The stone walls of the safe house were cold, but the heat radiating from Asteria's chest made the hallway feel like a furnace.
She leaned her back against the rough masonry, sliding down until she hit the floor. Her victory over Valerius tasted like ash. She had drawn blood, yes – she had won a gamble against the smartest man in the Kingdom of Glass – but the realization that she was still a pawn in a game of gods and traitors felt heavier than any crown she could ever wear.
The silence of the hallway was broken by the soft, rhythmic click of heels against stone. Asteria didn't look up. She could easily guess who was walking up to her.
"You have a habit of making things difficult for yourself, it seems." Myra said, her voice echoing softly. The silver-haired lord stood over her, her jade eyes reflecting the dim blue light of the lamps. She didn't look angry; she looked weary, her regal posture hiding a deep-seated exhaustion.
"Myra," Asteria whispered, pulling her knees to her chest. "He wants to trade one monster for another. Why? Why is he so obsessed with this kingdom?"
'I know this is all history but it still hurts all the same...'
Myra sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of centuries of exhaustion. She sat down on a stone bench opposite Asteria, her silver braids shimmering. "Valerius... or the Architect, as the books call him... is a man built on a foundation of broken promises. You think he is a cynic, and he is. But a cynic is just a disappointed idealist who has seen too much."
Asteria looked up, her violet eyes searching Myra's face. "He said he'd take the throne if I drew blood. He made a deal. But he looked at me like I was the one who had betrayed him."
"Because to him, you are the final chance to fix a mistake that has lasted three hundred years," Myra said. She leaned back, her gaze drifting toward the ceiling. "At the start, Valerius didn't want a kingdom of lies or corruption. He wanted to see Aethelgard thrive. He really did. This was his home, and he loved it with a fervor that bordered on madness."
"He was close to the first King, wasn't he?" Asteria asked, remembering the vision of the man on the cliffside.
"Aemedon," Myra confirmed, the name sounding like a prayer. "Valerius was more than a Lord then; he was Aemedon's shadow, his confidant, and in many ways, the man who helped raise Halesia. When Aemedon disappeared into the desert to venture to the Underworld, he left his daughter in Valerius's care. He swore a blood-oath to serve her to the fullest – to protect the 'Castles in the Sand' that Aemedon had built."
Myra paused, her jaw tightening. "The Kingdom of Glass was never meant to be a place of secrets. It was built on the principle of transparency. Aemedon believed that if the people could see the hearts of their rulers, and the rulers could see the needs of the people, there would be no room for corruption. That is why the stone is clear, why the tiles are mirrors. It was meant to be a kingdom of truth."
"But truth is a cold death," Asteria murmured, repeating Valerius's words.
"Precisely. When the sun began to fail, Halesia grew terrified. She began to value her own survival – and the survival of her image – over the people she was meant to serve. She became twisted, brittle. Valerius, desperate to keep his promise to Aemedon, tried to give her solutions to everything. He built the vents, he designed the artificial suns, he tried to engineer a paradise out of thin air."
Myra looked at Asteria, her jade eyes darkening. "And then came his final solution. He was the one who found the records of that. He was the one who suggested that if they couldn't save the world, they could at least sleep through its ending. He thought he was saving her. He thought he was saving us."
Asteria felt a chill that had nothing to do with the draft in the hallway. "He brought the ruin himself."
"He did. He watched as the transparency he loved turned into a cage. He watched as the woman he saw as a daughter become a tyrant fueled by a nightmare he had invited in. For three centuries, he has lived with the knowledge that this Kingdom of Glass is only standing because he replaced the truth with a beautiful, hollow lie."
Myra stood up, smoothed her robes, and offered a hand to Asteria. "He isn't trying to make you a Queen because he wants power, Asteria. He's trying to overthrow the daughter of the man he loved to protect what little is left of Aemedon's dream. He wants to fix the unfixable. And he thinks you are the key to this idealistic dream."
Asteria took Myra's hand, pulling herself up. Her legs were still shaky, but the anger toward Valerius had shifted into something else – a heavy, reluctant empathy. They were all just ghosts trying to find a way to stop haunting the same hallways.
"The two-hour mark is almost here," Myra said, her voice turning professional once more. She reached into a side room and brought out a bundle of clothes.
The attire was a sharp departure from the delicate silk Asteria had worn in the palace. It was a suit of reinforced leather and dark, light-dampening silk, etched with silver runes that hummed with a low defensive frequency. There was a sheath for the Jian and a belt lined with small, tactical pouches. It was the clothing of a saboteur, not a maid.
Asteria changed in silence, the leather clicking into place as she tightened the straps. She felt different – heavier and more grounded.
They walked back into the main room. The other Lords had already departed to their stations, leaving only Valerius standing by the circular table.
His side was bandaged where Asteria had cut him, a small bloom of red staining his white shirt. He looked at her, his eyes scanning her new gear. There was no mockery in his gaze now, only a grim, unwavering focus. He held a long, thin case in his hands – the 'gift' for the Queen.
The city outside was silent, the artificial suns having faded into a twilight of bruised purple. The air was beginning to vibrate with a low-frequency hum – the sound of the Dream straining against its foundations.
Valerius stepped toward her, his movements stiff from the wound she had given him. He held out the case, his fingers grazing the cold glass.
"The transition begins at midnight at the Cathedral's altar," Valerius said, his voice devoid of its usual sweetness. He looked at the girl he had dragged from the mines, the girl who had just proven she could bleed a Transcendent.
He held her gaze for a long moment, the history Myra had revealed hanging between them like a shroud. He was a man trying to kill his own masterpiece, and she was the hammer.
"Shall we deliver this gift to Her Majesty, then?"