The Tiger's Hand
The Tiger Clan moved quietly.
They always did.
By nightfall, the palace corridors had shifted—guards reassigned, torches dimmed in unfamiliar places, servants rerouted under the guise of efficiency. Nothing overt. Nothing that could be traced.
Vanella felt it before she saw it.
The air around her thickened as she carried fresh linens toward the bathing wing. Each step made her chest tighten, breath shortening as though she were walking underwater. Her fingers tingled. The stone floor beneath her bare feet felt cold—too cold.
A basin near the wall shuddered.
She stopped.
The water inside rippled violently, sloshing against the rim before settling again.
Her heart began to race.
Not again, she thought.
She turned the corner—and nearly collided with a man she did not recognize.
He wore a court official's robes, embroidered subtly with tiger-thread gold. His smile was polite. His eyes were not.
"You're the Ross servant," he said mildly. "The King's favorite."
"I have duties," Vanella replied, stepping back.
"So do I," he said—and stepped closer.
The corridor darkened.
Her vision fractured.
Water rushed over her ankles—no, her knees—no, her lungs.
She was drowning, standing upright.
The walls melted into waves. Faces emerged in the water—servants screaming silently, throats cut, eyes wide. Chains snapped. Blood bloomed red and then vanished.
She saw claws—tiger claws—closing around a seal stamped with dragon fire.
A lie.
So heavy it bent the water around it.
Vanella gasped and staggered back, clutching the wall.
The man frowned.
"What are you—"
The water from nearby basins exploded outward.
It did not strike him—but it pinned him, holding him immobile, trembling, gasping as if the water itself had wrapped around his throat.
Vanella screamed.
The water fell instantly.
She collapsed to her knees, shaking violently, unaware that she had just saved her own life.
The man fled.
Raven felt it.
Not as a vision—but as a disturbance.
Water across the palace reacted at once: fountains stilled, baths surged, cisterns shuddered. It was brief. Controlled.
Too controlled for an accident.
He was already moving when the guards burst in.
"Your Majesty—something happened in the west corridor."
Raven arrived to find Vanella on the floor, drenched, shaking, eyes unfocused.
He dismissed everyone.
Knelt.
"Look at me," he said firmly.
Her eyes met his—and flooded with confusion and fear.
"They're lying," she whispered. "The water says they're lying."
That was confirmation enough.
Raven stood slowly.
"They've begun," he said softly.