Chapter 14
The realm snapped shut behind them.
The instant Penelope stepped into the portal, the world convulsed.
Light didn’t envelop her—it snapped around her like a trap.
A violent jerk twisted her stomach as the spell shunted them sideways through the realm-veins.
The portal wasn’t stable enough to give them a smooth crossing; this was wild, frantic magic, overloaded by the necromantic disruption clinging to them.
Mingxi grabbed her arm as the ground vanished beneath their feet. “Hold on!”
To what, she didn’t know. The spell was ripping everything apart.
The portal flickered between darkness and blinding white, shuddering with each pulse of unstable magic radiating from her pocket. She felt the Grimoire throb, a faint glow leaking through the fabric. She didn’t recognize the sensation, but Mingxi’s head snapped toward it, sensing something as well.
“Lady Penelope—”
The portal buckled. A shockwave slammed into them, throwing both forward into open air.
They crashed onto the cold marble floor of the Council’s arrival chamber. Penelope almost landed face first, but Mingxi rolled beneath her, twisting to take the impact. She landed half sprawled across his chest, breath knocked from her lungs.
Gasps erupted around them.
“Seal the wards!”
“Is that Lady Penelope?”
“Close the portal now!”
Guardians scrambled to seal the gateway as its form tore apart behind them. The arch convulsed, spitting sparks before collapsing into a cascade of dying runes. Silence followed, sharp and brittle.
Penelope pushed herself upright, hair loosened, dress torn at the hem, silver magic faintly crackling along her fingertips. Councilor Thane stared at her, pale and horrified.
“She came through a portal collapse?”
Penelope met his eyes with cold composure. “Surprise.”
Mingxi rose behind her, expression unreadable, tails lifted in a protective arc. “She is alive. The portal nearly tore her in half.”
The room erupted.
“Where were you attacked?”
“Were there others?”
“What broke the Sinclair wards?”
“Was she followed?”
“Was it an assassin?”
Penelope spoke over them all. “The dead rose.”
The chamber fell silent.
She stood tall for three seconds, and then her knees gave way. Mingxi caught her before she hit the marble, his arm sliding behind her back, steady and warm.
“Easy.”
A tremor ran through her—not fear, not collapse—something closer to grief sharpened into steel. Her hand curled against his sleeve.
“I didn’t falter.”
“I know.”
She steadied herself, inhaling once, pulling her composure back into place. Mingxi watched her with a look that was half protectiveness, half realization—an unspoken understanding that her awakening was not small or accidental.
A shout broke the quiet. “Councilor Shen, explain yourself!”
Mingxi stepped forward, composed and precise. “Lady Penelope’s survival is explanation enough.”
A viciously trembling finger stabbed toward Penelope. “She was supposed to be at Arcaneum still,” someone snapped.
“She clearly is not,” Mingxi replied.
“How did a revenant breach the Sinclair estate?”
“How many were there?”
“Is the necromancer still present?”
“Is she a target?”
“Or”—Councilor Thane’s gaze narrowed—“did she cause it?”
Mingxi’s tails froze midair.
Penelope lifted her head sharply, fatigue forgotten.
Councilor Shen’s voice iced over. “Choose your next words carefully.”
Thane continued anyway. “Her magic awakened the same night the Sinclair wards collapsed. Her signature is unregistered. She returns within a destroyed portal. That is not a coincidence—that is a threat.”
Shen stepped between Thane and Penelope. “She is a survivor. She is a witness. And she is under my protection.”
Mingxi’s voice cut through the chamber like a blade. “Someone sent a revenant after her. Perhaps direct your suspicion outward.”
Alarm rippled around the room.
“Capture?”
“Or kill?”
“For what purpose?”
Penelope released Mingxi’s sleeve and stood on her own, spine straight, voice steady. “I don’t know,” she said. “But I intend to find out.”
The chamber erupted in overlapping demands—assessment, accusation, speculation.
Lady Penelope Sinclair stood unmoving in the center of it all, back straight, fists clenched at her sides.
Mingxi remained a measured distance behind her, observing the faint tremor in her stance that was hidden beneath her flawless composure. He did not speak. He had no reason to; Penelope was effectively shielding herself.
Rowan D’Arcy lifted a hand. “Enough. Lady Penelope requires rest.”
Penelope’s head snapped toward him.
Her voice was level, aristocratic, and edged with exhaustion she refused to acknowledge. “I require answers, not bedrest.”
Councilor Thane scoffed under his breath. “Unstable. Possibly dangerous—”
Penelope stiffened.
Mingxi’s changed his posture a fraction to keep it subtle, instinctive, protective in a way he did not broadcast. His duty was to safeguard Council integrity, and currently, she was the most volatile point on the map.
Rowan didn’t give her a chance to argue again. “Councilor Shen. Escort Lady Penelope to the private resting chamber.”
Penelope inhaled sharply. But another wave of dizziness washed over her—quick, disorienting. Her knees threatened to buckle.
Mingxi stepped forward before she fell—not touching her, not invading her space, but anchoring her by sheer presence.
“Lady Penelope,” Mingxi said, tone precise and formal, “fatigue undermines judgment, not resolve. You have not failed. You are simply exhausted.”
Her eyes flicked to him, sharp, wary, unwillingly grateful, but she said nothing. Instead, she walked forward on her own, chin high, demanding the dignity she refused to lose.
Mingxi followed.