The carriage was too comfortable for the mood Orion was in.
Thick cushions bent just enough under his weight to feel luxurious without overwhelming him; the polished interior emitted a faint scent of citrus oil and aged wood; the enchanted wheels glided quietly over Valderun’s stone. All of it was meant to offer the most relaxing experience possible.
Instead, it trapped him in his thoughts. Too many possibilities crowded his mind and kept him from settling on a single plan of action.
Everyone seems to believe this will be a procedural meeting mainly aimed at making the High Council look like it’s doing something about the abuse of power issue. But that kind of certainty didn’t help last time.
He watched the noble districts rush by through the glass, not taking in any of it. I have just achieved what might be the greatest breakthrough in who-knows-how-long, and yet I’m stuck listening to a group of old people banter and debate so they can reassure each other they are still powerful.
Perhaps it was uncharitable, but Orion wasn’t in a forgiving mood. He really wanted to take his Computing Crystal for a spin and see what it could do, but he’d have to wait. Actually, this feels surprisingly familiar.
Standards hung from ironwork balconies, sigils of minor factions under the banner of the Arcane Collegium. Orion found himself absentmindedly noticing them, from the two interlocked keys representing the Guild of Artificers to the seven-pointed starburst of the Astronomers’ Hall, and to a silver serpent eating its tail for the Order of Contracts. They were symbols of pride, even in their subordinate roles.
It was interesting how the Collegium managed its influence. Different from the witches, but not necessarily worse. In fact, Orion was pretty sure that such compartmentalization allowed the Archmages to work on their research without interruption.
Well, the Veil Priestesses are pretty much the same, leaving everything except the most serious matters to the Magistrae, but that’s because they don’t want to lower themselves to mortal matters, not because they have an effective structure.
“Stop fidgeting,” Asteria murmured, and her sleeve replaced his view as she leaned in again. Her fingers moved to his collar, then to a cuff, and along the line of the lapel that had decided to defy gravity. “You’ll crease it.”
“I’m not fidgeting,” he said, even as his heel kept time with the road.
“You are.” She caught his knee with her free hand and kept it still. Only then did he realize that Yue, sitting opposite with her back straight, was watching him.
Orion felt much like a bacterium under a microscope, and he suspected the comparison wasn’t as hyperbolic as it might first look.
She has been watching me since I showed her the CC. Maybe I should act more composed after getting her approval, but I hate knowing our enemies are making a move and being helpless to do anything except hope for salvation.
He looked down at his new coat. The fabric slipped through Asteria’s hands like water, a shade of midnight enhanced by fine threads of silverite stitched into the seams, which highlighted his purple eyes and white hair, giving him an almost otherworldly appearance.
It was the complete opposite of his usual style, but he had agreed to wear the formal outfit because adding even a little bit of anxiety to her already busy day felt wrong.
“Still,” he muttered, “Considering some of the accusations they could throw at us, I doubt a nice outfit will save us.”
“Every edge is useful, and giving the enemy something to criticize without reason is foolish,” she said, satisfied with the lapel’s surrender. She then moved to adjust the pin on his collar, made of two small crescents inlaid together. It was a reminder of his faction, ensuring the squabbling councilors wouldn’t forget he was already claimed.
The manors quickly gave way to plazas and wide streets, where the City wardens in white-and-blue tabards stood at regular intervals like statues.
Then the Ruling Complex came fully into view, revealing nested wings and tall spires that must have been dizzyingly intricate to construct.
Even from inside the carriage, Orion felt a slow push against his skin, a weight he recognized as the force of powerful wards all too well.
They rolled toward the eastern spur, and the closer they got, the thicker the pressure became, until the first arch swallowed them, and the wards became heavy on his mind.
Chains, he thought, with detached fascination. [Verification Principle], left at a lazy simmer to avoid tripping anything, gave him the barest taste of their purpose, revealing a nullifying field saturated with interlocking failsafes, locks across thresholds, and graduated suppression keyed to the Complex’s interior geography and roles assigned to everyone who entered.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Every strand of the Mana Field here was tightly bound and braided into silence. Casting anything beyond tier zero spells would be impossible without the proper authorization.
The irrational urge to test the wards with his Computing Crystal surged then faded as Orion exhaled through his nose and let the thought go. I think I might be able to trick them into believing a tier one spell is actually tier zero, but the risk isn’t worth it.
Breaking his masterpiece against the High Council’s defenses would be the kind of theatrically stupid move he would have mocked in others.
A liveried official opened the carriage door, allowing sterile air from outside to enter, as if the atmosphere had been thoroughly purified by the wards, leaving no unpredictability behind.
Yue stepped down first; Asteria followed, then Orion.
Even though the suppression dulled his senses, he could tell that the white and blue of the stone around him were created by magic, their colors embedded into its structure. Each brick bore a unique set of sigils, forming an extremely complex magical construct.
A woman in deep azure robes greeted them at the second arch. She bowed to the Veil Priestess just enough to show respect for her rank, but not so much as to seem overly deferential. “Elder Yue. I am Merath, assigned to your party for the session. If you allow me, I will see to their comfort while the arrangements for the session are finalized.”
“See them settled,” Yue nodded.
Merath nodded and gave them a sweeping look. She turned and walked away, clearly expecting to be followed, heels clicking against the marble.
The side chamber she took them into was smaller than he expected but more welcoming, with warm wood-paneled walls, a low table set with silver cups, a decanter filled with an amber liquid Orion easily recognized as mou, and two deep chairs facing a dormant hearth.
A single wall hanging showed an abstract spiral in white and blue. When the door closed behind him, Orion felt the low hum of noise from the corridors fade into a quiet hush, as different wards took over.
He reached for [Verification Principle] out of habit. The passive data trickled in, showing him firm boundaries, diffuse threads of sound-dampening mana, and scrying dispersion lines, but when he tried to coax more detail, the spell refused to form.
I respect the craftsmanship, but it’s really irritating to be denied so easily.
Merath poured both of them a cup of mou. “The Complex was built in the Year of First Concord,” she said, sliding cups toward them with a polite smile.
“Three architects from rival schools had to collaborate after receiving equal votes from the councilmen, and the Speaker still likes to tell that story as a lesson, as it reminds us that compromise between the factions will always lead to greatness.”
“Always is an optimistic word,” Orion muttered before he thought better of it.
His mother’s hand brushed his sleeve under the table, reminding him to watch his tongue.
Merath smiled as if he hadn’t spoken out of turn. “Optimistic, yes. How can anyone be anything but in the heart of the Magocracy? You will soon see what I mean when you walk into the Rotunda of Balance. It has thirteen seats and a ring for observers. A smaller room had been set aside for this hearing, but circumstances have changed."
“What changed?” Asteria asked.
“You will have more spectators than previously thought,” Merath said, with polite blandness.
Orion took a sip of his drink. It was spiced but not too sweet, and the warmth spread easily down his throat. “Our meeting is supposed to be in half an hour. Will the schedule be kept?”
“That is always the goal,” Merath said, and a flicker of humor crossed her eyes before it quickly vanished. “However, today is a little different than usual.”
The first hour dragged by slowly. Merath refilled their cups once and brought out a tray of pale pastries dusted with a savory coating. She kept the conversation on safe topics, from architectural notes to the history of the inlaid table wood, and even a tactful summary of how long audiences traditionally lasted for this kind of meeting.
Asteria seemed unaffected by the passage of time, but Orion caught the tiny tells of her growing irritation in the way the corner of her mouth stiffened when Merath jumped to a new topic, and her habit of rolling the cup between her palms as her patience wore thin.
He slid the tray toward her. “Eat something,” he said softly.
“I’m fine.” She replied, but he could see she was tempted.
“I suspect we’ll have to be at our best.” He added, and that was enough.
She took a pastry and tasted it as if conceding the point, which didn’t make him feel better. “When they ask you about the watchmen,” she said, voice low, “answer by sticking to the literal truth, and don’t elaborate. They will try to pull you into speculation. Don’t let them.”
“I’m good at speculation.”
“I know.” She graced him with the faintest smile. “But not today.”
The second hour grew even thinner. Merath spoke less; the decanter emptied again; the light through the strange windows shifted from a bright, shadowless noon to the duller tone of early afternoon.
Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait much longer, as two knocks at the door broke the peace. Merath stood up, straightened her robe, and then opened it.
The man who entered didn’t wait for her to greet him.
Orion recognized him instantly from the purple eyes that had judged him in a velvet-and-mahogany room. A presence that, even though stripped of any magical weight by the Complex, still managed to fill the room.
It was the Minister of Rites, Ophelia’s grandfather.
“Leave us.”
Merath froze instinctively, then looked at Asteria, who gave a small nod. The aide bowed and stepped back, closing the door behind herself, while the silence spell settled again.
“This,” the Minister said without preamble, “was supposed to be quick. Intense, yes, but clean. You’d make a statement, I’d make a statement, a draconid would snarl, three councilors would posture, and we’d all go home to pretend this won’t happen again in a decade.”
“Something is going on,” Asteria said.
“Several somethings.” He sat down with a heavy sigh. “People who haven't been in the Complex for years have decided to show up in person.”
“Who?” Orion asked, too quickly.
The Minister’s gaze shifted to him for a quiet moment. There was a resemblance to Ophelia in that look, not in features but in the way focus narrowed. “One,” he said, “is the draconid behind the hunt for my granddaughter, who technically holds the position of Councilman but has often sent a representative. He is also her distant uncle and has recently risen to a high position among his people. Ophelia is an important piece in his faction’s plan to lock down the others, and he will try to use you to prove she should go to him.”
Asteria’s fingers clenched around her cup. “Will the rest of the High Council let itself be used for this?”
“The councilors will do what they always do,” the Minister said. “They will try to appear neutral while figuring out what will give them the most benefit.”
He allowed the silence to stretch, rigidly keeping himself still.
“The other unexpected presence,” the Minister continued, “is a man who has never before found this kind of meeting worth his time.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but Orion could sense a hint of confusion beneath it.
“He requested no formal role but was granted speaking privileges, which is his right. He submitted to the wards and is now waiting to be allowed in as the councilors try to figure out why the most reclusive Archmage has suddenly come out of seclusion.”
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