Eryshae

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Serene Liri

The stars were out by the time she stepped from the Sanctum. And the city was already ablaze with new energy.

The Eryshae had turned the night into a festival. Drums pounded from every quarter, echoing off the stone walls in wild syncopation. Blue lanterns floated above the alleyways and bridges; hundreds of them, glowing like fireflies caught in sapphire glass, casting an enchanted hue over the revelers below.

The scent of spiced meat and roasted vegetables drifted thick on the wind, mingling with the sweet burn of fermented hibra root and the sharp tang of streetfire smoke. Vendors shouted out their wares; honey-grilled lamb skewers, fried river onions, saffron-pulled bread, bitterleaf ale.

And at the center of it all, her name. "Cardinal Liri! Cardinal Liri!" The chant spread through the district like wildfire. Her tribe surged toward her from all directions; cousins, distant uncles, half-forgotten aunts and the warriors who'd carried her banners since before she even declared candidacy. They wrapped her in their arms, crowned her in painted silk, lifted her high on their shoulders.

"The City sings tonight!" one cried. "Eryshae ascends!" another answered. And still she smiled. Radiant. Controlled. She gave them what they wanted; a Cardinal who looked like a promise kept.

She let herself be paraded down the candle-lit streets, feet never touching the ground, drink pressed into her hand, blessings whispered against her cheeks. She saw blue petals falling like snow from balconies above, tossed by children and elders alike. Musicians lined the alleys with flutes and bone drums, while dancers painted in tribal ink twisted like wind over fire.

For a moment, Serene let herself feel it; the rising wave, the power of it, the devotion. It didn't matter how close the vote had been. History would remember the result, not the struggle. A wizened matriarch took her hand and kissed the ring. "You've given us a future," the woman said, eyes glassy with tears and wine. "The gods see you. The land sees you."

Serene inclined her head, murmuring blessings. Her voice was honeyed and gracious, every word steeped in the rhythm of ritual and sovereignty. But somewhere, beneath the music and firelight, a sliver of unease slipped down her spine.

The vote had been too close. The miscount; no matter how swiftly corrected; had tightened something in the air. Not all eyes had been celebratory in the chamber. Some had been calculating. Others suspicious.

And Vael.

That woman had watched the entire final tally like a hawk circling over an open field. Serene's smile didn't falter. Not once. But in the back of her mind, a new kind of fire began to kindle. They think the crown was placed on my head. Let them. It'll be easier when I show them it was grown from my spine.

She lifted her cup, toasting the sea of blue flames and loyal hands. Tonight was hers. Tomorrow… they'd see who truly ruled the game.

The wine was rich, the music relentless, and for a while, Serene Liri allowed herself the warmth of the moment. She laughed when a child handed her a handmade crown of indigo blossoms. She danced; graceful, measured; with tribal elders to the pulse of the Eryshae drums, her feet moving with ceremonial grace.

Whenever someone stopped her to ask for a blessing or advice, she gave it. Thoughtfully. With pride. "How do I protect my people when the Court fears our fire?" a young warrior asked, voice hushed with reverence. Serene touched his shoulder. "You let your fire burn steady. Not to scorch, but to warm. Those who fear it will eventually come to depend on it."

To a mother carrying a swaddled child: "Let your love be fierce, but not blinding. Even kindness must see clearly." To a young girl on the verge of her first rite: "Never speak small of yourself. The world does that enough. You owe it honesty, not humility."

She meant every word. At least, in those moments, she did. But the sky had darkened past the celebration's edge now. The wind carried more chill. Some lanterns had guttered out. She stood just beyond the main thoroughfare, sipping from a new cup of bitterroot wine and watching her people dance. The edges of the crowd had thinned. Joy still bloomed, but slower, softer. A few had begun to drift home. Children were asleep on their mothers' shoulders.

And then; a boy approached her. Twelve, maybe thirteen. He bowed, handed her a folded piece of thick paper, and whispered, "From a friend," before vanishing into the night. Serene turned her back to the revelers before unfolding it.

Eberflame Mansion. Midnight.

Her breath caught, just for a moment. The celebration spun around her; music, wine, laughter; but her pulse began to crawl, slow and cold. She folded the paper and tucked it beneath her shirt, her expression still perfectly composed.

A flush of applause broke out nearby. Someone shouted her name. She smiled. But inside, her blood ran like ice.

Durnan.

She hadn't heard from him since the last demand. She had hoped; foolishly; that the silence meant he was satisfied, or at least had grown bored of his leverage. But now she was Cardinal. And apparently, that made her even more valuable. Her mind turned, as it always did, to Victoria.

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Her daughter's name hurt to think, even now. It came with echoes; screaming, pleading, the heavy silence afterward. The mistakes. The deal she made to protect what little remained.

What does he want now? The smile on her lips didn't falter. But her hands, resting at her sides, had curled into fists. She looked back to her people, still glowing in their joy, unaware of the shadows slipping through the streets. Serene Liri would go to Eberflame.

She always did what she must. But gods help Durnan if he asked for more than she was willing to give.

Eberflame Mansion loomed like a forgotten tooth in the jaw of the city. No lights burned behind the glass, though the mansion sat just close enough to the Eryshae quarter to catch the echo of blue lanterns and laughter in the wind.

Serene Liri stepped from the carriage alone. Hood drawn, face shadowed, the folds of her cloak hiding her ceremonial robes beneath. She did not knock. The front door opened without a creak. He was already waiting for her.

Durnan.

A silhouette against the firelight in the parlor; its hearth newly lit, the only warmth in the place. He hadn't changed. Silver hair combed immaculately back. Cane in one hand, untouched goblet in the other. A spider dressed as a statesman.

He smiled when he saw her. "Cardinal Liri." His voice was soft velvet pulled over rusted knives. "Durnan," she said. She remained by the threshold, hands relaxed at her sides. Not close enough to reach the goblet. Or him.

"I watched your fourth vote," he said, circling the desk. "A performance worthy of the ancestors. Truly." Serene didn't respond. He sighed. "Come now. After everything we've shared, must we pretend?" She took a step forward. "You said if I won, it was over."

"I said if you won," Durnan replied, eyes gleaming. "I never said you were free." A beat. "Then what," she asked, her voice low, "do you want now?"

"Only your cooperation." He smiled again. "You've proven so effective under pressure. And now… you're in the perfect position to help us both." Serene stiffened. "Help with what?" He moved to a nearby cabinet, pulled free a black envelope sealed in wax. "Details," he said, "you'll find inside. But the short version? You're going to speak on behalf of a proposal. One that benefits certain allies of mine. You'll raise no objections, and you'll make sure it passes."

Her silence was venomous. He tilted his head. "Unless you'd like Victoria's location… publicized again." That name cracked through her better than a whip. She kept her face blank. Masked. But her heart had lurched.

Victoria.

"I don't want to fight you, Serene," Durnan said gently. "We've done great things together." She met his gaze. Steely. "We are not together."

"No," he said. "But we are entwined. And now that you're in power… we can finally get to work." He raised his goblet in mock salute. "To partnership."

The door behind Serene creaked open. She turned, expecting a servant; only to feel the breath freeze in her lungs. Victoria. Summoned like a pawn into the ornate chamber.

Her daughter entered wearing a flowing, sensual purple dress, deep violet silk clinging to her form, the neckline deliberately low, the slit climbing her thigh like a threat. Her dark hair was pinned high, curls cascading with an elegance that felt practiced. Her makeup; painted lips, kohl-lined eyes; was meticulous.

But it was her expression that struck Serene hardest. Cold. Emotionless. A stranger's gaze in a familiar face. Their eyes met across the space, and Serene felt her insides unravel.

She wanted to cry out. To grab her daughter and shield her from all of this. But she didn't move. Couldn't. "Is this what power feels like, Mother?" Victoria asked coolly, voice like distant bells. "Shame dressed in silk?" Serene took a breath, but no words came.

Durnan stepped behind Victoria, placing one gloved hand lightly on her back. "She's taken to obedience quite well," he said, almost affectionately. "Wouldn't you agree?" Serene's fists clenched at her sides. "Dismiss her," she managed to whisper.

Durnan smiled. He leaned forward and murmured something into Victoria's ear. The girl didn't flinch. She simply turned, her eyes never softening, and drifted back toward the hallway she came from; not to safety, but down.

To the dungeon, Durnan watched her go. His gaze lingered far too long. Then he turned back to Serene, and looked her up and down.

His eyes moved like hands; slow, prying, smug. "There was a time," he said softly, "when you would've knelt to keep her from suffering. I wonder… what would you do now?"

He took a step toward the door Victoria had vanished behind. Serene moved without thinking; gripping his shoulder, stopping him cold. "What do you want, Durnan?" she demanded, her voice shaking. He smiled that thin, death-slick smile.

"I want Cardinal Serene Liri… as my plaything." Silence thundered in the room. Serene didn't let go of his shoulder. But the tremor in her hand betrayed her. "You'll regret this," she said.

Durnan chuckled. "No, my dear. You will, but I have no doubt you will enjoy it just as much."

He stepped away from her grip and disappeared into the dark beyond. Serene stood there, alone, in the echo of flickering firelight and fraying control. She was a Cardinal, and the cost of that title had just been named.

Serene stood motionless in the fading warmth of the firelight. The ornate room felt too quiet now, like the hush before a scream. Her hand dropped from the air where Durnan had stood.

Victoria. That dress. That look. The way she walked away without flinching. Everything Serene had tried to protect, to hide, to make right… All of it had crumbled beneath velvet and command.

Her stomach twisted. She wanted to collapse. To weep. To run.

But she didn't.

No.

The sob that clawed at her throat was buried deep. She locked it behind clenched teeth and straightened her spine. He thinks I'm weak. She would not give him the satisfaction.

With steady fingers, Serene reached up and unclasped the brooch at her throat; just enough to breathe freely; and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She smoothed her dress with a motion that was both ritual and armor.

Then she turned toward the heavy doors through which Durnan had vanished. Each step echoed in her ears, polished marble. Silent tapestries. Shadows clinging to gold-framed portraits.

Down the corridor, his door was still open; an invitation wrapped in opulence. Inside, candles flickered in tall holders carved from bone-white ivory. The walls were papered in deep crimson, the carpet beneath her boots thick as forest moss. A fireplace glowed with low embers, the scent of rose oil and aged brandy clinging to the air like perfume on skin.

He stood at the mirror, removing his gloves with unhurried grace, his back to her. His reflection caught her gaze. Durnan smiled through the glass. "You followed," he said, voice like warm rot. "Good girl."

Serene stopped just past the threshold, her expression unreadable, her heart a storm beneath it all. "I didn't come for your games," she said. He turned slowly, savoring the moment. "You came because you know the rules. And because you're not just a mother, or a Cardinal. You're a survivor."

She stared him down. "I came," she said quietly, "to remind you that even monsters can bleed." The tension between them hung like a blade; sharp, quiet, waiting.