Page 56 of Rhapsody of Ruin (Kingdoms of Ash and Wonder #1)
Rhydor
The chamber quaked with anticipation, the scent of incense turned acrid in my throat, every heartbeat hammering like war drums inside my chest. Elowyn stood in the center of the council floor, chin lifted, eyes unflinching even as the Masks advanced with their lacquered gauntlets raised.
Enough.
I moved.
Boots cracked against marble as I strode across the floor, cutting through the charged silence, the crowd’s murmurs rising into a wave behind me. Cloaks flared, steel whispered, and nobles gasped as I crossed the sacred line that separated debate from execution.
I planted myself before her.
Her breath brushed the back of my neck, sharp and unsteady, but she didn’t touch me. She didn’t need to. Every nerve in my body thrummed with her presence. Twilight pressed against dragonfire, and it was enough to feel her there, unbowed, waiting for me to burn.
Behind me, my veterans moved as one.
At Torian’s sharp command, shields locked with a thunderous clap.
The sound echoed like thunder beneath the vaulted ceiling, a wall of steel interposed between the crowd and my queen.
Brenn’s grin flashed red in the lantern light as he shifted his shield into place, already cracking some half-formed jest. Draven tilted his head in challenge, his charm turned to menace now, ready to twist words into weapons if they came too close.
Korrath tapped his cane once, steady as a heartbeat, ears tuned to every shuffle of masked feet.
Thariac stepped forward, iron hand flexing, his bulk a wall of fury. He squared himself against the flank of the advancing Masks, shoulders set, daring them to try.
The air snapped taut, charged with the promise of violence.
I reached into my sleeve, felt the cold weight there, and flung it down.
The favor token struck marble with a ringing note, skittered once, and spun until the sigil of Lunareth caught the lantern light. Its glow painted the floor in silver.
Gasps broke from the galleries. Fans snapped shut. The crowd’s whispers turned jagged, frantic.
“By right of favor,” I said, my voice cutting through the storm, “I demand formal delay.”
The captain of the Masks faltered. His black helm turned, glinting, uncertainty flaring in the hesitation of his step.
The chamber breathed all at once, the silence breaking into frantic murmurs. Even the wards along the walls seemed to hum in confusion, as though unsure whether to tighten or yield.
Elowyn stood behind me, her presence steadying, fierce, a pulse of twilight against my fire. I drew in a breath that tasted of roses and ash and let it burn into words.
“Over my ashes,” I said.
The line cracked like lightning across the chamber.
The Masks froze.
The nobles gasped, half in horror, half in awe, their jeweled masks tilting toward me as though they could drink the fire from my defiance. The captain hesitated, his gauntleted hand hovering just shy of signal.
Maelith’s staff shifted, obsidian catching the lantern glow. His eyes narrowed, calculating, already reshaping plans in the shadow of my words.
And above them all, Iriel watched.
Silent. Masked. Unmoved.
But I saw the flicker in his gaze. He would file this moment away, carve it into ledger and memory, a debt he would repay with interest when the time came.
I planted my feet harder into the marble, shoulders squared, every line of my body declaring what my voice had promised: if they wanted her, they would step through dragonfire, shields, and my ashes to claim her.
The council held its breath.
For one heartbeat.
For two.
The Masks did not advance.
The law bent, not broken, held at bay by fire and defiance.
And in the charged silence, with every noble mask staring, with the Shroud itself humming unease above us, I knew: nothing would be the same after this.