Lyria's Arc

Chapter 10 of 9

The corrupted recruit was beaten. Guards dragged him unconscious to a cell behind the arena. Lyria knew he was her last thread to the hidden orchestrator. If he woke and spoke, she could name the enemy at last. But two guards stood at the cell door, and the court barred all visitors. She could not reach him. Selenya found her pacing the vine-wrapped path outside the cells. The tangled growth threw long shadows across the broken stones. The soul-seer moved without sound, her white hair pale in the gloom. She did not greet Lyria. "His soul is gray," she said. "Fading. He will not last the night." Lyria stopped. "Then I have to hear him first. The guards won't let me pass." "They will let me pass," Selenya said. "I read souls. The court trusts my sight." She held Lyria's eyes. "But I do not need you. I have chased this gray soul for weeks. I can end it alone." "You need me," Lyria said. "You read souls. I read fights, and I read people. When he lies, I'll know before you do." She let the words settle. "We've both bled for this. Let me in." Selenya was quiet. Then she turned toward the door. "Stay behind me. Say nothing." The guards straightened as Selenya approached. She named the dying man's soul and her duty to witness its end. One guard checked a token at her belt. Then he stepped aside. Lyria slipped through in Selenya's shadow. The cell was small and cold. The recruit lay on straw, his chest barely moving. Selenya knelt and pressed two fingers to his brow. "He hears us," she said. "Barely." Lyria crouched close. "Who sent you? Who leads the corrupted here?" The man's lips moved. No sound came. His eyes rolled toward Lyria. She leaned in until his breath touched her ear. "Robed," he whispered. "Sits with the judges. Wears... the silver clasp." His hand twitched, tracing a shape on the straw. A curved line. A moon. Lyria watched his face, not his hand. She had learned to spot a lie in the muscles of the jaw. His jaw did not lie. "He's telling the truth," she said. The recruit's breath rattled once and stopped. His hand fell still. Selenya lowered her fingers. "Gone," she said. "His soul is out." Lyria stood, her heart pounding. The thread had not broken empty. Someone who sat among the judges, someone with a silver moon clasp, had built every trap around her. The orchestrator wore a robe of authority. Selenya rose beside her. "You have a face now," she said. "Almost." "Almost," Lyria agreed. "And I know where they sit." She looked at the dead man, then at the door. The enemy had watched every trial from the high seats. Tomorrow, she would watch back.