Chapter 20: The Blade in the Shadows
The feast staggered on, but its rhythm was broken, like a dance in which every partner feared a sudden knife in the back.
The musicians played faster now, as if speed alone could drown suspicion. Goblets clinked, but the wine was sipped more cautiously. Servants moved with exaggerated slowness, every tray inspected by guards before reaching the high table.
Elias could not take his eyes off Isabella. She stood by the Regent's side now, speaking softly to her, a model of loyalty. Yet Liora's words gnawed at him: Ask the woman you trust most.
The storm outside had grown louder. Wind screamed through the high windows, rattling them in their frames. A few flakes of snow swirled into the hall whenever the great doors opened. The cold seemed to creep under Elias's skin, numbing his judgment.
A herald entered with a scroll in hand, bowing low to the Regent. She took it, eyes narrowing as she read. Elias saw the slight tightening of her jaw before she set the scroll aside and signaled for the music to stop.
"My friends," the Regent said, "a messenger has arrived with grave news. It appears the rebellion in the south has reached the gates of Bellmoor. I will speak with my council at once."
The announcement rippled through the hall. Lords rose from their seats, whispering to one another. It was the perfect cover for chaos.
Elias's instincts screamed a warning. He scanned the crowd, searching for anything that didn't fit—there. Near the kitchen door, a figure in a plain brown cloak slipped inside, avoiding the guards. Too deliberate.
He moved quickly, circling the hall until he reached the narrow servants' passage. The air here was different—thicker, carrying the smell of roasting meat and something else, something sharper, like oil and iron.
He turned a corner—and froze.
A man stood over a table, fitting a short curved blade into a wooden frame. The frame was mounted on a pivot, aimed perfectly at the side door to the Regent's dais. One pull of the rope, and the blade would swing out like a pendulum.
"Step away from it," Elias said.
The man didn't turn. "You're too late. She'll be dead before you cross the hall."
Elias lunged. The man spun, drawing a dagger from his belt. The two clashed in the narrow passage, steel ringing against steel. Elias forced him back, but the assassin fought with the desperation of someone who knew he wouldn't survive the night.
A slash opened Elias's shoulder, burning hot with pain, but he pressed forward, driving the man against the wall. With a final shove, he slammed the assassin's head against the stone, and the man went limp.
Breathing hard, Elias turned to the weapon. He cut the rope, letting the blade fall harmlessly to the ground. But the victory felt hollow—this couldn't be the only threat.
When he emerged into the hall again, the feast had shifted into disorder. The Regent was no longer at her table.
"She's gone to the council chamber," Isabella said, appearing at his side. Her tone was steady, but her eyes searched his face. "You're hurt."
"Not badly," he said. "There was a trap set for her. And it wasn't the only one tonight."
She hesitated. "Then you need to hear something before we follow her."
Her hand touched his arm, and she leaned close enough that her breath brushed his ear. "The Regent is not what she seems, Elias. She has no intention of ending the war—only reshaping it so she holds all the strings. She means to use you, just as she's using me."
He pulled back to look at her, searching for the lie. "And I'm supposed to take your word for that?"
Her jaw tightened. "Take it, or don't. But if you go after her now, you may not come back alive."
A crash from the far corridor cut the conversation short. A guard stumbled into view, clutching his side, blood soaking his tunic.
"They're inside—!" he gasped, before collapsing.
The decision was made for Elias. He and Isabella ran toward the council chamber, swords drawn. The corridors twisted in shadow, torches sputtering in the wind that now seemed to be everywhere.
At the chamber doors, two bodies lay still—guards cut down by precise blows. Inside, the Regent stood with her back to the table, cornered by three armed figures.
Elias didn't think—he charged. The first man fell to a blade through the ribs; the second met Isabella's dagger under his chin. The third tried to take the Regent hostage, pressing a sword to her throat, but Elias's throw sent his knife spinning into the man's shoulder, dropping him instantly.
The room went silent except for the Regent's steady breathing.
"You've saved me twice tonight," she said. "That earns you a place at my side, Elias. But it also means you'll share my enemies."
She stepped closer, her gaze sharp as a hawk's. "And I have many enemies."
From the corner of his eye, Elias saw Isabella watching—expression unreadable, lips pressed in a thin line. The Regent's offer hung in the air like the blade of an executioner's axe.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled once, then again. The storm outside had grown so fierce it rattled the chamber windows.
And Elias knew, with the clarity that only comes in moments of mortal choice, that whatever he decided in the next heartbeat would bind him to a path from which there was no return.