Chapter 21 – The Serpent in the Garden
The air in the Queen's Solitude was cool and unnaturally still, a stark contrast to the vibrant, chaotic life of the capital that bustled just beyond its high stone walls. Don stood by an ancient ironwood tree, its dark, gnarled bark a testament to centuries of silent observation. He had been led to this secluded garden by a royal page with a cryptic message: "A friend of your house wishes to speak where ears are few." The place was an exercise in sterile beauty—perfectly pruned white roses, flawless marble benches, and not a single leaf out of place. It was a beautiful cage.
He didn't have to wait long. A figure emerged from a cloistered walkway, moving with a quiet, confident grace that was unmistakably Adraels. She was cloaked in the simple, dark robes of a royal advisor, but the sharp intelligence in her eyes and the way she carried herself spoke of a woman accustomed to walking among lions and dragons.
"Aunt Resiria," Don greeted, his voice a mix of surprise and genuine warmth. He hadn't seen his father's youngest sister in nearly a year, but her influence was a constant, protective shadow in the capital.
Resiria Adraels stopped before him, offering a faint, wry smile that did not quite reach her eyes. Her face, framed by dark hair lightly streaked with silver, was a mask of controlled neutrality. "Nephew. You have made quite a storm since your arrival. I thought it best we speak before that storm breaks and washes away all your careful work."
"I was wondering when you would make your presence known," Don replied, a hint of challenge in his tone.
"My presence is a weapon best used with precision, not fanfare," she countered, beginning a slow walk around the ironwood tree, a subtle maneuver that forced him to turn with her. It was an old politician's trick—to control the space, to keep the other party slightly off-balance. "I have fought for two decades to secure my position in this court, to become the King's ear on matters of southern trade and ancient lore. I did not achieve that by openly siding with every family squabble, no matter how justified."
"Is that what you see this as? A squabble?" Don asked, stopping his movement, refusing to play her game. His tone hardened.
Resiria paused, her sharp gaze appraising him. He was not the boy she remembered. The easy prodigy was gone, replaced by a man with the weight of purpose in his stance. "No," she conceded, her voice losing its edge of condescension. "I see a boy wielding a relic he does not yet understand, making powerful enemies and calling it a strategy. You presented the King with proof of the Wraith's infiltration. It was a bold move. It was also a foolish one."
"It was the truth," Don insisted. "The King needed to see the threat he was ignoring."
"Truth is the first casualty in this city," she retorted, her voice dropping. "You think you showed the King a threat? No. You showed him his own weakness. You embarrassed him in his own home, in front of envoys from other houses. A proud king does not thank the man who exposes his failures; he silences him. Crown Prince Strelm is already using this, framing your 'discovery' as a convenient fabrication, a scare tactic designed to justify your 'private army' of Shadow Hunters."
Don felt a chill that had nothing to do with the evening air. He had seen the trap, but not the full depth of its jaws. "Then what would you have me do? Stand by and watch the realm be picked apart by Tidor and his master?"
"I would have you learn the game before you try to flip the board over," Resiria said, her tone softening almost imperceptibly as she saw the genuine fire in his eyes. She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was swallowed by the rustling leaves. "You have focused on the King and the Prince. They are the roaring lions, loud and obvious. You are watching the wrong players. King Medveick is a weary lion, more concerned with his legacy than with true governance. Strelm is a wolf, hungry and predictable in his cruelty. But Queen Yssara... she is the serpent in this garden."
Don frowned, recalling the Queen's cold, brief assessment. "The Queen? She barely spoke."
"Because she does not need to," Resiria explained, her eyes intense. "Her influence is absolute, a web of favors, secrets, and ancient pacts. It was she who pushed for the original trade alliance with House Tidor years ago, against the counsel of many. It is she who corresponds in secret with their mages. Her Storm Elf blood gives her a unique affinity for controlling the political winds, and she believes your family's 'black flame' is a chaotic, impure force that upsets the natural balance of the world. She sees you not as a rival for the throne, but as a mystical impurity that must be cleansed from the realm."
Resiria reached into the deep sleeves of her robes and produced a small, tightly rolled piece of parchment, sealed not with wax, but with a single drop of solidified shadow. She pressed it into Don's hand. His fingers closed around it; it felt unnaturally cold.
"That is a transcript of a coded message, intercepted last night by one of my assets. It passed between the Queen's favorite handmaiden and a contact in Tidor's war camp. It speaks of a 'shared goal' and the 'neutralization of the Adraels anomaly.' She is not just suspicious of you, Don. She is actively plotting against you with your house's most hated enemy."
Don stared at the scroll, the cold reality of the words seeping into him. The political maneuvering, the sabotaged wards in Thornshell that required Thornf magic, the Crown's convenient blindness to Tidor's aggression—it was all connected, orchestrated by the one person he had completely underestimated.
"The King's summons was Strelm's idea, a direct challenge," Resiria continued, her voice urgent. "But the isolation of your quarters, the constant observation, the whispers of treason that now echo in the court's halls... that is the Queen's work. She is building a cage for you, brick by brick, and she intends for the King himself to be the one to lock the door."
"Why are you telling me this?" Don asked, finally looking up from the damning scroll, truly seeing the depth of his aunt's own political game for the first time. "This is a great risk for you. If she knew..."
"Because you are my blood," she said simply, a flicker of fierce Adraels loyalty in her eyes. "And because if you fall, the Queen and Tidor will have unchecked power, and this kingdom will rot from the head down. I have not worked this long to see my life's work undone by a fool or a fanatic." She placed a hand on his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "You cannot fight them head-on. Not here. Use their own weapons. Use their secrets. There are others in this court who fear the Queen's influence but lack the proof or courage to act. You now hold the proof they need. Use it wisely. Make allies in the shadows."
With that, Resiria Adraels turned and melted back into the cloistered walkway, her dark robes making her one with the twilight. She left Don alone in the unnervingly perfect garden, the cold weight of a new, far more dangerous truth in his hand.
Don returned to his quarters, his mind a whirlwind of strategy and betrayal. He found Caria, Leinara, and Dvrik waiting, their quiet conversation ceasing the moment he entered. They saw the look on his face and knew something had changed.
Wordlessly, he unsealed the scroll and placed it on the table. "My aunt paid me a visit."
They gathered around as Caria read the transcript aloud, her voice growing colder with each word. When she finished, a heavy silence filled the room.
"The Queen," Dvrik finally spat, his voice thick with disbelief and rage. "All this time, we watched the lions, and it was the serpent coiled at their feet."
Leinara's face was pale. "This changes everything. The King may be an obstacle, but the Queen is an active enemy. She is working with Tidor."
"It explains the tampered ward in Thornshell," Caria added, her mind racing. "Only someone with intimate knowledge of both courtly protocol and our magic could have arranged that. She used one of her own agents within our city."
Don, who had been silent, finally spoke, his voice calm and clear. "It does change everything. It gives us a new target. A new strategy." He looked at each of them in turn. "We came here to answer a summons. We will leave here having sown the seeds of her defeat."
He laid his hands flat on the table. "Caria, Princess Athina gave you a list of nobles who might be sympathetic. We will use this proof to turn them. Quietly. Let the Queen's own web of secrets begin to unravel."
He turned to Leinara. "The Shadow Hunters you are forming. Their first mission will not be in the south. It will be here, in Erydon. Resiria has assets, but they are observers. We need hunters. I want you to find the Queen's messenger, the handmaiden. I want to know everything she knows."
To Dvrik, he said, "We need to get a message to my father and to Lord Varant. They need to know who the true enemy is. The Griffor alliance was built on facing Tidor. This will galvanize it."
He took a deep breath, the weight of his decisions settling on him. The trial in the Mire had taught him to be a shield. His ancestor in the crypt had taught him about the burden of his legacy. But his aunt, in a single, secret meeting, had just taught him how to fight a war in the heart of a gilded cage.