"Curiosity killed the cat, Zelene," Caelan quipped, a knowing glint in his eye. "Especially when it comes to the Dravenharts."
"And satisfaction brought it back," I countered, a spark of defiance igniting within me. The thrumming in my fingertips intensified, a subtle current of power promising possibilities. The game had begun. I shifted on the silk sheets, pulling myself upright, ignoring the mild protest of muscles that felt like they hadn't been used in weeks. "Tell me, Mother," I began, trying to sound genuinely perplexed, "remind me again about the structure of the Four Swords. The collapse must have rattled my memory."
Seraphine paused, studying me with a look that was half suspicion, half relief at my sudden engagement. "Rattled your memory? Truly, Zelene, you are being ridiculous. But fine. Perhaps a review will settle your nerves before Father arrives."
She smoothed the silken counterpane. "The Kingdom is ancient, built upon the ruins of the Great Sundering. We, the Four Swords, are the pillars that hold it up. We are not just nobles, darling; we are the foundation of political, military, and economic stability."
Caelan chimed in, leaning against the bedpost, his tone casual but informative. "We are the Evandelles—the mind. We manage the political structure, the courts, the law. Our strength is influence and diplomacy, though our bloodline occasionally gifts us with the subtler, mental Gifts." He gestured to my silver-lilac hair. "Case in point."
"Then there are the Dravenharts," Seraphine continued, her voice cooling slightly at the mention of Kael's family. "The sword arm. They command the legions and the borders. They are rigid, disciplined, and brutal when necessary. Their Gifts are typically focused on physical enhancement and command—unwavering will."
I nodded, processing the data. Dravenhart: Military, cold, command-based Gifts.
"The Valemonts," Caelan picked up, counting on his fingers, "are the purse strings. They control the trade routes, the banks, the mines. Wealth is their weapon, and their Gifts often involve luck, perception of value, or even subtle economic manipulation. Elric, the heir, is a bore, but his gold could finance a war."
"And finally, the Rosenwalds," Seraphine concluded, a hint of reverence entering her voice. "They are the spirit, the magical core. They maintain the ancient treaties and are the most Gifted of us all. Their expertise lies in the visible, elemental magic, though they prefer to stay secluded in their northern towers, advising only when absolutely necessary."
The structure was clear: Evandelle (Mind/Politics), Dravenhart (Sword/Military), Valemont (Purse/Economy), Rosenwald (Spirit/Magic). A perfect, dangerous balance.
"And these 'Gifts'," I pressed, trying to keep the feigned confusion light. "They are bound to the bloodline, correct? But they aren't like the flashy magic the Rosenwalds wield, are they?"
Caelan laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Hardly. The Rosenwalds get to throw fireballs. We get to give people a mild headache."
Seraphine shot him a warning glance. "Don't be flippant, Caelan. Zelene, our Gifts are the subtle kind. They are born of the Aether—the unseen fabric of reality. For most nobles, it manifests as heightened insight, uncanny luck, or perhaps a persuasive voice. They are small advantages used in the political arena. But in our family, particularly, the Gift is often far more nuanced."
She leaned closer, her violet eyes intense. "Your father's Gift is the ability to perceive emotional intent—he knows who is lying. My own is a subtle enhancement of charm—I can make others more amenable to my suggestions." She tapped the silver hairbrush against my silver-lilac hair.
"But yours, Zelene, is the Aether Requiem. You feel the threads of intent and outcome. You don't just perceive; you influence. You can make a man forget an inconvenient fact, or subtly shift the mood of an entire room. It is a terrifying power, which is why you were instructed to keep it dormant."
A shiver traced its way down my spine, but this time, it wasn't fear. It was recognition. Aether Requiem. The subtle manipulation of reality. It explained the humming in my fingertips, the feeling of subtle power waiting to be unleashed.
"I understand why Father insists I keep it secret," I said, testing the water, watching their reactions.
"Indeed. The Gift is powerful, but it is also a liability," Seraphine confirmed, her voice dropping. "If the court knew the extent of your abilities, they would fear you. And what the court fears, it condemns. Look at what happened to cousin Lyra."
Cousin Lyra. Executed for 'unnatural influence.' A historical footnote that underscored the very real stakes. My historical fate was to be labeled a traitor for exactly this reason.
"So, the Dravenharts are coming to the palace," I summarized, shifting the topic back to Kael. "The military sword arm, observing the political mind. Why now?"
Elara finally spoke from the corner, her needle pausing mid-stitch. Her voice was low, thoughtful, cutting through the familial banter. "The Northern Clans are mobilizing. They seek to shatter the balance of the Four Swords. If any pillar falls, the kingdom collapses. Father needs Dravenhart's steel, but he fears Dravenhart's ambition."
The air in the room seemed to sharpen. Elara, quiet and insightful, had hit the nail on the head. Kael Dravenhart was not a guest; he was a silent judge.
"Observe weakness," I repeated, the words settling like lead in my stomach. If I was to survive, I couldn't afford a single misstep. My every action, every word, would be scrutinized by the man destined to play a role in my execution.
I looked at my reflection in the polished silver tray—the violet eyes, the rare, luminous hair. Zelene Evandelle, the political pawn, the girl destined for a traitor's death.
Not anymore.
The humming in my blood solidified into a quiet determination. I needed to know the castle, the staff, the political currents. I needed to practice the Aether Requiem without detection.
"Mother, I need to get dressed," I declared, pushing the blankets aside. "If the Dravenhart heir is coming to observe, I intend to give him something interesting to look at."
Caelan grinned, a flash of approval in his eyes. "That's the spirit, sister. Give him hell."
Seraphine sighed dramatically, a soft, exasperated sound that was almost a "HMMMMMMMM".
"Oh, dear. I suppose I should be grateful you aren't fainting again. But try to be subtle, darling. Your father's strategy depends on delicate manipulation, not outright confrontation."
"Subtle manipulation is my specialty, Mother," I promised, a genuine, sharp smile finally gracing my lips. I felt the faint, comforting thrum of the Aether Requiem, a quiet promise of control. The historical clock was ticking, but I had a new, dangerous Gift—and an overwhelming desire to survive. Kael Dravenhart was coming. Let him observe. I was ready to play.