Page 38

T he chamber had grown very still. I could feel the weight of every gaze upon us—the Council, the gallery, the silent observers taking measure of truth and falsehood.

"I name it," I said, my voice clear and deliberate. "The Seal of Veritas. Dark artifact of compulsion and perception, forbidden after the Shadowfall War."

As I spoke the name aloud, something shifted in the air—a ripple so subtle it might have been imagination. But I saw one of the Council members blink rapidly, as if clearing fog from their vision. Saw another straighten slightly in their seat.

"This is absurd," Gavriel said, but his tone had hardened, the careful compassion slipping. "You can't simply invoke the name of an artifact and expect—"

"Why not?" I challenged. "If it holds no power over this room, what harm is there in naming it? The Seal of Veritas. The tool you've been using to sway this very Council, just as you used it on me."

Another ripple. Thenholt frowned, touching his temple briefly.

"Enough," Gavriel said sharply, then immediately modulated his tone. "This has gone far beyond reasonable discourse."

But it was too late. The crack in his composure was visible to everyone in the chamber. Councilor Thorne was watching him with renewed intensity, her earlier uncertainty replaced by focused suspicion.

"Lord Duskryn," she said, "the Council takes these allegations very seriously. The document before us ties you to a restricted artifact. The petitioner's testimony describes effects consistent with its known properties. And your reaction to its naming suggests..." She let the implication hang.

"This is a coordinated political attack," Gavriel said, his pleasant mask slipping further. "The Order of Renewal has many enemies who would see us discredited. My estranged wife has clearly been manipulated into becoming their pawn."

I almost laughed at the irony of his accusation. "No one manipulated me into coming here today," I said steadily. "You taught me exactly what coercion feels like. And in doing so, you gave me the knowledge I needed to recognize it—and fight it."

Thenholt was now reading directly from the archive copy. "The transfer form states explicitly that the Seal was given to you by Councilor Evrit, who, it should be noted, was later removed from the Council for ethical violations."

The gallery had begun to stir, whispers moving through the observers like wind through tall grass. One of Gavriel's aides shifted uncomfortably, taking a small step back.

Gavriel's expression had darkened. "The reformation period required difficult decisions," he said. "The realm was fractured. Order needed to be restored. If certain artifacts were studied for their potential to heal those divisions, it was done with the realm's best interests at heart."

"So you admit to possessing it," Thorne said sharply.

"I admit to nothing," he replied. "I am merely contextualizing the political reality of that time."

I watched him closely, saw the subtle shift in his posture—the straightening of his spine, the slight lift of his chin. He was losing ground and knew it.

"Documents can be altered," Gavriel said, his tone hardening. "Seals can be forged. This entire proceeding reeks of political manipulation—a coordinated attempt to discredit the Order of Renewal through baseless accusations."

His right hand twitched, a quick movement toward his left sleeve where a silver bracer he always wore peeked beneath the fabric. One of the chamber guards shifted subtly, moving into position between Gavriel and the Council. The movement was small but deliberate.

"The Order's reputation is not at issue today," Thorne said. "This hearing concerns specific allegations against you personally."

"The two cannot be separated," Gavriel insisted, his careful pleasantness falling away completely now. "I am a prominent voice for restoration and order. Of course, those who prefer chaos would seek to silence me."

His gaze flicked to me, cold and calculating. "Including a wife who abandoned her vows, who fled with my child, who now hides behind a false mate-bond with—" his lip curled as he glanced at Uldrek, "—with an orc."

I felt Uldrek tense beside me but kept my own expression neutral. "My relationship with Uldrek is not at issue here, either," I said calmly. "We're discussing your illegal use of dark magic."

"There is no proof!" His voice rose slightly before he regained control. "No evidence beyond your confused recollections and a document that could easily have been manipulated."

I was suddenly weary. Not afraid, not angry—just tired of the endless twisting, the slick redirections, the way he could make even the most straightforward truth seem murky and uncertain.

"The proof is sitting on your wrist," I said quietly.

The chamber went still.

I hadn’t known. Not for certain. Not until just now.

I’d seen that bracer a hundred times in our years together—sleek silver, etched with unfamiliar runes. He never removed it, not even to sleep. He told me it was a gift from a visiting artisan, a symbol of alliance, a reminder of duty.

I believed him. Or I thought I had. But maybe the truth had always been pacing at the edge of memory, waiting for me to name it.

It wasn’t proof, not the kind that could be measured or weighed. But my body remembered. The tug behind my thoughts, the subtle shifts in what I believed to be true—those moments had often come after he'd touched my shoulder, rested his hand near mine, let that silver band brush my skin.

And now, the way he moved to cover it. The flicker behind his eyes.

I might be wrong.

But I didn’t think I was.

And this time, I would not wait for certainty to make me brave.

"The Seal of Veritas," I continued, my voice steady though my heart pounded. "Right there, embedded in your bracer. You've been wearing it this entire time."

His face remained composed, but I saw the flicker of alarm in his eyes. "These are wild accusations. My bracer is merely decorative, a gift from a colleague."

"Then you won't mind removing it," Thorne suggested, her tone light but her gaze sharp.

Gavriel smiled thinly. "I am not required to indulge in theatrical displays based on paranoid fantasies."

"The Council has the authority to examine items of potential magical significance during a formal hearing," Thenholt said. "If you refuse, we may draw our own conclusions."

Gavriel's smile vanished. "This is absurd. You're allowing yourselves to be manipulated by a woman seeking revenge for a failed marriage."

His hand moved to his bracer again, this time with purpose, fingers tracing the edge of the silver band. One of the Council guards stepped forward immediately, hand moving to the hilt of his sword.

"Lord Duskryn," Thenholt said, his voice carrying authority now, "remove the bracer and place it on the table."

For a moment, I thought he might refuse—might try to use the Seal directly, consequences be damned. But then his shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly.

"This is a mistake," he said, but his voice had lost its edge. "A dangerous precedent."

Slowly, deliberately, he unfastened the clasp of his bracer. As he placed it on the table, I could see it clearly—a flat, dark stone embedded in the silver, etched with symbols I couldn't read but recognized from the archive drawings.

Thorne nodded to one of the guards, who approached cautiously. Using a cloth, the guard lifted the bracer, careful not to touch the stone directly.

"Take it to the mage-warden for containment," Thorne instructed. "And escort Lord Duskryn to the holding chamber. He will remain there pending further investigation."

Two guards moved to flank Gavriel, who stood rigidly, his composure cracked but not shattered.

"You think this ends it?" he asked, looking directly at me. "You think the truth protects you?"

"It's a start," I answered.

As they led him from the chamber, his aides following uncertainly behind, I remained standing. My legs felt suddenly unsteady, as if all the strength I'd gathered had drained away with his departure.

"Miss Duskryn," Thenholt addressed me formally, "your petition of magical coercion is upheld. The Council will review the evidence further, but preliminary findings support your claims."

I nodded, unable to find words adequate for the moment. Thorne leaned forward slightly.

"The claiming bond you established with—" she glanced at her notes, "—Uldrek of Cairn Hold remains valid and recognized. Your protective status is maintained."

"Thank you," I managed.

"This hearing is concluded," Thenholt announced. "The gallery will clear."

As the observers began to file out, murmuring amongst themselves, I remained standing at the table, my hands resting on the wood.

The archive copy lay before me, open to the page that had changed everything.

My fingers traced the edges of the parchment, still not quite believing what had just transpired.

It was done. After years of silence, of doubt, of fear—it was done.

Uldrek's hand touched my elbow gently. "Issy," he said quietly. "Let's go home."

I looked up at him, nodded, and carefully returned the documents to my satchel. We left the chamber together, not speaking, our footsteps echoing on the stone floor.

Outside, the morning air had warmed slightly, though the sky remained overcast. The streets were beginning to fill with people going about their day, unaware of what had just happened in the Council chamber.

I stood on the broad steps of the hall, breathing deeply, trying to sort through the tangle of emotions within me. Relief, yes—a profound lifting of weight. But also a strange hollowness, as if part of me still couldn't quite believe it was over.

Uldrek stood beside me, silent. Not tense, not cold—just still. When I glanced at him, I caught him looking at my collarbone, at the place where the claiming mark lay hidden beneath the high neckline of my dress.

His gaze lingered there, as if checking for something. I touched the fabric instinctively.

"It's still there," I said softly. "Just quiet."

Uldrek nodded slowly, then rubbed absentmindedly at his own chest, where the mark echoed beneath his skin.

"You all right?" I asked.

He looked at me then, his smile coming a breath too late, but warm. "Yeah. Just glad it's over. You were amazing in there. I'm so proud of you."

The words were perfect, his tone genuine. But something in the way his thumb kept brushing the hollow of his collarbone made me wonder what he wasn't saying.

"Shall we go tell Hobbie the good news?" he asked, trying to sound light. "She's probably worn a path in the floor by now."

I smiled. "Yes. I can't wait to hold Ellie."

We descended the steps together, merging into the flow of people in the street.

The buildings of Everwood rose around us, familiar now after these months.

The bakery where Dora sometimes bought sweet rolls.

The small garden where Ellie had first smiled in the sunshine.

The path that led to the Archives, where I'd rebuilt a piece of myself among the scrolls and books.

We passed beneath a stretch of shadow where the sun hadn't reached. Uldrek's hand found mine again. Steady. Familiar. But the mark beneath my skin stayed quiet.

No pulse. No heat. Just memory.

I didn’t know what that meant yet or what he was thinking. But I knew where I was going.

Home.