Sable blinked and the tea shop vanished.
There was no falling. No spinning. No darkness. One moment she stood in the doorway with the Crown Seed burning in her palm. The next moment she stood on smooth pale stone that felt warm through her boots.
The air smelled of rain on dust.
Above her was a sky that was not a sky. It looked like stretched white cloth, bright but without a sun. Shadows existed anyway, sharp at the edges, as if the place had decided what light should do.
Sable's breath came fast. Her throat still held the pressure of that first sound. Her mouth tasted of ash and bitter tea.
She looked down.
The Crown Seed was not in her hand.
Her palm was empty, but the mark remained. The original name line burned there, and beside it the new line she had made when she spoke the first sound. The partial signature glowed faintly, as if ink had been warmed.
Sable's stomach dropped.
"No," she whispered. "No. Come back."
The place did not answer.
She turned in a slow circle.
The stone platform beneath her was circular, carved with shallow grooves. Beyond it stretched a wide hall with no walls. Tall pillars rose in rows and vanished into the white above. Between the pillars hung banners made of nothing solid. They looked like pale cloth, but when Sable stared at them, she saw faint letters moving across them like drifting smoke.
Far ahead was a bench cut from a single piece of dark stone. Four seats were carved into it, each seat marked with a different symbol.
A spiral leaf for the covens.
A clawed track for the shifters.
A sealed tablet for the Registry.
A flame glyph for the Cinderbreaths.
In front of the bench stood a low dais with a bowl of black glass.
Sable's chest tightened.
It was the same bowl that had held the Crown Seed in the vault.
Only this one was whole.
She took one step forward and the grooves under her boots brightened. A thin line of light traced a path from her feet toward the dais.
Sable froze.
The light did not threaten. It invited.
She did not trust invitations anymore.
A sound came from behind her. Not footsteps. Not breath. A quiet scrape, like a pen on paper.
Sable turned.
A figure stood at the edge of the platform where there had been nothing an instant before. It was tall, draped in gray cloth that did not move with air. Its face was covered by a smooth mask of pale wood. No holes for eyes. No mouth.
In one hand it held a thin stylus. In the other it held a metal tablet.
It wrote without looking.
Sable's voice came out rough. "Where am I."
The figure stopped writing. It tilted its head, as if listening.
Then it tapped the tablet with the stylus.
The words appeared in the air between them, clean and dark.
SEED COURT.
Sable swallowed. "I did not agree to be here."
The figure wrote again.
YOU SPOKE. YOU WERE HEARD.
Sable's palm throbbed. "I spoke one sound."
The stylus moved.
ONE SOUND IS STILL A SIGN.
Sable's mouth went dry. "Where is the Seed."
The figure did not write at once. It raised its stylus and pointed toward the black glass bowl on the dais.
Sable took two slow steps toward it.
The grooves under her boots lit each time she moved. The path line brightened as if it approved.
She reached the edge of the dais and did not climb it. She stared at the bowl. It was empty, but the air above it felt thick. It felt like standing near a storm that had not decided whether to break.
Sable forced herself to speak carefully. "If this is a court, who is the judge."
The figure's head turned toward the four seats.
Then it wrote.
THE SEED JUDGES. THE REALM LISTENS.
Sable's teeth clenched. "That is not how courts work."
The stylus moved again.
THIS IS HOW REALITY WORKS.
Sable hated how calm the words looked.
She turned and faced the dark bench. The four seats were empty. No one watched her. Yet she felt watched from every direction.
"Am I alone," she asked.
The figure wrote.
NOT FOR LONG.
A low bell rang.
One note. Clear. Measured.
The sound hit Sable's ribs as if the stone itself had vibrated.
The hall shifted.
Not the pillars. Not the bench. Something behind them. A sense of distance changing, like the place decided that far should become nearer.
A second figure appeared on the platform behind Sable.
Sable spun.
Captain Maera Flint stood there.
Maera's armor was gone. She wore plain clothing now, dark and simple, sleeves rolled up. Her bruises were still there. Her eyes were still fierce.
Her wrists were not bound.
Maera looked around once, fast, then locked on Sable.
"Sable," Maera said. "Where are we."
Sable's throat tightened with relief that turned into fear. "Seed Court. It pulled me."
Maera's jaw set. "It pulled me too."
The masked figure wrote without pause, as if it had expected Maera's arrival.
WITNESS ADDED.
Maera stepped toward Sable, then stopped as the grooves under her boots lit. She looked down and then back up.
"This place marks our feet," Maera said. "It is tracking us."
Sable nodded. "It tracks intent. I think."
Maera's gaze sharpened. "Where are the others."
Sable looked around. "Not here. Yet."
Another bell note rang, slightly higher.
A third figure appeared.
Vessa Pyre landed in a crouch, one hand braced on the stone as if she had been dropped from above. She rose immediately, eyes scanning, ready to burn.
She saw Sable and Maera, then the bench.
Her expression tightened.
"No," Vessa said. "No. Not here."
Maera's eyes flicked to Vessa. "You know this place."
Vessa swallowed. "I have heard of it. Stories. Warnings."
Sable held up her marked palm. "It took the Seed from me."
Vessa's gaze snapped to Sable's palm. She went pale. "You spoke again."
"Only one sound," Sable said.
Vessa's mouth tightened. "That is enough."
The masked figure wrote.
CINDER WITNESS ADDED.
Vessa stared at the words in the air as if she wanted to set them on fire.
Jory did not appear with the third bell. Nor did Mother Rook. Sable's fear moved again, sharp and cold.
Maera lifted her chin. "If this is a court, where are the charges."
The masked figure wrote.
THE CHARGE IS FRACTURE.
Sable's stomach turned. "Fracture of what."
The stylus moved, slow and deliberate.
FRACTURE OF OATH. FRACTURE OF SEASON. FRACTURE OF SELF.
Sable felt the pressure in her throat rise again at the last word.
Maera's hand curled. "We did not fracture the realm. Someone stole the Seed."
The figure wrote.
THE SEED WAS TAKEN. THE SEED WAS CALLED. BOTH ARE TRUE.
Vessa stepped forward, voice sharp. "We are not here to confess. We are here to stop a thief with her face."
The masked figure paused, then wrote.
THE OTHER WILL ATTEND.
Sable's blood went cold.
Maera's stance widened. "Bring her."
Vessa glanced at Maera. "Do not invite this place to prove you wrong."
Maera did not look away. "I do not fear courts."
Vessa's voice dropped. "This court does not fear you either."
The black glass bowl on the dais began to fill.
Not with liquid.
With light.
A pale glow rose from the bottom like mist and took shape above the rim, twisting into a form that was not solid but felt present.
A crown shape formed, then broke apart. A vine shape formed, then burned away. A flame shape formed, then flattened into a line.
The light did not settle. It kept changing as if it refused to be pinned down by one symbol.
Sable's mark on her palm burned hotter.
The masked figure wrote quickly now.
THE SEED OPENS PROCEEDINGS.
The hall went quieter.
Not silent.
Quiet like breath held.
A voice spoke from everywhere and nowhere. It did not sound male or female. It did not sound young or old. It sounded like a statement that had been true for a long time.
"Name the signer."
Sable's mouth went dry.
Maera looked at Sable at once. "Do not answer."
Vessa's hand lifted toward her own throat, ready to burn if needed. "Do not speak the true name."
The voice repeated, patient.
"Name the signer."
Sable tried to speak without giving it what it wanted. "My name is Sable Vane."
The moment the false name left her mouth, pain snapped through her teeth.
Not heat. Not fire.
A sharp correction.
The air thickened around her head, as if the place rejected the words.
The voice spoke again, colder now.
"False record."
Sable staggered one step. Maera caught her elbow.
Maera's voice was a low growl. "It hurt you."
Sable nodded, breathing hard. "It punished the lie."
Vessa's eyes widened. "It is already judging."
The masked figure wrote.
THE SEED DOES NOT ARGUE. IT CORRECTS.
Maera turned toward the dais. "Then correct the thief."
The light above the bowl pulsed.
"Bring the fracture," the voice said.
The air beside the platform rippled.
Sable's skin went cold.
Then the duplicate appeared.
She stood upright, calm as always, wearing gray Registry robes. Her hair was braided the same way Sable wore it. Her eyes were the same gray.
Her palm faced outward.
On it was the thorn crown.
She smiled at Sable with quiet satisfaction.
"Hello," the duplicate said. "You brought witnesses. That is thoughtful."
Maera stepped forward, body tense, ready to strike. "You bound me. You used me."
The duplicate glanced at Maera as if Maera were a minor detail. "You were a tool. Tools do not get apologies."
Vessa spat, "You speak like a Vale."
The duplicate's smile sharpened. "Be careful, fire girl."
Sable forced herself to speak without letting another sound of the true name rise. "Why are you here."
The duplicate looked at the bowl. "To finish what you started."
The voice spoke again.
"Present the signer."
The duplicate turned toward Sable and raised her hand slightly, palm up, not offering, demanding.
"Speak it," the duplicate said softly. "Say the name the Seed burned into you. Say it so the realm can settle."
Sable's throat tightened as if a cord had been drawn around it from the inside.
She could feel the next sound of her true name forming.
It wanted to come out.
The duplicate's eyes fixed on Sable's mouth, hungry and afraid at the same time.
Maera stepped closer to Sable, shielding her with her body. "Do not give her what she wants."
Vessa's voice shook with anger. "If you speak the full name here, you might bind yourself forever."
The voice above them was patient again, as if it did not care about fear.
"Name the signer."
Sable's palm burned so hard she thought the skin would split.
The duplicate leaned closer and whispered, quiet enough that only Sable would hear.
"If you do not speak it, the Seed will choose. And it will choose me, because I am already shaped to obey."
Sable's heart hammered.
Then the masked figure wrote one final line, and the words hung in the air like a blade.
PROCEEDINGS REQUIRE A TRUE NAME. FAILURE TO PROVIDE WILL RESULT IN FORFEIT.
Sable opened her mouth.
And the next sound rose, unstoppable