Orion stood before the scullery maid, his hands clasped behind his back. The girl, no older than Elara, wrung her apron. Her name was Wren, and she had been brought from the Aldric household. Kael watched from the doorway, arms crossed. Elias sat, observing the girl’s fidgeting fingers. Lucian leaned against a pillar, his eyes dark and still. "You were often in the cellar, Wren?" Orion’s voice was soft, yet it carried an edge. Wren nodded, a quick, jerky motion. "Aye, sir. For the stores." "And you saw Lady Aldric there. Sometimes." "Sometimes, sir." Her gaze flickered to Margaret, who stood beside Lydia, her face tight. Margaret’s hand rested on Lydia’s shoulder, a possessive gesture. "Late at night," Orion continued. "With a lamp." Wren shifted her weight. "Once, sir. Only once, late. After I cleaned the pots." "What did she carry?" The girl’s brow furrowed in thought. "A candle, sir. A little one. And a blade." Kael moved, a subtle straightening of his back. Elias leaned forward. Lucian's eyes narrowed. "A blade," Orion repeated. "What kind of blade?" "Like a kitchen knife, sir. For paring apples. Small." She swallowed. "She took it to the back, to the old table." "And what did she do there?" Wren looked at Margaret again, then quickly away. "She… she was doing something with blood, sir. I saw it on the table. A little bit." Margaret cleared her throat, a sharp sound in the quiet hall. "The girl is confused. I was tending to a cut on my hand, a small domestic accident. I requested a specific blade from the kitchen." Orion did not look at Margaret. His gaze remained fixed on Wren. "Did Lady Aldric bleed into a dish, Wren?" "No, sir. Not like that. She had… a little bottle. She wiped something, and then she put it in the bottle." Wren's voice was barely a whisper. "I thought it was a charm, sir. For luck. My mother does that sometimes, with chicken blood." Aeron, who had been listening, laughed, a short, sharp sound that had no humor. "A charm for luck. That is what you thought." "Yes, sir." Wren looked terrified now. She started to tremble. "And the time, Wren?" Orion pressed. "Do you remember the hour?" "Just before midnight, sir. The bells had rung once." Orion nodded slowly. He looked at Lucian, a silent communication passing between them. Lucian pushed off the pillar. He approached Wren, his dark eyes intense. "Did you ever see Lady Aldric bring a small girl down to that cellar? A very small girl?" Wren shook her head quickly. "No, sir. Never. Only the big girl, sometimes, for chores." She gestured vaguely towards Lydia. "But never the little one." Lucian’s gaze drifted from Wren to Margaret, then to Lydia, who clutched her mother’s hand. The silver chain of the necklace gleamed dully around her neck. The chamber fell silent, save for Wren’s ragged breathing. Orion dismissed the girl with a quiet nod. She fled the hall, almost running. --- Orion and Lucian entered Margaret’s private chambers, followed by Kael. The room smelled of lavender and old lace. Kael stood by the door, a silent sentinel. Orion moved to a large travelling trunk, its leather worn. "Lady Aldric’s belongings," Orion stated, his voice flat. "Everything brought from her estate is to be searched." A Temple guard, already present, began to open the trunk. Margaret watched from the doorway, her face pale. Lydia stood behind her, peeking around her mother’s skirt. "This is an outrage," Margaret said, her voice tight with indignation. "You have no right to ransack my private effects. I am a guest of this Temple." Lucian ignored her. His eyes scanned the room, his senses reaching out. His gaze settled on a small, velvet-lined box on a dresser. He walked over and lifted the lid. Inside lay a collection of trinkets: a silver thimble, a dried rose, a small, corked glass vial. It was nestled amongst lengths of ribbon. He picked it up. The vial was barely an inch long, thin and clear. A dark, dried smear coated the inside, a residue clinging to the glass. It was old, crusted, unmistakably blood. Orion joined him, his eyes scanning the vial. He took it from Lucian, holding it up to the light from the window. The stain was deep crimson, almost black. "The maid described a 'little bottle'. This matches her account." Kael stepped forward. He peered at the vial, his expression unreadable. "Blood," he rumbled. "It is human." Lucian nodded. He reached out a finger, tracing the smooth glass. "And it carries a faint echo. Faint, but distinct. It is the blood we tasted during the Rite. The same essence." He paused, his eyes turning to Margaret. "It is the child Elara’s." Margaret gasped, a sharp, choked sound. "That is impossible! I have never touched the girl’s blood. That vial… it must be old, from a cut finger, perhaps. A child’s accident." Her voice rose, desperation creeping in. "My Lydia's blood ran for the Rite. You saw it!" Orion shook his head slowly. "We saw blood in the channel. We did not see its source." He turned the vial over in his fingers. "And the energy from the Rite was… potent. Too potent for a child, even a true daughter, if the source was merely a single drop of her own." "Unless," Lucian added, his voice low and dangerous, "the source was not a single drop, but a stored quantity. Taken from a child with a profound, hidden wellspring of power." He looked directly at Margaret. "A child you had access to. A child you abused." Margaret stumbled back, clutching the doorframe. Her eyes darted from the vial in Orion’s hand to Lucian’s dark, accusing stare. The bravado had vanished, replaced by pure terror. --- The great hall, moments later, was a tableau of frozen tension. Lydia, dressed in a white silk gown, stood before the dais, the dull gem heavy on her small chest. Margaret hovered beside her, her earlier confidence shattered. The five lords were arrayed before them. Kael stood like a mountain, Aeron restless, Elias solemn. Lucian and Orion, however, held the focus of the room. The corked vial, now placed on a polished table, drew every eye. "Lydia Aldric," Orion said, his voice ringing through the silence. "You stand here to be crowned Daughter of the Five. You claim Selene’s blood, Selene’s heritage." Lydia nodded, a tiny, nervous dip of her head. She glanced at Margaret, who gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head. "We believe you were coached for this," Lucian added, his tone devoid of accusation, simply stating a fact. "Told what to say. What to expect." Lydia’s lower lip trembled. Her eyes, wide and fearful, flickered around the faces of the powerful men. She had imagined this moment for days. They had promised her love, a crown. Now, their faces were stern, their gazes dissecting. "Your mother, Lady Aldric, has claimed this vial holds nothing. An old cut, perhaps," Orion continued, gesturing to the small bottle. "But we found it hidden with care, amongst things she values." Lydia’s gaze fell on the vial. She knew that vial. She had seen her mother take it from Elara’s room, a quick, furtive movement. She remembered the dark liquid inside. "You were present for the Rite, child," Lucian said, his voice a surprising soft murmur that compelled attention. "You saw the gem awaken. You felt its power." Lydia nodded again, her throat suddenly dry. She remembered the warmth, the faint scent of rain and roses. She had closed her eyes, believing it was for her. "Selene, your mother, was a goddess of grace and light," Orion said, his voice distant now, as if seeing something far away. "Her rituals were precise, imbued with personal meaning." "During the Rite of Blood," Lucian prompted, his eyes fixed on Lydia’s face. "The true daughter places her blood in the channel. What did Selene, your mother, say to you as she guided your hand?" Lydia blinked. Her small mind raced. This was not in the lessons. Margaret had drilled her on names, on the history of the Five, on the love she would feel. Not on this. She looked at Margaret, a desperate plea in her eyes. Margaret’s face was frozen, unyielding. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Lydia swallowed, her gaze darting between the lords. She had been promised everything. They had called her their daughter, their light. To lose it all now… The thought was a sharp pang in her small chest. But the truth was a heavier weight. --- Margaret stepped forward, her hands clasped, a desperate smile plastered on her face. "My lords, this is absurd. The child is nine. Her memories of a private moment with her mother would be fragmented, unreliable. You cannot expect such specific recollection." Kael’s gaze swung to her, cold and unwavering. "A true daughter," he rumbled, his voice deep, "would remember every detail of such a sacred rite. Especially with her mother." "Indeed," Elias added, his usual gentle tone now edged with steel. "The bond between Selene and her daughter was profound. An eight-year-old Elara, not even truly knowing her mother, recalled the scent of her. Surely, a nine-year-old who claims to be Selene's daughter would remember the intimate details of a ritual." Margaret faltered, her smile slipping. "You are confusing the child. You are pressuring her. This is cruel. She has been through so much, anticipating this glorious day." She tried to take Lydia's hand, but Lydia pulled back slightly, her gaze still fixed on the vial. Aeron scoffed. "Cruel? It is cruel to lie to five kings and steal a birthright." His eyes, usually bright with mirth, were stormy. "The coronation preparations continue," Margaret insisted, trying to regain control. Her voice was too loud, too strident. "The hall is ready. The people are waiting. This delay is an insult to the Temple and to Selene’s memory." Orion held up a hand, a quiet, dismissive gesture that cut through her words. "The coronation is postponed until this matter is resolved." His gaze was absolute, brooking no argument. Margaret opened her mouth, then closed it. The power had shifted. She felt it, a cold, hard wall where before there had been porous concern, easily manipulated pity. Her pleas, her indignation, landed on deaf ears. The lords looked past her, their attention solely on the small, trembling girl. Margaret glanced at the door, a flicker of panic in her eyes, but Kael’s immovable presence blocked any thought of escape. She was trapped. --- Lydia stood alone now, Margaret's hand withdrawn, her mother's desperate pleas ignored. The weight of the stares was immense. She looked at the dull gem around her neck, then at the small vial on the table, then back to Lucian’s patient, unblinking gaze. He repeated the question, his voice no louder than a rustle of leaves. "What did Selene, your mother, put into the channel, child? Tell us." Lydia thought of the crown, the love, the white gown. But the vial. The dark blood. Elara’s face, pale and small. She lifted her gaze, tears welling. Her voice, though small, carried through the hushed hall. It was a child’s voice, clear and unburdened. "She put Elara’s blood in the channel."

The Vial