Chapter 29 — The Hollow Crown
The room was deep beneath the estate, hidden past a locked corridor and a door sealed with three layers of wards. The air was dry, unmoving. Old magic slept here—coiled tight, humming low. Dust floated in the beams of torchlight, catching faint gold against stone.
Vaelith stood at the center of the chamber, cloak draped over her arms, eyes drawn to the iron door at the far wall.
The Binding Room.
Her hands trembled, though she kept them hidden in the folds of her sleeves.
Behind her, Elira waited in silence, holding a small silver tray. Upon it sat a black-glass vial, wax-sealed, marked only by a single carved rune — Null.
Vaelith exhaled.
"They'll call it cowardice," she said, voice quiet. "That I'm sending them in one by one. That I won't risk the chamber myself."
She turned toward the wall and traced the edge of a carved symbol with her gloved hand.
"But they don't understand. I can't go in. Not yet. If I die, I don't get another chance. They'll sweep the seat from under me before the week ends. There are too many watching. Too many waiting for one mistake."
Elira didn't respond. She never did when Vaelith spoke like this — not out of disrespect, but ritual. Confession was a kind of armor, and Elira knew better than to touch it while it was still being forged.
Vaelith's gaze lingered on the iron door.
"Twelve siblings," she said, voice harder now. "Four have already Bound. Four. They walked into their trials and came back marked. Changed. And now their names carry weight. Soldiers pledge to them. Lords whisper about them in the dark. All because of that damned power."
Her fists clenched.
"Two others are dead. Didn't survive the process. I wonder if they screamed when it happened. If they clawed at the walls. You know what happens in there? You don't eat. You don't sleep. You don't see, hear, feel. The chamber takes it all. Twelve days in a hollow shell, and if your mind breaks first, that's it. You die screaming in a world that forgot what you look like."
She stepped closer to the tray, eyes flicking to the vial. The liquid inside didn't move, didn't reflect. It looked like a shard of night sealed in glass.
"And still they do it. Because they know what happens to the ones who don't."
Her voice dropped, low and bitter.
"Whoever takes the crown kills the rest. It's tradition. No risks. No mercy. No loose ends."
She picked up the vial, weighing it between her fingers. Cold. Heavy.
"They all think I'm soft. I wear silks instead of armor. I speak with courtiers, not generals. They think I'm playing at power."
She looked up, meeting Elira's eyes for the first time.
"I'm not playing."
Elira gave a small, careful nod.
Vaelith turned back toward the door. A soft groan of old hinges echoed as the Binding Room opened. Inside, darkness waited—thick, unnatural, unmoving.
"I need Bound under me," Vaelith said. "Even if it kills them. Even if it breaks them. One at a time. Twelve days each. We'll start with the thief. If he survives... we'll try another."
She paused at the threshold.
"I will not be the one killed off."
And then she stepped back, letting the door seal shut again, the echo ringing down the stone corridor like a promise.