Chapter 5: A Throne of Knives
The Tribunal Tower was too quiet.
Cael walked through its obsidian halls alone, footsteps echoing like war drums. The air hummed with wards and watchful eyes.
Waiting at the apex: High Consul Derian — the man who once orchestrated his death.
Now? He offered him tea.
"Velren," Derian said smoothly, gesturing to the seat across from him, "I've been watching you."
Cael sat, calm. Controlled.
"I noticed."
Derian poured two cups. "You remind me of someone I once knew. Brilliant, arrogant, ambitious. Thought he could play gods and kings like puppets."
"Let me guess," Cael said. "He died."
"Tragically."
Their eyes locked. Derian knew. Cael knew he knew. But neither flinched.
That was the game.
"You humiliated one of Vale's heirs," Derian said, sipping. "You made the Tribunal look weak. And you did it with cursed glyphs and a bastard's badge."
"Is this the part where you threaten me?"
"No," Derian said, smiling. "This is where I hire you."
Pause.
"You're bold," Derian continued. "And dangerous. You see the rot in the royal houses. That makes you useful."
"And you don't kill useful things," Cael said.
"Not until they forget who holds the leash."
Cael leaned forward. "You had me executed once. I haven't forgotten."
"Then consider this mercy," Derian replied, voice colder now. "You get one life. You're already living your second. Don't waste it."
He slid a sealed scroll across the table.
"A name. A target. Eliminate them, and you'll have my favor."
Cael didn't touch the scroll.
"Why would I do your dirty work?"
"Because if you don't…" Derian smiled. "I'll make sure Orielle disappears like you never existed."
A direct threat.
Good.
Because now Cael could respond in kind.
He stood, took the scroll, and smiled.
"Fine. I'll play your game."
But as he left the tower, his plan solidified:
He'd take the job.
He'd kill the target.
Then he'd bury Derian with them.
The scroll opened with a whispering hiss. Inside:
Target: Lirael Saine.Affiliation: House Maren.Status: Unaligned.Reason: Obstruction of Crown policy.
Cael frowned.
Lirael was an independent operative. Former diplomat. Had been poking around the Academy archives about—what else—the Scion executions.
Derian was cleaning up the past.
Which meant she probably had something Cael needed.
So instead of killing her, he'd find her. Use her. Maybe even protect her.
And make Derian think he did the opposite.
He tracked Lirael's location through Academy intel maps and cross-checked magical signatures from the restricted sections.
She was in the Reliquary Vaults — an underground library built before the first Crown War.
Not even Headmistress Veyra had unrestricted access.
Good thing Cael didn't ask for permission.
He entered the vault through a broken seal, slipping past magical tripwires and ancient guardians.
Lirael stood in the center chamber, arms buried in a text glowing with divine runes.
"You're late," she said without looking up.
"I didn't know I had an appointment."
"You do now."
She closed the book. Her eyes glowed faintly silver. Not magic — memory fragments. She'd been using echo spells.
"You're Velren," she said. "But that's not your real name, is it?"
"Let's just say I've worn better ones."
She handed him a fragment — a piece of Scion Court records, thought burned years ago.
The heading chilled him.
"Trial Proceedings: Caelum Ardent"
Cael stared. "Where did you get this?"
"I found it buried beneath false executions," Lirael said. "Scion cases that never made it to public record. Trials buried by the Tribunal."
"Why show me?"
"Because you're the only one reckless enough to do something about it," she said. "Derian wants me dead because I know how they erased an entire generation of Scions."
Cael's pulse slowed.
"Then let's give him a reason to be afraid."
They forged a pact.
Not of trust — they were far past that.
Of mutual revenge.
Cael would "eliminate" Lirael in public. Stage a spectacle. Something so convincing even Derian would believe it.
Meanwhile, she'd disappear into the Academy's underbelly and continue digging.
And Cael?
He'd make himself into a weapon Derian couldn't control.
Three days later, during the Academy's Spellweave Festival — a showcase of enchantments and political pageantry — the assassination was staged.
Cael found Lirael on the balcony.
Theatrically loud.
Blade drawn.
Crowd gasping.
"Lirael Saine," he declared, "you've been found guilty of espionage."
They exchanged a look. Just for a moment.
She lunged. He struck.
Smoke. Screams. A fall over the railing.
Gone.
Dead.
To everyone watching.
Later that night, Derian sent a raven.
"Efficient. We'll be in touch."
Cael burned it to ash.
With Lirael "dead," Cael's status within the Academy changed overnight.
No longer just a bastard Scion — now a potential operative for the Tribunal.
Veyra summoned him again.
"You're playing too well," she said.
"Isn't that what you wanted?"
"I wanted to see the game burn," she said, smiling. "You might just do it."
She handed him a key — ancient, obsidian, carved with a phoenix sigil.
"The Archive of Crows," she said. "Deepest vault in the Academy. It holds records even Derian fears."
"Why give this to me?"
"Because I want to see what happens when a ghost opens a door that was meant to stay locked."
In the Archive, Cael found it.
The original Scion registry.
His name: Caelum Ardent. Marked "Erased."
Beside it: a list of all the others.
Nineteen in total.
All wiped from history.
Except one.
Scion #12 — Status: Alive. Location: Unknown.
Not dead.
Not erased.
Just... gone.
Back in his quarters, Cael stared at the fragment, adrenaline singing in his blood.
If another Scion survived, they might remember the truth.
They might have the key to unraveling everything Derian built.
To destroying it.
A knock at his door.
Orielle.
She entered without a word and placed a dagger on the table.
"Someone sent this to me," she said. "Engraved with your name."
Cael picked it up.
On the blade: Velren.
And below it: Liar.
He was being hunted.
Or tested.
Or both.
But one thing was now certain.
The game wasn't about winning anymore.
It was about surviving long enough to flip the table.