POV: Seraphina
The volcanic glass caught the morning light, dark red and translucent.
Lucien turned the fragment in his fingers, examining it against a reference sketch from his family's archives. He still wore yesterday's ash-gray robes, rumpled now, and the dark circles under his eyes had deepened. Around him, Seraphina's chambers smelled of dried herbs and old magic. Yona worked at the table near the window, grinding components with practiced efficiency.
Liora stood at her usual post by the door, one hand resting on her blade, eyes tracking every movement in the room. She had not left that position since dawn.
Seraphina watched from her chair near the hearth. She had insisted on being present despite Yona's protests about rest. The fire-scars had not let her sleep anyway, and after last night's warning about Harwick's tribunal, she refused to stay ignorant while others decided her fate. Standing for too long made the scars pulse with warning heat, so she had compromised by sitting where she could observe everything.
The tribunal had been delayed. Thalion had invoked imperial authority the previous evening, demanding Harwick present formal evidence before any proceedings could begin. He was now working through palace channels to identify who else might be coordinating with Harwick, and had sent word he would return by evening. Siran had been dispatched at dawn to monitor Harwick's movements.
"That's the last piece?" she asked.
Lucien looked up and offered a small smile. "Almost."
He set the volcanic glass beside the other components he had gathered overnight. Rare herbs tracked from three different apothecaries across the palace district. A specific binding cloth he had apparently woven himself after copying the pattern from old texts.
The glass was still warm to the touch. Seraphina had noticed it when Lucien first unpacked it. It should have been cold after sitting all night, yet heat radiated from its surface in steady waves.
"Volcanic glass holds residual energy," Lucien said, catching her expression. "It remembers the fire that made it. That's what makes it useful for stabilization rituals."
"You're remarkably well-informed about Flamebearer preparations."
"I'm remarkably well-informed about most things." He said it without arrogance, just fact. "The archives are comprehensive when you know where to look."
Yona glanced up from her work. "He's been helpful. More than helpful." Her voice carried grudging respect. "I asked about the herb ratios and he pulled three separate references from memory. Different centuries, different sources, all confirming the same proportions."
"I'm not a healer." Lucien picked up a mortar and began grinding one of the dried components. "I can follow instructions, and I'm not too proud to grind herbs if it helps."
Seraphina watched him work. He took direction from Yona without complaint, adjusting his technique when she corrected him. He showed no ego or frustration, only quiet competence applied to tedious preparation work.
The morning passed in measured rhythm as Yona called out instructions and Lucien followed them while Seraphina observed from her chair. Twice she tried to rise and help, and twice the fire-scars flared with enough heat that she sat back down.
Liora's gaze flickered to her each time.
One of the herbs smelled like burnt honey when Lucien crushed it, unexpectedly sweet beneath the acrid undertone, and he paused to breathe it in.
"Honeyfire root." He looked almost nostalgic. "My grandmother used to keep dried bundles in her study. I'd forgotten the smell."
Seraphina catalogued these small details without knowing why.
Around midday, Lucien set down his tools.
"I need to retrieve one final component from the archives. A specific binding agent that wasn't in my personal stores." He wiped his hands on a cloth. "I'll return within the hour."
"Be careful," Yona said. "Harwick has eyes everywhere after last night."
"Lord Harwick can watch all he likes." Lucien's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "The archives are still imperial territory. He can't forbid me from entering my own workplace."
He left without waiting for a response.
Seraphina pushed herself up from the chair and moved to the window overlooking the courtyard below. The fire-scars throbbed in protest.
"My lady." Liora's voice was quiet. "You should sit."
"In a moment."
She watched Lucien's gray-robed figure cross the courtyard toward the archive wing before he disappeared into the shadowed colonnade.
She almost turned away and would have missed it entirely if movement had not caught her attention. A cluster of figures emerged from a side passage, their pace too purposeful to be coincidental. Lord Harwick's silver-streaked hair was visible even from this distance, and he was not alone.
They intercepted Lucien at the colonnade entrance, still visible from her window.
Seraphina could not hear the words, though she did not need to. Harwick's posture radiated aggression. His voice carried, loud enough to draw the attention of servants passing nearby, minor nobles pausing in their morning routines. He wanted witnesses.
The tribunal had been delayed, so Harwick was trying public pressure instead.
Lucien stood very still with his hands at his sides while he kept his voice low enough that Seraphina could only see his lips moving.
She watched as Harwick gestured broadly, face reddening, as servants slowed and found excuses to linger, as Lucien responded with something that made Harwick's expression twist from anger to uncertainty to alarm.
The confrontation lasted several minutes. Seraphina tracked every shift in body language, every servant who paused to listen. Whatever Lucien was saying, it was having an effect. When Lucien finally walked away, Harwick did not follow. He stood in the colonnade with his face burning while servants whispered and a minor noble hurried toward the council chambers.
Word would spread. Whatever had happened, the entire palace would know by evening.
"He handled that well." Liora had moved to stand beside her, professional assessment in her voice. "Harwick looked ready to strike him. Most men would have retreated."
Seraphina nodded and let Liora guide her back to the chair. The brief time standing had cost more than she wanted to admit. The fire-scars pulsed steadily now, heat spreading toward her shoulders.
Lucien returned carrying a small box of powdered binding agent. His expression was carefully neutral, and Seraphina noticed immediately what he was trying to hide.
His hands were shaking.
The tremor was subtle, just a fine unsteadiness as he set the box on the table, a slight shake as he removed the lid. He caught her watching and curled his fingers into fists to stop it.
"You saw," he said.
"I saw."
"Harwick is persistent." Lucien uncurled his hands deliberately, spreading his fingers against the table surface. "He called me a curse-sympathizer. Said I was bringing shame on my family's legacy by consorting with someone the court believes caused the deaths during the siege."
"And you answered him."
"I answered him." He paused before continuing. "I reminded him that the archives remember everything. Including seventeen documented instances where Flamebearer bloodlines saved this realm from extinction. Specific dates. Specific battles. Specific death tolls that would have been higher without intervention." His voice stayed level, though the tremor had not entirely subsided. "I asked him which of those seventeen saves he would have preferred not happen."
Yona had stopped working. She stared at Lucien with something between admiration and concern.
"You challenged him publicly," Seraphina said. "In front of witnesses."
"The archives remember everything, my lady. Including who stood against the realm's defenders in their hour of need." He finally looked up at her. "Harwick will think twice before making accusations again. His reputation cannot survive being painted as someone who would have let thousands die to satisfy political convenience."
It was a calculated move, brilliant even, and Seraphina found herself focused on the tremor in his hands, the slight pallor beneath his careful composure.
"I'm not usually confrontational." Lucien adjusted his spectacles with trembling fingers. "The archives are quieter."
Something shifted in how she saw him. He was not fearless, had clearly been terrified, and had done it anyway.
"Thank you," she said. "For what you risked."
"It was necessary." He turned back to the binding agent, beginning to measure precise portions. "Some things are worth the discomfort."
The afternoon stretched into evening. Preparations continued in careful silence, punctuated by Yona's instructions and Lucien's quiet compliance. When Yona finally stepped out to retrieve additional reference texts from her quarters, the chamber felt suddenly smaller.
Seraphina remained in her chair by the window. Moving cost too much now. Lucien worked at the table, organizing the completed components into careful arrangements. The fire-scars pulsed beneath her sleeves, a constant reminder of the deadline pressing down.
Liora had shifted to stand near the door again, giving them space while maintaining her watch.
"Your mother's research." Lucien spoke without looking up. "The documents Yona mentioned. She was investigating the awakening process before she died."
It was not a question, though it clearly invited response.
"She was." Seraphina chose her words carefully. "She found references to the preparatory ritual in sources the official archives claimed didn't exist. She was trying to understand what had been hidden and why."
"The archives have gaps." Lucien's voice was thoughtful. "Deliberate ones. Information removed or reclassified over centuries. My family has secondary collections. Documents that never entered official records." He paused. "That's how I found the volcanic glass preparation. It wasn't in any standard text."
"Why would your family keep records about Flamebearers?"
"We believe in preserving knowledge. All knowledge." His hands stilled on the components. "Even the uncomfortable kinds."
The evening light was fading through the window. Seraphina watched Lucien's profile, trying to read what lay beneath the surface.
"I lost my mother young," he said quietly. "Seven years old. Fever took her in three days. The healers couldn't explain it." He did not look at her. "I became an archivist because the dead leave better records than the living leave explanations. I wanted to preserve important things so they don't just disappear."
The words affected her more than she expected. Seraphina thought of her own mother's careful notes, the research that had cost her everything.
"She would have liked you," Seraphina said before she could stop herself. "My mother. She believed in preserving what others forgot too."
Lucien finally looked up with something unguarded in his expression.
"I spend my life trying to make sure important things don't vanish." His voice was soft. "It seemed necessary. After she died, I needed purpose. Something that mattered beyond my own existence."
Seraphina almost told him about the sacrifice. Almost explained that her mother had not simply died, that she had cast forbidden magic requiring her life as payment to give her daughter a second chance. The words rose to her lips and stopped there.
She was tired and the fire-scars ached and he looked so genuine in the fading light.
"We both found purpose in loss," she said instead. "Perhaps that's not coincidental."
"Perhaps not." His smile was gentle. "Some patterns repeat for reasons."
A knock at the door broke the moment. Yona entered with grim expression, her usual efficiency shadowed by worry.
"Lady Delmonte has returned to the palace."
Seraphina straightened in her chair, ignoring the flare of heat through her chest. Lady Delmonte had fled to her country estate after the curse destroyed half the palace. She had been one of the loudest voices calling for Seraphina's containment during the siege.
"She's gathering nobles for a formal petition tomorrow." Yona's voice was tight. "They're calling it an intervention. They want to stop the ritual before it begins."
"On what grounds?"
"The same grounds as Harwick. Unsanctioned magic. Threat to realm security." Yona set down her supplies. "They want to contain you before you can cause more damage."
The fire-scars pulsed beneath her sleeves. Days until her body failed. Weeks until the seventh moon closed the cosmic window. The preparatory ritual was supposed to bridge that gap.
Delmonte and Harwick did not know any of that. They saw a Flamebearer attempting forbidden magic. They saw a woman half the court blamed for the curse. They wanted her contained before she could cause more damage.
Lucien did not look worried. He looked resolved, the way someone looks when they have already decided what they are willing to lose.
"Lady Delmonte's timing is interesting." His voice was calm. "She fled during the crisis. Now she returns exactly when intervention would be most damaging." He met Seraphina's eyes. "Almost as if someone arranged it."
"You think there's coordination?"
"I think nervous lords don't usually act this fast unless someone is pushing them." He began gathering his personal notes, leaving the ritual components organized for tomorrow. "That's a problem for the morning. Tonight, you should rest. The preparation will require everything you have."
He moved toward the door and paused there with his hand on the frame.
"Lady Seraphina."
She looked up.
"Whatever happens tomorrow, I want you to know that I don't regret any of this." His expression was difficult to read in the shadows. "Some things matter more than comfort. More than reputation. More than the quiet life I built in the archives." He paused. "You matter more than comfort."
Then he was gone.
Yona gathered the translations Lucien had left behind. "I will review these tonight. We begin at dawn."
"And if they move against us before then?"
"Then we adapt." Yona paused at the door. "Rest, my lady. Tomorrow will require everything you have."
She left. The chamber fell quiet.
Seraphina pressed her palm against her chest where the scars burned hottest. On her nightstand, Caelan's letter sat where she had left it days ago. The seal remained unbroken.
She reached for it. Her fingers brushed the edge of the paper, traced the wax imprint she had memorized without meaning to.
Not yet.
Reading his words would make the distance unbearable. She needed to stay focused. The ritual. The enemies gathering. The fire burning toward her heart.
She could endure a little longer.
Tomorrow the ritual began. Tomorrow her enemies would try to stop her.
She closed her eyes and waited for a sleep that would not come.