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T he elven capital sprawled across the valley like an enormous mandala, its concentric rings radiating outward from the Assembly Hall at its heart. Through swirling snow, D'thallanar's curved pagoda roofs and wooden towers emerged against the winter sky, their elegant silhouettes belying the power concentrated within. Fourteen perfectly circular districts nested within each other, connected by gleaming bridges that spanned frozen canals.

"It's even more beautiful than I imagined," I whispered, my breath clouding in the frigid air.

Niro's face remained impassive. "Beauty often conceals danger. D'thallanar is both the most magnificent and deadliest city in the realm."

We'd spent the last two days in final preparations, transforming me into something I was not. Simple robes of a scribe's apprentice stolen from an isolated village clothed me from neck to feet. They were plain but well-made in the muted colors of the bureaucratic class. A high collar and the hood of a weather cloak partially obscured my ears, which Niro had painstakingly altered with beeswax and sheep's wool to create the illusion of elvish points when seen from a distance. My hair, which had been darkened with a little boot polish we found at the headhunter’s camp, covered the rest.

Beside me, Niro's face remained impassive beneath his own simple but effective disguise. He'd shaved his beard back at the headhunter’s camp, and undone all his braids. That alone would make him nearly unrecognizable to those who knew him by reputation. Simple wire-framed spectacles, also from the headhunter camp, completed his transformation into a clerk rather than a warrior.

"Remember," Niro said quietly, "you're Thelian, junior documentation clerk from the Assembly Archives, dispatched to gather testimony about the western incursion.”

I nodded. "Will the deception hold?"

"Long enough, if the gods favor us." Niro's hand rested briefly on my shoulder. "Walk two steps behind me. Never make eye contact with higher-ranked nobles. Keep your head slightly bowed in deference but your spine straight.”

I schooled my features into the neutral mask I'd practiced. "How will we gain entrance to the Assembly itself?"

"Through bureaucratic channels. The archives always send clerks to document important sessions. It would be suicide to attempt deception at the formal gates. We'll enter as we are—minor officials doing our mundane duties."

The path down the ridge was treacherous, packed snow covering patches of ice that threatened to send us tumbling with each step. By the time we reached the main road approaching the city's southern gate, my borrowed boots were soaked through and my feet were numb with cold.

Guards at the outer gate wore the silver and blue of House Deepfrost, Tarathiel's personal colors. They examined travelers, paying special attention to humans in merchant caravans. I kept my gaze downward, focusing on the documents in my hands as Niro had instructed.

"State your business," one guard demanded as we approached.

Niro stepped forward, his bearing deliberately measured and formal. "Archivist Faerin from the Assembly Records Division, accompanying my assistant with documentation regarding recent events at Homeshore." He produced a leather case bearing what appeared to be the Assembly seal—carefully forged during our journey.

“Another batch of paper-pushers," he muttered to his companion, then nodded curtly. "Proceed."

We moved through the gate without further challenge, entering the sprawling outer district of D'thallanar. Here, humans and elves mingled in greater numbers than I'd seen anywhere outside Calibarra. Merchants called their wares in multiple languages. Smoke rose from food stalls selling roasted meats and steaming bowls of broth. Children darted between adults, some playing games that crossed cultural barriers despite the bitter cold.

"Keep moving," Niro murmured. "The outer rings provide an illusion of equality. That changes the deeper we go."

He was right. With each ring we crossed, the demographics shifted. By the fourth ring, humans appeared only as slaves trailing behind elven masters. My throat tightened at the sight of a human child carrying an elven noble's packages, struggling under their weight while her mistress walked ahead, oblivious or uncaring. Seeing the collar around her small neck made me clench my fists.

"Focus," Niro warned. "Remember who you are today."

I swallowed hard and forced myself forward. Each collared human we passed was a reminder of what was at stake. Of why this deception was necessary.

We proceeded directly to the center of the city, toward the Hall of Wisdom that housed the Assembly. Unlike some of the more ornate structures in D'thallanar, the Hall was built on a grand scale, its ancient stone walls rising in perfectly concentric circles around a central dome. This was where the true power of elven society resided. Not just in the Assembly chamber itself, but in the countless offices, archives, and record halls that filled its multiple levels.

The smell of ink, parchment, and dust permeated the air as we entered the records division. Shelves of scrolls and ledgers stretched from floor to ceiling in the outer chambers, with ladders positioned at intervals for accessing the highest records. Elven clerks moved with quiet efficiency, sorting documents and filing reports from across the realm.

Niro moved through the space, nodding occasionally to passing officials without actually engaging anyone. I followed his example, keeping my eyes downcast in the manner of someone preoccupied with administrative tasks. No one challenged us or even gave us a second glance. In a society where status and clan affiliation dictated every interaction, the bureaucratic class seemed to exist in a parallel world—essential yet invisible.

"The beauty of being a clerk," Niro murmured as we ascended a staircase to the upper levels, "is that you're expected to be wherever records might be needed. And today, records will be needed at the Assembly."

We passed through a series of increasingly formal spaces. Unlike the practical archival areas with their endless shelves of documents, the upper levels featured polished stone floors and ornate pillars carved with the histories of the twelve clans. Even here, our administrative disguises served as perfect camouflage. Guards at security checkpoints barely glanced at us, their attention focused on more obviously important visitors.

A pair of guards stood at the entrance to the Assembly chamber itself, but they barely looked up as we approached, clipboards and document cases in hand. One of them gestured vaguely toward a narrow staircase. "Observers' gallery. Don't disturb the proceedings."

I nodded with the deferential bow of a junior clerk and followed Niro up the stairs to the gallery—a ring of tiered seating that encircled the main chamber from above. The space was already filling with minor officials, scribes, and representatives from the lesser administrative branches of the Assembly, each equipped with writing materials to record the proceedings.

We found seats near the back of the gallery, positions that allowed us to observe without being closely observed ourselves. From this height, the entire chamber spread below us like a living map. Twelve massive pillars carved with the history and symbols of each clan supported the structure. Between them, tiered seating accommodated the representatives of each clan, with the most powerful houses granted positions closest to the chamber's center.

"We should be able to observe the proceedings without—" Niro's whispered instructions died in his throat as the massive bronze doors at the far end of the chamber swung open with ceremonial slowness.

A hush fell over the Assembly. The massive bronze doors opened to reveal a solemn procession. First came the Honor Guard in ancient ceremonial armor, their silver spears striking the marble floor in perfect unison, creating a rhythmic heartbeat that echoed through the chamber.

Then came the Primarch's personal guard, twelve warriors in crimson and silver, their expressions as cold as the blades they carried.

And then, surrounded by guards with drawn blades...

My entire body went rigid.

Ruith. Here. In chains .

Niro's hand gripped my arm with bruising force, the only thing keeping me from leaping to my feet. "Steady," he hissed, his voice barely audible. "We can't react. Not yet."

It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to call out, not to break my cover and run to Ruith's side. My vision narrowed to him alone as he was led to the center of the chamber.

He stood alone in the circle of judgment, his hands bound before him with silver chains. Bruises of varying ages marked his face. His clothing was simple but formal, a deep blue tunic and black trousers bearing the Deepfrost insignia rather than his chosen Starfall colors. Despite his obvious injuries and the humiliation of chains, he held himself with the same regal bearing I remembered, his spine straight, his gaze direct and unflinching as he faced his accusers.

Niro's grip on my arm didn't loosen as we settled back into our seats. His eyes tracked the guards, the exits, calculating angles and distances with the practiced efficiency of a battlefield commander.

"We need to leave," I whispered, my voice barely audible as I leaned toward him. "Now. While everyone's distracted. We can find another way—"

"No," Niro replied firmly, his face an impassive mask, though his words carried steel beneath their quiet delivery. "This changes nothing. We continue as planned."

"But Ruith—"

"Is exactly why we must proceed," he said, cutting me off. "Our mission just became more vital, not less. Think, Elindir. The Assembly is convened. Most clan representatives are present. This may be our only chance to address them all at once."

I forced myself to breathe, to push back against the panic and desperate need to act that threatened to overwhelm my judgment. He was right, of course. Running to Ruith now would accomplish nothing except getting us both killed. We had come too far to abandon our purpose at the first obstacle, no matter how devastating.

As my eyes swept the chamber, I began to recognize the political landscape taking shape. Though I'd never been inside the Assembly, Ruith had described the clan dynamics in detail during our strategy sessions at Calibarra. We already had allies here—Stoneriver, who had supplied us since the first days of Ruith's rebellion; the vacant Runecleaver seat that rightfully belonged to Katyr; the Duskfell position that should have been Daraith's by birthright; the Northfire and Craiggybottom representatives whose clans had already declared for Ruith.

Five clans whose loyalties already tilted toward Ruith, even if some of their representatives here might be Tarathiel's appointees rather than their true clan leadership. We needed only two more to deny Tarathiel his conviction. The Wolfhearts had remained officially aligned with Tarathiel, but I knew through Taelyn that her father had grown increasingly uncomfortable with the Primarch's methods. And then there were the Redrocks, who had hesitated longer than any other clan before declaring for Tarathiel—clearly harboring their own doubts.

Seven out of twelve would be enough to save Ruith's life. If I could make them understand the threat Michail posed to all elven-kind, I might sway not only Ruith's fate but the entire course of this war.

"You're right," I whispered back to Niro. "The Assembly vote is what matters now."

I watched as Ruith was positioned in the center of the chamber. The formal proceedings began with the herald reciting the litany of charges. I knew I should listen, should note each accusation to better formulate our approach to the clan representatives, but my focus remained fixed on Ruith.

"We need to approach them individually," Niro murmured, following my gaze across the gathered representatives. "Public testimony would only force them to maintain their allegiance to Tarathiel. But in private..."

I nodded in understanding. Politics was never about public declarations. It was about whispered deals in shadowed alcoves, private assurances, and carefully balanced threats. We needed to work in the shadows, not the spotlight.

"The Wolfheart representative first," I suggested. "Taelyn's father has reason to doubt Tarathiel. Then Redrock."

"We'll need more than words to sway some of them," Niro warned. "The conservative factions won't care about human threats, no matter how dire."

"Then we give them something they do care about," I replied, my voice hardening with resolve. "Power. Protection. Vengeance." I glanced at him. "Even fear if necessary."

Something like approval flickered in Niro's eyes.

"The trial could last days, perhaps longer, if we introduce complications. But once the final votes are cast..." He let the implication hang between us.

Days to save Ruith. Days to convince a majority of the most powerful elves in the realm to defy the Primarch and spare his rebellious son. Days to outmaneuver centuries of political alliances with nothing but truth, persuasion, and whatever leverage we could muster.

As the formal reading of charges continued, I studied each clan representative in turn, memorizing faces, noting who paid attention and who seemed distracted, who leaned toward Tarathiel's faction and who maintained careful neutrality. These would be our targets in the coming days, each requiring a unique strategy.

When my gaze returned to Ruith, I found him watching the gallery with the calculated assessment of a strategist identifying resources. Even now, chained and on trial for his life, his mind worked on solutions rather than surrender.

As if sensing my attention, his eyes swept the observer's gallery and, for just a moment, found mine. No flash of recognition crossed his features, no change in his carefully neutral expression. But a subtle shift in his posture told me everything I needed to know.

He was fighting. So would I.

"We'll begin tonight," I told Niro as Tarathiel rose to formally open the trial proceedings. "Once the day's session ends."

Niro nodded once, his eyes already tracking the movements of guards, noting the locations of exits, planning our first approaches. "First, we observe. Learn the patterns. Identify vulnerabilities."

I settled back in my seat, the initial shock of seeing Ruith now transformed into cold determination. We had infiltrated the most secure building in D'thallanar. Reaching a few clan representatives in their private chambers would be challenging, but not impossible.

And I would do whatever it took to save Ruith's life—even if it meant making deals with the very elves who had once approved my enslavement.