The Flame Court had always been loud — a palace of voices, laughter, arguments, proclamations, fire crackling in its endless hearths.
But now the silence was louder than any war drum.
Lyra felt it in the way people looked at her, not directly, but sidelong — as if her very face carried a contagion. Servants who once bowed openly now dipped their heads only when Kael was present. Nobles who once whispered about power now whispered only about her blood.
The trial had not erased suspicion. It had sharpened it.
Whispers in the Halls
"Did you hear? The fire itself spoke Vaelora's name."
"She stood in the flames and lived. No mortal could survive that."
"Perhaps she isn't mortal."
The words were like gnats buzzing at her ears. She never caught them full, never saw who spoke them, but their sting was constant.
