Moments later,
Rina's POV
The echo of my words struck the marble floor like a blade drawn across stone.
"I ask for the Wastelands of Nespresso - my dowry once promised to the House of Fenrir. Restore it to my name," I repeated, my voice cutting through the ancient air of the Chamber of Aethelred.
Silence fell as rose to my feet, but it was not empty; it was predatory.
Even the torches lining the obsidian pillars seemed to bow their flames. In the tiered balconies above, the hundreds of assembled nobles and senators froze mid-breath. The rustle of silk and the flutter of jeweled fans ceased entirely, the weight of history and unspoken terror pressing into every corner of the vast circular hall.
From the heart of the crescent dais, a low feral growl began. It was Alpha Kaelen Ironfang, the Alpha Werewolf Marshal, and the sound rolled through the silence like distant thunder, shaking the very bones of the chamber. Beside him, Asmodan Veythar, the Demon Minister of Pacts, allowed his eternal smile to finally fade, curiosity and something anciently cruel sharpening behind his infernal eyes.
Secretary Morthos Gravemind's bone pen, poised over a massive ledger, halted mid-scratch, leaving a trail of shimmering bone dust suspended in the torchlight. And at the central pinnacle, Lord Dexter Valerius, High Vampire Chancellor, straightened slowly in his throne of onyx and moonsteel, his crimson eyes glinting with quiet dangerous amusement, sensing a shift in the political landscape that promised blood and entertainment.
Finally, Selena Moondrake, Witch High Regent of the Silver Courts, tilted her head. Her voice slithered through the charged silence, like silk and venom expertly entwined.
"You seek the cursed lands?" she asked, one brow arched in theatrical disbelief. "The graveyard of empires? You wish to rule over that ruin which our greatest magicians could not contain?"
I did not bow nor did I blink. My white hair, wet with the morning's mist, caught the torchlight like slick oil, and my purple eyes, currently focused by my icy resolve, gleamed with defiance.
"I don't want to rule," I replied evenly, my voice steady against the weight of a thousand judging gazes. "I wish to rebuild it."
A ripple of sharp whispers fractured the quiet like shattering glass. Even Nymera of the Veil, the timeless Oracle whose sightless eyes contained swirling galaxies, lifted her veiled head, her attention seized by the audacity. For the first time in centuries, the air of the Chamber of Aethelred moved - not just with politics, but alive with the potential for prophecy and peril.
Selena's laughter was a blade drawn slow, thin and maliciously amused.
"Rebuild a sudden desert that devoured kings and gods alike? The Wastelands have consumed mana and gold for the past five years, Lumira. Tell us, Witch - what esoteric wisdom could you possibly find in that dust that justifies this incredible expense of a reward?"
My lips curved faintly, a gesture that was more predatory than a smile.
"Memory, heritage, and legacy."
Those three words were enough to kill the nervous laughter. The Council shifted uneasily. Everyone knew the brutal truth that the Wastelands had been my dowry, when I had been promised to Alpha Jaxon Fenrir as the seal of a powerful necessary alliance. The night he publicly rejected me, he had taken my pride, ruined my name, and abandoned the land. He had declared it cursed, and my bloodline unworthy. Now I had returned from the dead to reclaim both the territory and my dignity.
Jaxon's grandfather, Alpha Kaelen Ironfang, could not hold his peace. He rose with the palpable weight of thunder, the sudden sound of his armored form scraping against his throne.
"You overstep, girl. That land was ceded by treaty when my grandson..."
But Lord Valerius's voice cut through him, cold and exquisitely controlled.
"Enough."
The word struck the Wolf Marshal like an iron fist. Kaelen's snarl died instantly in his throat, replaced by a mixture of shock and suppressed rage. Lord Valerius leaned forward in his seat, the light glinting dangerously off his fangs, his expression one of bored authority.
"If my memory hasn't waned, Lord Kaelen, the dowry was never ratified after the union failed. Nor were the associated goods - the vast mana stones, aura crystals or the sealed vaults of pure celestial gold - ever returned to the House of Duskbane."
A chorus of shocked murmurs rippled through the Senate tiers, because the value of those assets was legendary. Kaelen's jaw flexed, but Valerius's tone grew softer and crueler, like a lethal velvet glove over a steel blade.
"Consider yourself profoundly fortunate, old wolf. The White Witch could very easily demand back the gold and the mana stones. Yet she asks only for land your house abandoned and publicly denounced as toxic waste dump. If that is not mercy…" He paused, allowing his smile to bloom, sharp as fate. "Then what is it, exactly, that you fear?"
"You defend her, Lord Chancellor?" Selena's jeweled fingers tightened visibly against the obsidian armrest of her throne.
"I defend law," Valerius murmured, his crimson gaze never leaving Kaelen. "And perhaps justice. This Council is bound by both, isn't it, Lady Regent?"
My gaze flicked to Valerius. In his predatory crimson eyes, I thought I saw not the simple recognition of me, but a shared, knowing appreciation for political strategy. Or perhaps it was a flicker of guilt for a past error he now sought to rectify.
From his seat, Asmodan Veythar chuckled darkly, tapping his clawed fingers against his lips. His garnet eyes were calculating the new variables.
"She asks for land that cannot be tamed by any known magical process. Either she is quite mad - or she is brilliant enough to deceive us all, which is the higher compliment."
Lord Varion, the beast-blooded Hunter of the Crimson Hunt, leaned back, his amber eyes glittering with a reckless, sporting interest.
"Let her try. The sands of Nespresso will drink her bones before the next full moonrise, and the problem will solve itself."
I turned my gaze on the Hunter, my chin lifting in cold, dismissive contempt.
"Then may the sands have me," I countered, my voice ringing clear across the vast hall, "-if they can."
The Senate gasped, a few nervous hollow laughs broke the tension. The Witch who had risen from her grave now stood before gods and monsters, her defiance a tiny, stubborn spark against eternity.
From the lower galleries, I caught the familiar, fragile sight of Sera, seated beside Lady Evelyn Duskbane, staring at me in silent, tremulous awe. Evelyn's stern hand pressed lightly on the young Sera's wrist, commanding silence and strength, but my grandmother's own eyes glistened with something between profound fear and the deepest forbidden pride.
High above them all, the Decemvirate of Shadows and Flame - the ten beings bound by power and ancient law - finally sat up in their thrones.
Nymera raised one trembling hand, and absolute silence obeyed her.
"The Witch's words are not idle ambition," she intoned, her blind eyes glowing silver beneath the veil. "I feel the Moon Phoenix Mark upon her. Her claim requires more than mere assent."
This caused murmurs of fear, awe, and disbelief rippled through the senators.
"Are you sure you want the land back?" Lady Elaris Thornveil asked, geniue concern glistering in her eyes. "You can change your mind and demand the rest of your dowry instead..."
A growl from Alpha Ironfang interrupted her, but she paid him no mind.
"I wish to reclaim the Wastelands of Nespresso, Lady Elaris." I repeated. "By the rites of inheritance, by bloodline, by the seal of my grandmother Evelyn Duskbane, I claim dominion as its rightful heir."
My declaration rippled through the hall like the toll of a death bell. For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then, came sacarstic laughter... and it came from Alpha Kaelen Ironfang.
"A girl who crawled back from death now speaks of dominion?" he sneered. "Tell me, witchling, did the worms sign your claim with their teeth?"
Lady Evelyn Duskbane's cane struck the floor once - crack! - and the laughter died instantly. She rose slowly, the black folds of her robe whispering as she straightened.
"Mind your tongue, Ironfang," Lady Evelyn said, her voice laced with velvet and venom. "Your pack still owes my house another thirty acres of treaty land and two lives. Would you like me to collect them now?"
That was enough to make Kaelen's grin falter, and the chamber's mirth bled away.
And that was also when the Shadow Emissary appeared.
The torches guttered low as a ripple of darkness spread across the floor. From it rose a tall, faceless, inhuman figure cloaked in smoke that shimmered with shifting sigils. The temperature dropped, and breaths misted. It moved without footsteps to the dais and spoke in a voice that seemed to come from every corner of the room at once.
"The claim is heard," it intoned. "The House of Duskbane invokes ancestral right, but the law is older than blood. Only the living may claim dominion. Only breath may hold land. Therefore, the claimant shall undergo the Three Trials of Life."
The words fell like thunder, and for several seconds, the hall was heavy with choking silence.
Then came the uproar, as dozens of voices erupted at once.
"Absurd!"
"It's true she shouldn't even be here!"
"A Duskbane walking free is an insult to the law!"
My pulse hammered, but I stood unmoving in the storm.
Above me, my grandmother's fury broke loose.
"You will not put her through that barbaric relic!" Lady Evelyn thundered, her voice cutting through the chaos like a whip. "The Trials were outlawed a century ago!"
Selena Moondrake, the High Regent, leaned forward in her throne of obsidian.
"Outlawed for convenience, not for justice," she said, her lips curling into a smile too precise to be human. "The Trials remain codified in the Aethelred Edicts. You of all people should remember, afterall, you wrote them."
"To bind the dead, not the living!" Evelyne snapped. "You dare twist the law to punish my bloodline because you fear it?"
"The law is not subject to sentiment." The Shadow Emissary turned slightly toward her, its form flickering. "The claimant has returned from death once. The integrity of her life must be proven."
Lady Evelyn slammed her cane into the marble again, sparks crackling beneath it. The runes embedded in the floor flared purple.
"You insult the legacy of the Duskbane line," she hissed. "My granddaughter has the breath of the living, the pulse of magic, and the soul-mark of the First Witch herself. She needs no trial!"
"Then she will pass them easily," Kaelen said, eyes gleaming with cruel delight. "Or she won't. Either way, justice is served."
Another sharp voice joined him.
"Perhaps this will settle a century's worth of gossip," said Lord Veythar, the vampire senator, lounging with studied boredom. "Let the trials decide what even death could not."
Evelyne's fury gave way to desperation. She turned to me, gripping her cane.
"Don't do this," she whispered fiercely. "They want you broken. They want you erased again. Let me handle them."
I met my grandmother's gaze. Behind the older woman's defiance, I saw fear - not for her reputation, but for me. And beneath that fear… was faith. I'd fought my way back from death once before, I could do it again.
I drew in a slow breath. The air tasted of iron and candle smoke, as all eyes were on me.
"If only the living may claim dominion," I said quietly, my unshaken and clear voice carrying across the vast hall, "Then let the living prove herself."
"You want your spectacle?" I gritted, squarely facing the Shadow Emissary. "You'll have it. I accept the Three Trials of Life."
The words detonated through the chamber. For a moment, even the Emissary hesitated - as though the shadow itself needed to breathe. Then, slowly, it bowed.
"So be it. By blood and by breath, the trials have been invoked. The claimant shall be tested by life, by will, and by heart."
A deep rumble answered from beneath the marble, ancient mechanisms stirring in the dark. The crystal chandeliers flickered, bleeding red light because old magic had been awakened.
Lady Evelyn still stood rigid, eyes glistening with unspoken pride and dread.
The Shadow Emissary's voice rolled like thunder one last time:
"The First Trial awaits. When the mirror calls your reflection, you will enter. Survive it, and the Senate shall recognize your life. Fail… and your name will be struck from every book that remembers you."
The sigil flared, and in that blinding light, my last thought before the trial began was of Lady Evelyn's trembling hand on mine when we rode in the car - full of iron and warmth, legacy and love.