The rest of the Winter Solstice Ball was a blur of light, noise, and paranoia.
The book, The Hollow Sovereign, sat against my ribs like a parasite made of ice. Its coldness seeped through my tunic, through my shirt, and into my skin, a constant, freezing reminder of the line I had just crossed. Every time a noble clapped me on the back, I flinched, terrified they would feel the hard rectangular outline beneath the silk. Every time a professor looked in my direction, I was certain they could smell the ozone of the Verboten Archive clinging to me.
But they didn't. They saw only Lucian Greyfall, the guest of honor, looking a bit pale from his earlier "indigestion."
I danced. I bowed. I toasted. I performed the role of the perfect, loyal courtier while my heart hammered a frantic rhythm against the stolen grimoire.
Near midnight, as the orchestra slowed to a waltz, I found myself standing near the edge of the dance floor.
"You look like a man holding his breath."
I didn't need to turn to know who it was. Seraphina.
She stood beside me, staring out at the swirling couples. She wore a gown of midnight blue that matched her eyes, silver thread woven through it like starlight. She looked regal, beautiful, and utterly unapproachable.
"I am merely observing," I said, my voice tight.
"You're shaking," she noted, her voice low. "Just a little. In the hands."
I clenched my fists to hide the tremor. "It's cold in here."
"No," she said, turning to face me. "It's warm. You're the only thing in this room that's cold."
Her gaze dropped to my chest, lingering for a terrifying second exactly where the book was hidden. My heart stopped. Could she sense it? Could she feel the void-magic radiating from it?
But her eyes moved back up to mine. "You've been different since the library. quieter. emptier. Whatever you're planning... whatever hole you're digging for yourself... stop."
There was a plea in her voice. A last, desperate attempt to reach the human being she thought was still trapped inside.
I looked at her. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to scream that I had just stolen the key to my own salvation. But I couldn't.
"I can't stop," I whispered, the truth slipping out before I could catch it. "The hole is already dug, Seraphina. I'm just trying to furnish it."
She stared at me for a long moment, sadness warring with disgust in her eyes. Then, she shook her head. "Then I hope you enjoy the dark, Lucian."
She turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
I waited another ten minutes—an eternity—before I made my excuses to Damien and fled.
Back in my room, I locked the door, bolted it, and cast a simple sound-dampening ward. I tore off my uniform, practically ripping the buttons in my haste, and pulled the gray book from my tunic.
It was freezing. Frost had actually formed on the leather of the cover, and a patch of my skin underneath was red and numb from the cold burn.
I placed it on my desk. The room seemed to darken around it. The silence from the Archive was still trapped inside the pages.
I sat down, lit a single mana-lamp, and opened The Hollow Sovereign.
There were no preambles. No introductions. The book began immediately with instructions, written in a sharp, angular hand.
The soul is a chaotic storm of impulse and memory. To rule it, one must not silence the storm, for that is death. One must build a shelter within it.
This technique is the art of Partitioning. It is the creation of the Frozen Keep.
I read through the night. The book detailed a method of mental restructuring that was terrifying in its implications. It wasn't about suppressing emotions—suppression creates pressure, and pressure leads to explosions. This was about sorting.
It described how to visualize the mind as a physical space. A fortress. The technique taught the practitioner to take their memories, their fears, their loves, and their guilt, and physically move them into locked rooms within that mental fortress.
It allowed you to create a "Throne Room"—a central space of pure consciousness where only logic existed. When you sat on the Throne, you could view your emotions through windows, acknowledge them, understand them, but remain untouched by them.
It was exactly what Roric Alastair had described. The "mind of pure intent." But this book taught how to enter that state without the trauma, without the agonizing effort I had been using. It taught how to make it permanent.
I closed the book as the first light of dawn touched the window.
I knew what I had to do.
I sat on the floor, closed my eyes, and began the visualization.
I pictured a castle of black ice, sitting in the middle of a gray ocean. I built it brick by brick in my mind. I built the walls thick. I built the gates high.
Then, I began the sorting.
I took the memory of Thomas Fell, the guilt that twisted my gut every time I thought of him. In my mind, I visualized that guilt as a heavy, wet stone. I picked it up. It was heavy. It burned. I carried it into the castle, down a long hallway, and placed it in a cell. I slammed the iron door shut.
The pain in my gut... vanished. It wasn't gone, but it was elsewhere. Behind a door.
I took the fear of Damien. The terror of his smile. I visualized it as a shivering, black shadow. I dragged it into the dungeon of my keep and locked it away.
My heart rate slowed. The tremor in my hands stopped.
I took the pity in Seraphina's eyes. The shame I felt. I locked it away.
I took the memory of Aiden Verne—my old life, my family, my name. I hesitated. That was me. That was who I was.
No, the cold voice whispered. That is a weakness. That is a vulnerability.
I took the memory of Aiden. I placed it in the highest tower of the keep. I locked the door.
I walked to the center of my mental castle. There was a throne there, made of simple, unadorned ice.
I sat on it.
My eyes snapped open in the real world.
The room was the same. The lamp was still flickering. But the world felt... quiet.
I looked at the burn on my chest from the book. I felt the sensation of pain, but it didn't hurt. I simply noted the damage as data. Tissue damage. Apply salve.
I thought of Damien. I felt no fear. I simply calculated his likely next move. He will ask for an update on the Sigil within two days.
I thought of Seraphina. I felt no shame. She is a variable. A threat to security.
It worked.
I stood up. The movement was fluid, efficient. I felt lighter, stripped of the heavy, wet baggage of humanity.
I was no longer pretending to be the cold strategist. I was him.
I picked up the gray book and hid it beneath the loose floorboard under my bed, replacing the rug carefully.
I walked to the mirror. The stranger stared back at me. His eyes were gray, calm, and utterly empty.
I raised a hand and touched the glass.
"Hello, Lucian," I said. My voice was steady. "We have work to do."
I had built the Keep. I sat on the Throne. I had successfully severed my soul.
Now, I was ready to play the game for real.