The stone floor stayed cold against Pia’s cheek while combat roared through the grand gallery, iron shields ringing and sparks flying across the parquet. Otylia scrambled backward on her elbows, pins slipping from her braided hair. Damir stood unmoving above her, his fingers twitching near his sword belt as the dark vapors thinned and unspooled toward the rafters. “Get her out of here!” Damir hoisted Pia into his arms, carrying her clear of the smoke while defenders rushed past with drawn steel. Otylia scrambled to her feet, her eyes still wide, a peculiar mix of bewilderment and grudging respect etched on her face. She followed close behind, her gaze fixed on Pia’s limp form. Damir brought Pia to a private parlor on the upper floor, laying her onto a low green settee. “What was that?” he muttered, checking her pulse at her wrist. His rough palm gave off a faint, prickling heat. “It was… unexpected,” Otylia said, straightening her cuffs. “You saved me.” “You, a soup kitchen volunteer, shoved away a monster for *me*.” Otylia gave a dry, clipped laugh. “The irony is unbearable.” Pia tried to speak, but only a weak cough emerged. Her throat felt parched, her limbs heavy as stone. Every cell in her body screamed for rest. Damir knelt beside the settee. “This isn’t about irony, Otylia. It's about power that shouldn’t exist like this. What do we do now?” Otylia tucked a loose lock behind her ear. “We acknowledge the obvious. That attack was theatrical.” She glanced toward the courtyard where the fractured runestone leaned in its basin. “A breach of that magnitude is no accident. Someone wanted a diversion.” “I doubt you are the prophesied heir, Molnar,” Otylia said. “Yet you scattered those monsters when none of our bloodlines could. You saved my skin. Consider me allied for now; I prefer life to the Blight.” Pia offered a faint nod, her lungs burning at every inhale. “A distraction for what?” Pia croaked. “That is what we must find out,” Otylia said, pacing the runner rug. “The courtyard runestone is vital, but inner barriers remain intact unless someone exploits the commotion.” “While every guard rushed to the gallery,” Damir said, standing up. “The outer barrier took the initial hit. But they bypassed the interior corridors to reach something else.” Otylia stopped pacing, her fingers tightening on her skirt. “The vault.” Pia pushed herself upright, her head spinning as she pieced together the hushed warnings she had overheard in the kitchen corridors. “The underground treasury is heavily barred,” Otylia said. “Yet amid the panic, with the courtyard monolith cracked and guards tied up, a thief could slip past.” “Then we go down there,” Damir said, testing his scabbard. “Now.” Pia gripped Damir’s forearm as she got to her feet. The hallways smelled of sulfur and wet ash, the sconces guttering in drafty alcoves as Otylia led them down a servants' stair. The subterranean chamber sat behind a sheer rock face that parted only after Otylia traced three distinct glyphs against the masonry. The iron slab rolled aside, revealing dry air and rows of velvet-lined pedestals. Otylia walked straight to a granite plinth glowing under a faint amber lantern. “There it is,” she murmured. “The amber core. Our primary safeguard against the shadows.” Pia drew closer, squinting. The sphere’s gleam looked flat, like polished brass under candlelight. Otylia snatched the golden orb off its velvet cushion. “It weighs nothing,” Otylia muttered, rolling it between her palms. “It’s chilled glass. A decoy.” Her voice dropped. “The true relic is gone.” “I knew something was wrong,” a brisk voice remarked from the entryway. Stellan Rurik stepped through the threshold, pushing round spectacles up his nose with a thick journal tucked under his arm. “The discharge in the hall was erratic. Not merely the shattered runestone, but an abnormal flash of energy. The residual trail led right down here.” “Come to expose us, scholar?” Otylia snapped. Stellan adjusted his cuffs, his gaze fixing on Pia. “I intended to unmask an imposter. But your display contradicted every standard text on bloodline sorcery. It was an unrefined, explosive frequency.” He approached the plinth, glancing at the hollowed velvet cushion before meeting Pia's gaze again. “The legendary heir was never meant to be a simple summoner, but a volatile conduit. I no longer care to denounce you, Petrina. I want the truth. And you are holding it.”

An Alliance of Outcasts