The latch clicked shut behind Amelia, a sound as sharp and final as a guillotine’s fall. She hadn’t knocked. In a woman who was the living embodiment of protocol, the omission was a blaring alarm.

She moved into the room and the afternoon sun seemed to shrink from her, the light dimming as if she carried her own personal eclipse. A wave of exhaustion rolled off her, so potent I could almost smell it—the scent of stale air and antiseptic herbs clinging to her clothes. Her spine, usually a rod of iron, was bowed under a weight that had nothing to do with gravity.

“You’ve been back from Oakhaven for two days,” she stated. Her voice, normally a clear, precise instrument, was a frayed thread pulled taut. Her eyes, shadowed and bruised with sleeplessness, darted around the room, unable to land, as if searching for a threat that was already inside her.

I kept my own voice level, an anchor in her storm. “Amelia. Tell me what’s wrong.”

The words seemed to sever the last string holding her up. She collapsed into the armchair, the stuffing groaning in protest. “Dolion…” She stared at a point somewhere beyond the far wall. “He’s fading, Thalia. The posion is winning. He won’t last much longer.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, raw and brittle. “I’m so tired. There’s always… so much blood.”

She trailed off, a slight tremor running through her. “Honestly,” she added, her tone hardening into something brittle, “though I despise the man, I’ll welcome his end. His misery is a contagion.”

I leaned closer, softening my tone. Her gaze had fallen to the floor. “It will be soon. I’m sorry you’re the one who has to witness it.”

Her eyes finally snapped to mine, and in their depths, I saw a flicker of dark, grim resolve. “It’s not your fault, Thalia. And at least in death, he can be of some use.”

The cold calculus of her words resonated with my own. “His death will create a distraction,” I murmured, understanding dawning.

Amelia wrapped her arms around herself, a violent shiver tracing a path down her spine despite the room’s warmth. “He makes my skin crawl. The things I’ve seen in that room… I’ll be glad to never see his face again.”

“I’m sorry, Amelia.”

A ghost of a half-smile touched her lips, there and gone in a heartbeat. The mask of duty slid back into place, her features setting like cooling iron. Only the bruised shadows under her eyes betrayed the weariness within. “It is almost over.” She straightened, folding her hands primly in her lap. The formidable aide was back. “We have more important matters to discuss.”

She was right, of course. Even running on fumes, her focus was terrifying.

“The Coin Holders,” she said, her voice cutting through the quiet. “They’re returning.”

The image of the cloaked figures from Oakhaven flashed in my mind. “What are they after?”

“They’re coming to search for the Elder’s Staff.”

My thoughts raced to the staff Lorien had described, to the intricate drawing in the ancient text. “Do you know its location?”

Her gaze slid away, toward the sunlit window. “My knowledge has… boundaries. It is not my place to reveal it.”

The pieces slammed together in my mind. They’re coming here Tirilla. To a castle where Tirillas’s history is written into the very stone. The staff… it’s here.

As if she’d heard my unspoken thought, Amelia spoke, her eyes still fixed on the grounds outside. “I cannot be sure,” she said, choosing her words with surgical precision. “But I can tell you this: Lyra is gifted. She sees traces of mana others cannot. Especially ancient mana.”

I nodded slowly, a plan blooming from the seed she had just planted. “Then maybe,” I said, the idea taking shape as I gave it voice, “if I bring her to the castle after we meet them… she might be able to sense its energy.”

Amelia looked back at me, and this time, a genuine, knowing smile graced her lips. “It is possible.”

She couldn’t say more, but her expression was all the confirmation I needed. A grin stretched my own face. “Then it’s settled. She’s coming to find it.”

“Very well,” Amelia replied, her tone once again all business. 

“Prepare a maid’s uniform. We can have her roam the halls as a new servant. With Dolion’s decline consuming the court’s attention, no one will spare her a second glance.” I pauseda moment. “She can use Cassius’s old room.” My gaze drifted to the connecting door, and the familiar ache clenched in my chest. He used to be a wall away. Now he felt a universe apart.

“I will arrange it,” Amelia promised, pulling me back from the precipice of memory.

“Thank you, Amelia,” I said, my voice thick with a gratitude that felt too small for all she did. “For everything.”

“Of course,” she replied, her efficiency a shield. “I will also prepare for us to meet the Coin Holders. We both will meet them tomorrow.”

“Alright. Come here in the morning, and I’ll portal us.”

The effect was instantaneous and startling. The color bled from Amelia’s face, leaving her skin a bleached, papery white. Her hand flew to her stomach as if to physically hold it in place.

“What is it?” I asked, leaning forward in alarm.

She swallowed hard, her eyes darting away. “The portal,” she managed, her voice tight. “That… twisting. I can still feel it.” She took a shallow breath. “I’ll have to steel myself.”

A small, surprised laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, catching the icy look she shot me. “It’s just… you’re always so unshakable. That first trip was the only time I’ve ever seen you truly rattled.”

The glare softened, though her hand remained pressed to her abdomen. “It will be endured,” she said stiffly. “Perhaps I can find a potion in the market today. Something to settle the stomach.”

“I hope you find one,” I said, my sincerity genuine.

Her reply was a quiet, weary sigh. “As do I.”

Without another word, she stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt. The moment of vulnerability was sealed away. “I must go. I need to brief the Holders and find that potion. I will see you in the morning.”

“See you then,” I said to the closing door.

Alone, I walked to the window, but I didn’t see the manicured gardens below. The memory wasn’t a thought; it was a phantom sense, flooding me. The smell of smoke, the taste of ash, the heat of a world on fire, and the sound of screams that would never leave me.

Never again, I vowed to the reflection in the glass.

My focus snapped back to the present, pulled by a frantic flurry of motion in the courtyard. Maids scurried towards the west wing, their arms laden with fresh linens and basins of water, their faces pale with an urgency I now understood.

Dolion. They were for him.

His end was near. His dying breath would be the gust of wind we needed to set our own plans ablaze. The thought was cold, but this was a cold war, fought in whispers and shadows.

I pressed my hand against the cool glass, the chill seeping into my palm. Just hold on a little longer.

Stay alive just long enough for Lyra to find the staff.

Because once she does, I am returning to that dungeon.

I will set it all ablaze.

And I will not let our world turn to ash.