Chapter 26 Whispers in the Halls
The palace was quiet—but it wasn’t peaceful.
Not after what Hatim had done.
Not after the way he had defended Sana before the entire council.
Whispers followed them wherever they went. Servants bowed lower, nobles stared longer, and the Queen’s rage simmered like oil beneath flame.
But Sana held her head higher now. Not out of pride—but strength.
She had always hidden behind her veil. Now she walked beside a prince.
And he never let go of her hand.
“My Lady,” he said mockingly. “Shouldn’t a Queen be learning court politics instead of plucking petals like a village girl?”
Sana smiled gently.
“Perhaps. But if you listened to the wind instead of your own voice… you might hear what it has to teach.”
He blinked.
Hatim, watching from afar, smirked.
“That’s my wife.”
Back in the chamber, Sana found a gift on her pillow: a leather-bound journal, edges painted in gold.
On the first page, in Hatim’s handwriting:
“Write every thought, every secret. If I’m your sword, let this be your shield.”
She clutched it to her chest.
But the sweetness didn’t last.
That night, Queen Roshni summoned the Royal Seer—a woman draped in midnight blue, her eyes veiled in shadow.
“You said the girl had no powers,” Roshni hissed.
The Seer tilted her head.
“I said she didn’t know she had them.”
Roshni’s voice dropped.
“Then awaken them. And let her drown in them.”
Meanwhile, Hatim stood at the top of the west tower, wind roaring around him.
He raised his hand—and fire bloomed in his palm.
Then water. Then wind. Then a crackle of stormlight.
“I am the heir of all elements,” he whispered. “But why does it feel like my greatest power… is her?”
Back in their chamber, Sana sat beside the fireplace, staring into the flames.
Meher arrived, breathless.
“You should rest.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Why?”
Sana looked at her hand.
“Because sometimes… I feel like something’s crawling beneath my skin. Like my blood hums louder at night.”
Meher paled.
“What do you mean?”
Sana shook her head.
“It’s probably nothing.”
But she didn’t believe that.
Not anymore.
That night, she dreamed again.
The veil of stars parted.
The faceless Keeper appeared—closer this time.
“You are waking, daughter of the moon. But beware…”
“Of what?” she whispered.
“Not all light is gentle. Not all truth is kind.”
She reached out.
And this time—he touched her hand.
“Let her be consumed,” she prayed. “Let her become what they all fear.”
The shadows whispered back.
“And what if she becomes what you fear most…?”