The Temple emptied slowly through the afternoon, pilgrims and nobles alike carrying away a story that would spread through the capital by nightfall — not divine rejection, but attempted murder foiled by a steady empress and a vigilant High Priestess. By the time we reconvened in the war room, exhaustion had settled over all of us like a second skin, but beneath it ran something sharper than relief.
"If he believes the poison worked," I said, pacing the length of the table while the others took their seats, "then somewhere, right now, he's operating under the assumption that I'm dead, or dying, or at minimum that the empire's thrown into exactly the chaos he's spent eighteen months engineering."
"Which means his next move is already in motion," Ethan said. "Whatever comes after the assassination, in his plan — he'll be executing it now, believing the ground's already been cleared for it."
