POV: Mara
The small hall smells like rain on stone and hot tea. I carry the tray. My hands try to shake; I tell them no. Pia walks beside me, shoulder bumping mine on purpose.
At the table: the Luna Regent, straight-backed; Cael at her right, jaw tight; Jax behind them like a quiet wall. Across from them sits Seris’s envoy—pearl dress, soft voice, sharp eyes. She smiles at everyone like we are candles.
“Thank you for receiving me,” she says. “I bring greetings from Lord Kade of Moonfell.” Her fingers rest on a slim case. The case looks harmless. It isn’t.
The Regent nods. “Greetings received.”
I set cups down. “Tea,” I whisper. My sleeve brushes Cael’s wrist. He doesn’t look at me, but I feel how tense he is—like a bow pulled back too long.
I can relate.
At the bare sight of Seris everything inside me twitches. I used to want to curl up and hide away whenever anything reminded me of Moonfell, of Kade, of Seris. Now?
I feel… rage. Rage mixed with old fear rooted deep inside me.
I'm not just scared anymore.
I want revenge.
The envoy opens the case. A small packet of papers. A red wax token. She keeps her smile. “We’ve come to resolve a minor matter. Moonfell reports the disappearance of a Lowline asset. A runaway, it seems. House property. We request return.”
My stomach drops. Aster goes still. I keep pouring tea. I miss a saucer edge and the spoon rattles. Pia’s fingers find my wrist under the tray and squeeze. I breathe again.
Cael’s voice is calm. “Crownward doesn’t recognize people as property.”
The envoy tilts her head. “Oh, we don’t either, dear. Not people.” She looks down at the papers, then up again. “But ledgers are ledgers. This one ran with training, tools, knowledge. A contract, if you will.”
The Regent’s eyes narrow. “We have our own law. Your contract holds no weight here.” She sips her tea. “If you have concerns about cross-border crime, send proper evidence and proper names.”
“Of course,” the envoy says. “Names can… embarrass. I hoped we could be discreet.”
“Then be discreet on your side of the river,” the Regent replies.
Whispers spill across the hall. I can't help but steal glances at Cael. Despite the situation and the tension, he seems almost… proud of his mother. Cael's lips twitch just slightly as if he'd like to smile if the political position would allow him.
My eyes stick to his face. His lips, his eyes.
My mind wanders, and I have to stop myself from a certain train of thoughts.
Aster inside me hums thoughtfully.
The envoy laughs like bells. “You’re very firm. I admire that.” She slides one paper forward. “We will, however, lodge a formal notice. Duty requires it. You understand.”
“We do,” Cael says. He does not blink.
I move to the Regent’s left, set down honey, set down sugar. My hands are steady now, but my chest. Gods. I feel like a small animal under a hawk’s shadow. Aster leans into me: Hold. Don’t run. Not here.
Not here, not ever, I answer in my thoughts. Not anymore.
The envoy stands. “Thank you for your time.” She bows too low to be sincere. “Your lanterns were pretty. Suited to Lowline tastes. Simple. Honest.”
Pia mutters, “Witch,” under her breath. I almost laugh from nerves. The Regent’s mouth twitches, just once.
Cael rises as well. “We’ll send a written reply.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” The envoy takes two steps, then pauses. She looks over her shoulder—not at Cael, not at the Regent. At me. Her smile turns thin. “And thank you for the service,” she says. “Every cup perfect.”
I lower my eyes, but my chest burns. “Yes, ma’am.”
She leaves. The room exhales. The Regent rubs the bridge of her nose. “I hate that tone,” she says. “Like we’re furniture.”
Cael’s hand lifts, then falls, like he reaches for a sword he can’t use. “She was testing how loud we are.”
“We were loud enough,” the Regent answers. “For now.”
I carry the tray out. My knees feel soft. In the hall, Pia pulls me into a corner behind a pillar.
“Hey,” she whispers. “Look at me.”
I look. Her eyes are kind and wet. “I’m okay,” I lie.
“You’re not, and that’s allowed,” she says. She wipes a thumb under my eye. “You didn’t blink when she said asset. That’s power.”
My hands shake again. I grip the tray. “It’s just a word,” I say, but my voice breaks on just.
Pia presses her forehead to mine for a second. “Breathe.”
We return to the service table. My cup is there, the one I leave for myself and never finish. Something peeks from under it. White paper. A small hibiscus stamped in the corner.
My throat closes. I slide the cup aside. The envelope is thin, sealed, perfect. No name.
Pia sees it. “Don’t touch,” she breathes.
Too late. It’s already in my palm. The hibiscus looks like a mouth.