Chapter 19: The Feast of Saint Halvor
The Great Hall of Veyth Palace had never looked so alive.Hundreds of candles burned in iron chandeliers overhead, their flames mirrored in the polished marble floor. Gold and crimson banners hung from the rafters, bearing the Regent's sigil: a black hawk clutching a sword.
The tables were laden with roasted boar, platters of glazed fruits, steaming trenchers of spiced bread, and decanters of deep red wine. The air was thick with the mingled scents of cinnamon, smoke, and the cold that clung to the cloaks of newly arrived guests.
And yet, beneath the glitter, the air carried another scent entirely—something Elias recognized from battlefields past: the metallic tang of danger.
Isabella arrived at his side as the court assembled, her gown the color of midnight, cut to command attention without pleading for it. Jewels glimmered at her throat, each one catching the light like a fragment of ice. She looked every inch the noblewoman restored to favor, yet Elias could see the calculation in her eyes.
"You're ready?" she murmured, her voice barely above the hum of the crowd.
"I'm ready," he said. "The question is, for what?"
"For whatever they've planned," she replied. "And for what we must do to survive it."
The Regent entered to the toll of the great silver bell, her presence sweeping the room into silence. She wore no crown tonight—only a circlet of black velvet set with a single diamond. It was a subtle choice, one Elias knew was deliberate. To appear unthreatening was itself a weapon.
"Friends," the Regent said, her voice filling the hall without strain, "on this night we honor Saint Halvor, whose courage kept the dark tides from our shores. We honor him not only with feasting, but with unity. Tonight, let no intrigue divide us, no whisper weaken us."
Elias thought the words might have been meant for him. Or perhaps for everyone.
The feast began with laughter and music, but Elias ate little. His gaze moved constantly, mapping the hall: the positioning of guards, the faces that lingered too long on the Regent, the flicker of a hand beneath a table.
Isabella played her role flawlessly, drawing conversation from rival lords, sipping her wine with apparent ease. Yet once, when their hands brushed under the table, he felt the subtle pressure of her fingers—two taps.
Danger.
The first sign came in the form of a toast.Lord Hadrien of Clyne rose, goblet in hand. His smile was warm, but his eyes were not.
"To the Regent," he said, "and to a future free of fear."
Polite applause followed, but Elias noticed something: three other lords did not drink. They held their goblets, waiting. And across the hall, a servant moved with unnatural purpose toward the Regent's table.
Elias stood. Too quickly.
A sharp clatter rang out—Isabella's wine cup falling to the floor, spilling a dark stain across the white cloth. The sound broke the moment's rhythm, all eyes turning to her.
"Forgive me," she said lightly, though her gaze locked with Elias's in silent command: move.
Elias slipped along the side of the hall, intercepting the servant just before he reached the Regent's dais. Up close, he could see the man's hand trembling—not with fear, but with the careful effort of balancing a goblet brimming with deep red wine.
"Your sleeve," Elias said suddenly, grabbing the man's wrist.
The servant froze. Elias pulled back the cuff. Inside was a thin leather strap, holding a tiny vial of pale powder.
The hall erupted. Guards surged forward. The Regent rose, eyes blazing, and the servant was dragged away protesting innocence.
But as the tension broke into shouted orders and murmured speculation, Elias caught sight of something in the shadows behind the musicians—a green cloak, slipping toward a side door.
Liora.
He followed, weaving through the chaos. The music faltered behind him as the feast continued in fractured form.
The side corridor was cold, lit only by a few guttering torches. Liora moved quickly, but Elias was faster. He caught her arm just as she reached the servants' stair.
"What game are you playing?" he demanded.
Her eyes met his without flinching. "The only one that matters. You think you saved the Regent? That was the opening move. The real strike is coming."
"From who?"
She smiled faintly. "Ask the woman you trust most."
He released her in shock, and she vanished into the stairwell.When he returned to the hall, Isabella was waiting.
"You found her," she said.
"Yes."
"And?"
"She says you're part of it."
The silence between them was colder than the snow outside. Isabella's expression did not change, but her voice was low and steady.
"Then you'll have to decide very soon," she said, "whether you believe me or her. Because the next move will decide which of us lives through the night."
The music resumed, but the feast had changed. Every laugh was too loud, every glance too sharp. The Regent seemed unshaken, yet Elias could see the calculation in her eyes—she was weighing her allies, and the scale might tip either way.
And somewhere beyond the torchlight, the blade Liora had promised was waiting to fall.