The summons came at the edge of dawn—guards in ceremonial silver, faces blank as new parchment. "The Matron Queen requests your immediate presence for a private audience."
But when they led me underground, through passages that tasted of old stone and older secrets, I knew this was no audience. The circular chamber they brought me to thrummed with ritual power. Twelve figures waited, veiled in silver mesh that turned their faces to mirrors, arranged like hours on a clock beneath a shaft that funneled moonlight through a system of mirrors.
A trial. They'd dressed it in courtesy, but this was judgment.
"Stand in the center," one Judge commanded, voice distorted by enchantment to hide identity.
I stepped barefoot into the ritual circle—they'd taken my shoes at the door, ensuring skin touched sanctified stone. The moment I crossed the boundary, the binding hit. Truth-spell, woven into the very floor, designed to pull honesty from tongues like teeth from gums.
But I'd learned to dance with compulsion. Truth could be shaped, folded, made to serve if you knew how to speak in angles.
"State your name."
"I am called many things." Let them chew on that evasion.
"Your birth name."
"Aria." Truth, but incomplete. I swallowed my family name, my lineage, everything that might give them purchase.
From the shadows beyond the circle, Maerith watched. Silent. Patient. This was her show, but she let others perform it.
"The child you claim as daughter," another Judge began. "Speak of her origin."
The truth-spell pulled, but I pulled back. "She was born of my body beneath a burning moon. I labored three days while reality cracked. When she emerged, the midwife wept silver tears." All true. All meaningless without context.
"Is she Velara reborn?"
Here lay the trap. I felt the spell tighten, demanding absolute honesty. But truth had many faces.
"Velara fell into shadow and shadow fell into me. What emerged was choice itself, wearing infant skin." I slipped into the old cadences, the Moon Priestess mantras I'd learned from my mother. "As above, so below. As within, so without. The wheel turns but the center holds."
One Judge shifted—subtle, but I caught it. That last line came from texts only true Seers knew, from traditions older than this court.
"You speak in riddles," a third Judge accused.
"I speak as the moon taught me. In phases. In shadows. In the space between is and might be." The words flowed easier now, muscle memory of religious education taking over. "Would you have me speak as the sun? Harsh? Direct? Burning away mystery until only ash remains?"
"Enough poetry." This Judge leaned forward. "The child—does she carry Velara's power?"
"She carries what all children carry. Potential." I let them feel the truth of that while hiding its scope.
"Can you control her?"
The question hung like a blade. Somewhere above, through stone and spell, I heard it—Ashara's cry. Not distressed. Curious. The sound of a toddler who'd woken to find her mother gone.
The moonbeam flickered.
Every shadow in the chamber jumped, moving counter to their casters. For one heartbeat, each Judge cast multiple shadows—past, present, future overlapping. The truth-spell wavered, its grip loosening as reality hiccupped.
I seized the moment.
"She is Velara reborn," I said, letting truth and lie tangle like lovers. "But bound to my will through blood and choice. I have leashed what others feared, tamed what others fled. Through me, prophecy serves instead of rules."
Half-believed truths were more powerful than complete lies. I watched several Judges straighten, sensing possibility in my words. A Velara controlled. A prophecy contained. Power without threat.
"You would make yourself her keeper?" one asked.
"I am her mother. What keeper could be more absolute?" Truth sang in those words, reinforcing the deception.
Above, Ashara's voice grew stronger. Not crying now—humming. That dangerous melody that made reality listen. The shadows continued their independent dance, and one Judge's veil flickered, showing a glimpse of the face beneath before the enchantment reasserted.
"The court will deliberate," the central Judge announced. "You are bound to silence about these proceedings."
"As you are bound to truth about them," I countered, knowing they couldn't share what they'd learned without revealing their illegal trial.
Guards escorted me out, past Dorian who'd been held at spearpoint in the antechamber. His eyes asked questions I couldn't answer here. We walked in enforced silence back to our quarters, where Ashara waited with a servant who looked relieved to be relieved of duty.
Only when we were alone, wards checked and salt laid, did Maerith appear. She stepped from shadows I'd sworn were empty, still wearing that predator's smile.
"Cleverly done," she admitted. "You bought silence from those who might have demanded immediate action. Bought time to slip away before they realize how little control you actually have."
"Who says I don't have control?"
Her laugh was soft as silk, sharp as glass. "Please. I've seen controlled power. It doesn't cry in the night and make shadows dance. But you did buy something valuable today—silence. Not safety. Never safety. But silence has its uses."
She moved to leave, then paused. "The Judges will watch you now. Some with hope, some with fear. Use that attention wisely."
After she left, I stood at our window, watching the too-close moon. The trial had been a test, but not just of me. They'd been testing Ashara's reach, her influence, how much her mere existence disrupted their careful order.
Movement below caught my eye. One of the Judges, still in ceremonial robes but veil removed, stood in the courtyard. Even from this distance, I could see their smile—not threatening but... anticipatory. Like someone who'd just discovered a secret worth keeping.
They looked up, found my window, and raised one hand in what might have been greeting or warning. Then they walked away, leaving me with the certainty that our time here was measured in hours, not days.
Behind me, one masked Judge removes their veil. And smiles.
The game had changed. We'd entered Maerith's court as curiosities. Now we were weapons different factions hoped to claim.
Time to disappear before someone succeeded.
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