Chapter 9

They talk about cutting out my heart like I’m not even in the room. I’m standing at the edge of the obsidian council chamber, my back pressed to a cold pillar, the black-rose mark over my chest still throbbing from the Styx riot. Above us, the vaulted ceiling crawls with slow gray fire. Below, the long table of carved bone gleams with tiny soul-lights trapped under glass. And at the far end, on a raised dais, Lucian stands facing the gathered elders, his shoulders slightly bowed in a way...