When Seraphina woke, the first thing she noticed was the silence.
No footsteps in the hall. No chatter of servants. Even the morning bells had not yet rung. The faint grey of dawn touched the edges of her curtains, soft and cold.
She pushed herself upright, wincing as the motion sent a dull ache through her body. The air in her chamber still felt strange, thinner than usual, touched by frost that had not entirely faded. Her breath left faint clouds in the light.
The coin lay on the bedside table where she had left it, gleaming faintly in the half-light.
For a moment, she simply looked at it.
The night before lingered in her mind like a fever dream: Lucien's voice, the mark burning, the frost spreading like veins of glass. And then that light, blinding and infinite, filling the room until there was nothing else.
She had almost convinced herself it wasn't real, until she touched the coin.
Warmth pulsed against her skin, faint but alive. The same pulse that now beat beneath her palm.
A knock sounded at the door.
She quickly hid the coin under her pillow. "Come in."
Cale entered, his armor half-fastened, his eyes shadowed from lack of sleep. He bowed his head slightly. "Good morning, my lady. I thought you might need breakfast brought up."
"You thought correctly," she said, though her voice still carried fatigue.
He set down the tray, the scent of warm bread and honey filling the air. "The Inquisitor was in the chapel again before dawn. No one knows why. The priests were whispering."
Seraphina glanced at him. "And what do they say?"
"That he's communing," Cale said. "Whatever that means."
She took a slow breath. "It means he's looking for something. Or someone."
He frowned. "You don't think he suspects you again?"
"I think suspicion is his nature." She gave a faint, humorless smile. "But no one hunts what they think they already own. For now, I am safe."
Cale's gaze lingered on her a moment too long. "You look pale."
"Do I?" She rose from the bed and crossed to the window. The garden below shimmered faintly under the new sunlight, the frost catching fire in the light. "Perhaps I am just tired of pretending."
He didn't answer, but his expression softened.
"Cale," she said quietly, "if the Church accused me again, would you still believe me?"
He hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I saw your eyes the night of the frost. There's fear in them, but not malice."
Seraphina turned back to him. For the first time in days, she smiled, small, fragile, and real. "Then I suppose I am not alone after all."
Before he could reply, a knock came again, sharper this time. Elias slipped through the door, his arms full of books. His hair was tousled, and a faint ink stain marked his cheek.
"Apologies," he said breathlessly. "I came as soon as I could."
Cale straightened. "You should knock properly."
"I did," Elias said dryly, setting the books down. "Twice."
Seraphina looked between them, her tone even. "What have you found?"
Elias opened one of the books, pages covered in old, faded script. "I searched further into the goddess's records. There are other vessels mentioned, though rarely by name. One was called The Mirror of Dawn. Another, The Hand of Equinox. Both carried marks like yours."
"What became of them?" she asked.
He hesitated. "The records end abruptly. Some were revered as saints. Others were hunted. The Church claimed each was touched by both grace and corruption."
Seraphina traced the edge of the table with her fingers. "Then perhaps both are true."
Elias looked uneasy. "Lucien will not stop. He is not a zealot. He is something colder. He believes in order above all things. To him, balance means control."
She met his gaze. "Then I will become the imbalance he cannot contain."
A chill ran through the room. The frost that had melted from the night before began to return, thin veins forming on the windows. Cale took a step forward, tense.
"Seraphina," Elias warned softly.
She looked down at her hand. The mark was glowing faintly again, not gold now, but a pale silver-white. The coin under her pillow responded, vibrating against the sheets as though breathing.
She closed her fist, forcing calm. The light faded. The frost stopped.
"I can feel it," she whispered. "It reacts to him, to Lucien. As if it knows he's near."
Cale glanced at the door. "Then it means he's already watching."
Seraphina crossed the room and opened her wardrobe. Her old court gown hung inside, pale blue silk embroidered with silver thread, the gown she had worn at her first royal banquet before everything had fallen apart.
She touched the fabric. It felt cold.
"I will attend court today," she said.
Elias blinked. "That is unwise."
"Exactly." She looked back at him. "He expects fear. Let him see something else."
"You mean to challenge him."
"No. I mean to remind him that he cannot control me."
Cale looked as if he wanted to protest, but he stopped himself. Instead, he nodded once. "Then I'll be stationed outside the throne hall."
Elias sighed. "And I will prepare an escape plan."
Seraphina smiled faintly. "Ever the scholar."
"I prefer the term realist," he said.
She drew the curtains aside. Morning light flooded the room, bright and cold. The palace below was already stirring, its courtyards filling with servants and soldiers. The bells of dawn began to ring, slow and solemn.
Seraphina looked down at her hand. The mark shimmered faintly in the sunlight, the gold edge still visible.
For the first time, it didn't frighten her.
It felt like a promise.
***********************
Outside her chamber, in the hall that led to the chapel, Lucien paused beside a window. His reflection stared back at him, eyes pale as glass.
He reached into his cloak and touched the empty space where the silver coin had once been.
"So," he murmured, "she kept it."
A small smile touched his lips. "Good."
He turned toward the throne room, the sound of the bells echoing through the palace, each toll ringing like a heartbeat.