Dawn arrived in a haze of grey and gold, limping like a court jester after a particularly vigorous masquerade. The palace and academy thrummed with the electric tension that comes when everyone knows history is about to change, and no one is certain if they'll end up a footnote or a punchline.
I, Elyzara, newly minted face of the regime and recent survivor of a bakery uprising, awoke to find three court messengers at the foot of my bed, a magical schedule floating overhead, and Mara perched on my windowsill eating contraband brioche.
The corridors were already choked with nervous students, red-eyed councilors, and the sort of minor nobility who showed up only when dramatic failure seemed likely. Outside the throne room, I passed a knot of foreign diplomats some watching with concern, others barely hiding their excitement at the spectacle. In the far corner, a pair of dignitaries from Drakonia wagered on whether the meeting would end in a magical duel or a group therapy session.
