swore their loyalty to the Veritas Order would always come first. They promised us. They promised me. But I've heard the stories.
The Council has ways of breaking people.
Of twisting their minds until they see enemies in the faces of the ones they love.
Until they believe betrayal is righteousness and cruelty is duty.
I stare at Arlo and Cas, standing in their gold wings, and I wonder if I've already lost them.
If I lost them the moment they stepped onto that stage.