The plan had to be swift, silent, and disguised as something it wasn't.
Kael met me in the southern stables at dawn, dressed not in princely blues, but the leathers of a traveling merchant's guard. He wore no crest. Carried no seal.
"If anyone asks," I said, tightening the strap of my satchel, "you're my disgraced cousin who talks too much and drinks even worse."
Kael raised a brow. "That's oddly specific."
"Because I've known several. You'll blend right in."
We were headed for a village three leagues west of the capital, near the river fork. The last place Elyra Ashborne—Elen of the 7th Ward—had been seen by the monks before she vanished. A farming hamlet, small and overlooked. Just like she would have wanted.
I left Scratch to keep watch on the palace, Dahlia to monitor letters and rumors. Camden had taken a copy of the Ashborne scroll to a secret contact in the historian's guild.
Everyone had a role.
But only Kael could travel openly with me now. His public shift in support of House Vale made him politically radioactive. No one knew if he was brave or suicidal. Or both.
"I still can't believe it," Kael murmured as we rode. "That Rosen Ashborne had a living heir. That she's here. Now."
"She's more than an heir," I said. "She's the flame the Vault has been waiting for."
"And what are you?"
I looked at him. The wind in his hair. The quiet concern under his armor.
"I'm the match."
---
Back in the capital, Prince Corven entered the Cathedral's east wing—alone, unguarded, summoned.
The High Cardinal waited, draped in red, surrounded by incense that smelled faintly of burnt myrrh and old secrets.
Corven bowed slightly, more out of show than respect.
"You called," he said, "and here I am. But make no mistake—I won't be anyone's puppet."
"Nor should you," the Cardinal replied, voice silk over steel. "You are not meant to kneel. You are meant to rule."
Corven chuckled. "My father would disagree."
"Your father has grown soft. Indecisive. And your brother?" He poured wine into a silver goblet. "Blinded. By her."
He didn't say Seraphina's name. He didn't have to.
"I'll admit," Corven said, taking the drink, "she's dangerous."
"No," the Cardinal said calmly. "She's correct. And that is far more dangerous."
Corven blinked. "You agree with her?"
"I agree with control. With structure. With balance."
He leaned forward, folding his hands.
"Prince Kael has chosen chaos. Fire. Romance, perhaps. You can choose order. Legacy. And in doing so, ensure your own crown."
"And what do you want?" Corven asked.
The Cardinal's smile never touched his eyes.
"Only what's best for the kingdom."
Then he slid a scroll across the table. Sealed in green wax, marked with the royal sigil—but twisted.
> A decree of succession.
Naming Corven heir apparent—if Kael were deemed unstable.
And if Lady Seraphina Vale were dead.
Corven stared at it for a long moment.
Then pocketed it without a word.
---
At the river fork, Kael and I dismounted just past midday. The village ahead looked peaceful—too peaceful.
Children played near the well. A woman sold bread beneath a willow. A young man shaped clay pots by hand.
None of them looked like they could end a kingdom.
But one of them might.
"We split up," I said. "Ask for Elen. Ask for a novice. But don't say her real name."
Kael nodded.
I moved toward the old chapel, its doors worn, its steeple leaning. Inside, I found a woman praying over an unlit candle.
"Forgive the interruption," I said. "I'm looking for someone. A girl who might've stayed here. Elen."
The woman stilled.
Then rose. Slowly.
"She left us," she said. "But she left behind something else."
From beneath her robe, she pulled a torn satchel. Inside: a journal, half-burned. Symbols I recognized. Drawings of the Vault. Names I hadn't yet learned.
"She was frightened," the woman said. "Said fire followed her. Said dreams bled into waking."
I took the journal.
And that's when I felt it.
A surge. Not heat. Not pain. Recognition.
The Vault's glyphs lit under my skin again—only this time, Kael felt it too.
He stumbled through the chapel doors, hand on his chest. "What… is this?"
The pendant in my satchel pulsed.
The journal shimmered.
And somewhere, across the kingdom, Elyra Ashborne cried out in her sleep—
As the Vault marked her ready.
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