The night rose in a blaze of light.
Lanterns floated like captured stars above the wide stone courtyards, their flames swaying gently with the wind. Carriages rolled in one by one, wheels glinting wet from the evening rain, their doors spilling out nobles dressed in every color of silk and velvet. Laughter carried across the gates, soft and musical, as jeweled masks hid faces that did not wish to be recognized — or wished to be noticed all the more.
Inside, the great hall glowed like the heart of a jewel. Hundreds of candles burned in towering chandeliers, their crystal branches scattering shards of light across marble floors polished smooth enough to see reflections. A string ensemble played at the far end, violins weaving into horns and the beat of a drum that kept the dancers whirling. The music rose and fell like the sea, lifting the nobles in tides of movement.
Wine flowed. Golden cups clinked together. Platters of sugared fruits, steaming venison, and spiced breads drifted through the crowd on the arms of silent servants. Everywhere, voices blended into a tapestry of merriment: gossip in one corner, flirtations in another, boasts shouted above the music.
On the dance floor, gowns spun in circles of emerald, crimson, and sapphire, trailing embroidery that shimmered like rivers of light. Laughter broke again and again, bright as shattered glass.
At the center of it all, a girl in silver silk was twirled by her partner beneath the chandeliers. Her hair, bound with strings of pearls, caught the light as she laughed — not the polite laugh of nobility, but one unguarded, alive. For a moment, even the musicians seemed to play louder, as though drawn to her joy.
Not far away, masked men toasted, their rings catching candlelight as they raised crystal goblets high. "To the Sun, to fortune, to the glory of our houses!" they cried, their voices swelling until the entire hall echoed with the chorus.
The party was a dream woven of silk and sound. The air smelled of roses and warm bread, of smoke from the torches, of spilled wine soaking into marble. Every corner glimmered with something: the sharp laughter of young lords, the sly whispers of old dowagers, the secretive glances passed between masks.
And above it all, the chandeliers burned brighter, as though daring the night beyond the walls to be darker, quieter, less alive.
No one noticed the shadows gathering at the far edges of the room. No one cared. For here, in this moment, the world outside did not exist.
The hall blazed with brilliance. Chandeliers spilled rivers of firelight down upon silks and velvets, every mask a painted dream. Music swelled, violins racing into horns, and the polished marble floor became a sea of color as dancers spun in great circles.
Golden cups clinked. Wine poured like a river, staining lips red. Laughter broke again and again, sharp and gleaming.
By the pillars, two noblemen leaned together, their masks feathered and heavy with gems. One swirled his wine lazily, his lips curling into a smirk."Have you seen them lately? The common markets reek worse than the stables. They breed faster than hounds, and work half as well."
The other chuckled, the sound thick with contempt. "Work? They complain even when given bread. As if they deserved more than scraps. I say let them starve a little longer — hunger makes beasts obey."
Their laughter tangled with the music before drifting away into the glow.
Elsewhere, a cluster of young ladies fanned themselves with ivory and lace, their gowns like petals around them. One leaned close, her perfume as heavy as her whisper."They stink of sweat. Always gawking when they pass the gates. Do they think our streets belong to them?"
Another snapped her fan closed, eyes narrowing behind her jeweled mask. "If they touch the cobbles of this hall, I swear I'll have the servants wash the stone with salt."
Their circle erupted in laughter, light and cruel, before returning to talk of gowns and pearls.
On the dance floor, the music swelled brighter, the dancers spinning faster. A silver-gowned girl laughed freely as her partner twirled her beneath the chandeliers, her joy ringing clear — yet at the edges of the hall, voices dripped venom.
An old lord, rings biting into his fingers, spoke loud enough for half the table to hear. "Mark me, the city only prospers when the common dogs are kept on a leash. Give them too much hope, and they think themselves men."
Goblets rose in agreement."To leashes!" one sneered, and the table roared with laughter.
The music soared, drowning them for a heartbeat, pulling the hall into glitter and grace once more. The violins sang, the gowns spun, and the air smelled of roses, bread, and spilled wine.
Yet behind the masks, smiles cut sharper than blades.
No one spoke of mercy.
Only of themselves.
Goblets clinked. Silver trays passed between dancers, heavy with sugared fruits, venison glistening with spice, and steaming bread rolls dripping butter. Perfume and smoke wove thick in the air.
At the edge of the floor, two lords leaned close, their laughter low and cruel. One swirled his wine, ruby liquid catching the light."The lower district," he sneered, "is rotting like a carcass in the sun. I hear they claw at each other in the streets for a scrap of bread."
The other chuckled, his mask gilded with a fox's grin. "As they should. Let them starve and bleed — it keeps them from dreaming above their station."
But then his voice dropped, a smugness curling his words."Do you know the truth? The fools don't even see it. The nobles own those streets now. Every tavern, every market stall, every loaf of bread they fight for — bought, bought, bought. The dogs are biting one another over scraps, and we hold the leash."
Their laughter tangled with the music, sharp and gleaming like broken glass.
Nearby, a cluster of young ladies fanned themselves with ivory, their gowns shimmering like petals under the chandeliers. One tilted her mask, lips curling."They say the lower alleys reek of smoke. People burning what little they have just to keep warm. Disgusting."
Another snapped her fan closed. "Disgusting? It's amusing. Let them choke on their own filth. They don't realize every loaf, every coin, belongs to us now."
Their laughter rang out, cruel and bright, before dissolving back into the music.
At the banquet table, an old lord raised his goblet, his voice carrying like thunder."Mark me — they think they fight each other for food, but every bite fattens our purses. We own their hunger. We own their fight."
Goblets lifted high, jewels flashing in the firelight."To the leash!" someone cried, and the table roared its agreement.
The music swelled louder, drowning the venom beneath waves of violins and horns. Dancers spun faster, silk sweeping marble, laughter gilding the air. The chandeliers blazed brighter, as if trying to banish the shadows pooling at the edges of the hall.
And yet behind the masks, their smiles were sharper than blades.
Aelina leaned against the stone balustrade of Aurensport's western tower, the sea wind clawing through her black hair. Below her, the harbor stretched wide — once proud, once gleaming — but now it was restless. Lanterns flickered along the docks where sailors muttered in hushed tones, their faces hard with fear. Ships came in battered, sails torn, their holds empty save for whispers of raids.
"It has been a month," she whispered to herself, her hands tightening against the cold stone. "And every day, it worsens."
The waves crashed against the piers with a force that mirrored her thoughts. Pirates struck more boldly now — not just taking cargo, but people. Entire crews vanished into the night, women and children stolen from the shore villages, their names swallowed by the sea.
Her father's worry weighed over the house like a storm cloud. Lord Alaric Dawncrest, who never bowed, now paced the halls at night, speaking in clipped tones to messengers who came bearing nothing but grim tidings. His sharp eyes, once fixed on the horizon with certainty, now held a flicker of doubt.
And Aelina knew why.
Her little sister was still missing.
A month had passed since the girl's laughter filled these halls, since she last braided ribbons into Aelina's hair or snuck honeyed figs from the kitchens. A month of scouring the coast, bribing captains, sending riders into the wild ports and taverns where pirates whispered their bargains. A month of silence.
Aelina gripped the edge of the balustrade until her knuckles whitened. She could almost hear her sister's voice carried in the wind — light, playful, a memory now gnawed hollow by fear.
Her father had not spoken it aloud, but she knew: the Dawncrests could hold Aurensport's walls against armies, but against the sea's lawless tide, even their reach faltered.
The nobles in Highwarden laughed in their gilded halls. The commoners in the lower districts bled in the streets. And here in Aurensport, the waves themselves had turned against them.
Aelina shut her eyes."Where are you…?" she whispered into the wind.
The only answer was the sea, endless and unbroken, hiding both her sister — and the pirates who had stolen her away.
Food prices climbed each day. Bread that once fed a family now bought only a handful of crust. Fishmongers sold half-empty baskets, claiming pirates had cut their nets and stolen their catch. Even salt, abundant as the sea, was hoarded like gold. The poor cursed openly in the markets, their hunger no longer hidden behind lowered heads.
And the nobles… they saw opportunity in the ruin.
Aelina had overheard them during her father's councils: houses scheming, forming groups, whispering of alliances to "maintain order" — their words polished, but their aims plain. They tightened their grip on the city, raising tariffs, buying failing taverns and stalls, pressing the desperate into debt they could never repay. Pirates might rule the waters, but on land, it was the nobles who drew the noose tighter.
Worse still, those groups were no longer content with politics alone. She had heard rumors — whispered in corridors by servants who thought her out of earshot — of masked gatherings, of noble factions drilling men in secret, of swords sharpened not for pirates, but for each other.
The city was fracturing.
And all the while, Aurensport's nights grew darker. Lamps were extinguished early; doors barred and bolted before sunset. People vanished without a sound. Ships docked with fewer sailors than they had departed with. Every toll of the harbor bell seemed to bring another loss.
Aelina's grip on the railing tightened until her nails dug into her palm. The sea wind whipped her black hair about her face, but she did not move.
She thought of her little sister, lost to that chaos. Somewhere out there, beyond the horizon, in the hands of men who traded in chains and blood. The city might crumble, the nobles might squabble, but none of it mattered to Aelina more than that absence — that one face missing from their hall.
Her father would not say it, but Aelina could feel the truth: Aurensport was not simply under siege from without. It was rotting from within.
And still the tide rose.
Rain whispered against the tall windows of Dawncrest Keep, running in silver trails down the glass. The council chamber was silent, save for the faint crackle of a dying fire.
Lord Alaric Dawncrest sat at the long table, letters spread before him, each sealed with wax already broken. His hands rested on the wood, scarred fingers curling against the grain, though he did not read the words again. He did not need to.
One by one, he had laid them out — reports from Aurensport, from Highwarden, from the border keeps. Some spoke of pirates, others of riots, and one bore a seal whose absence weighed heavier than its words.
Alaric's gaze shifted to the map mounted on the far wall. Banners marked the noble houses — scattered across fields, coasts, mountains, rivers. Too many to count at once, but he did not need to.
He knew the number.Forty-two.
For a moment, the only sound was the drip of rain, steady as a heartbeat.
His jaw tightened. He leaned back in the chair, the firelight carving lines into his face. Outside, thunder rolled faintly, carried on the wind from the eastern cliffs.
"If the Sun falters," he murmured to the empty chamber, "the forty-two will not hold."
The words hung in the stone air, swallowed by silence.
He said nothing more.
The fire guttered low. The rain did not stop.