Chapter 14. The Hall of Thorns

The wind shifted as they neared the gates, carrying with it the faint, metallic scent of judgment.

Seraya stood on the stone ridge overlooking the Council’s sacred grounds, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her mother’s blade. The metal felt warm beneath her palm, as though it recognized where it had been brought. Beside her, Alaric was silent, his broad shoulders drawn tight with restraint, his jaw set as he surveyed the land below.

It looked deceptively still.

No banners stirred. No guards paced the walls. No howls split the air.

But Seraya felt the weight of eyes on her all the same. The kind of watching that did not need movement to be absolute.

The Council Hall—known to the old blood as the Hall of Thorns—sat cradled be