Chapter 308
The carriage glides down the main avenue of Estellis like a dream drifting through a painting. Every building we pass looks like it was carved from moonlight and song. Arched doorways inlaid with shells.
Stained-glass domes blooming from rooftops like crowns. Fish in colors I’ve never seen dart through shimmering alcoves in perfectly choreographed patterns, weaving between the alabaster pillars that hold this entire underwater dreamscape aloft.
But I can’t enjoy any of it.
Because inside the carriage, the atmosphere is heavy with a tension I can’t shake.
Petra sits quietly beside me, hands folded delicately in her lap, her eyes cast downward like she’s not sure she’s allowed to speak. Wake sits to my right, still as a stone, muscles taut beneath the formal, scale-thread armor he reluctantly agreed to wear. His fingers twitch occasionally, and every so often, his tail flicks in that barely-contained sort of way that tells me he’d rather be anywhere else.
And then there’s Lovelace. My great-grandfather.
He lounges across from us like a man giving a lecture to a particularly attentive audience of one—himself. His voice is melodic, rich and patient, every word dripping with reverence for the city he clearly believes to be the pinnacle of Enkian civilization.
“Estellis was once the crown jewel of the sea,” he says with practiced grandeur. “A haven of learning and elegance, where artists and scholars thrived beneath the watchful eye of Electra’s bloodline. Even in the Age of Fracture, we remained whole, undivided, untouched by the chaos that tore lesser cities apart.”
I bite the inside of my cheek and nod politely. The “lesser cities” remark makes me want to roll my eyes. Wake’s jaw flexes.
“Our architecture,” Lovelace continues, gesturing to the sparkling skyline outside, “is designed to mimic celestial harmony. The spires are shaped to reflect constellations visible only during the twilight tide. Some say that celestial bodies even channel ambient Ether, though I imagine that theory has fallen out of favor with your… more pragmatic allies.”
“I do believe that you would be surprised,” Wake mutters.
Lovelace either doesn’t hear him or pretends not to. “And of course, our palace,” he says, shifting smoothly into the next subject. “Remains a marvel of design and divine blessing. The exact substance used to build it was lost to time eons ago, but of course this only makes the palace that much more dear to us. We consider it a monument to the pact our ancestors forged with Electra.”
I glance out the window at the towering monolith of white crystal that dominates the city’s heart. A flicker of unease passes through me. The thing pulses with energy. Like it knows I’m coming.
“Over the centuries, we’ve replaced much of the city’s older infrastructure with etched glass and local sandstone,” Lovelace adds. “It’s far more plentiful, not to mention a bit more aesthetically dynamic to the eye. But we’ve preserved the palace as it was. Out of respect.”
“Right,” I murmur. “Respect.”
The silence that follows stretches until it frays.
Finally, Wake breaks it. “What about the delegation from the Cradle?”
Lovelace exhales softly, like the question offends him just by existing. “They made camp outside the gates three days ago. Sent no herald, no notice. They did accept our invitation, however. Though I expect they’re waiting to see how the tides shift before making any formal move.”
“An invitation to what?” Wake presses.
Petra perks up beside me for the first time since we boarded. “The welcoming ball,” she says quietly. “Tomorrow evening. To commemorate the arrival of the Clans and… your return.”
Wake’s brows draw low. “A ball? With tensions this high? You’re inviting chaos.”
“We are inviting diplomacy,” Lovelace corrects smoothly. “Estellis remains neutral ground, regardless of the nature of this Conclave. The presence of song and ceremony reminds our guests of that tradition.”
I lean forward slightly. “And do you know the reason for this Conclave?”
Petra’s breath catches. Her hand tightens around the fold of her robe.
Lovelace’s eyes narrow just slightly. The edges of his face seem to age ten years in a heartbeat.
“We’ve heard… whispers,” he says finally.
Wake leans back, folding his arms. “Of course you have.”
“If they’re true,” Lovelace goes on. “Then this will be the most important gathering of leaders in living memory. And we will treat it as such. But let us not mistake urgency for recklessness. A ball may soothe tensions long enough for reason to take root.”
“I’m not sure your idea of reason matches ours,” Wake says coldly.
I put a hand on his arm. “He’s not wrong though. A neutral space, even temporarily, might give us a chance to gauge who’s willing to listen—and who isn’t.”
Petra speaks again, her voice gentler now. “We only want to welcome you, Phoebe. To honor your return and remind the others that Electra’s line still commands respect.”
It sounds kind. But Cora’s warning rings too loud in my head.
These are your family, yes. But they are not to be trusted.
I nod stiffly. “I just wish we were meeting under different circumstances.”
“As do we,” Lovelace says. “But if Estellis is to once again stand as the beacon it was created to be, then it must embrace its role in what’s to come.”
Wake turns to the window, his voice low. “Let’s hope that role doesn’t come with a body count.”
Nobody replies.
The carriage finally pulls through the outer gates of the palace complex, and even Wake looks momentarily stunned.
The palace is unlike anything I’ve seen. Black as obsidian, glowing faintly along its edges with flickers of deep blue and violet. Its towers stretch upward in spindled spirals, as though reaching for the surface far above. Darklite veins twist through every surface like veins of molten energy frozen in crystal.
It hums.
Not audibly. But in the marrow of my bones.
The city is refined. Cultured. Dazzling.
The palace is power.
And it knows we’re here.
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