The interrogation chamber beneath the Istana Tenang was a stark, soundproofed cube of polished black basalt, designed to absorb not just sound, but hope. Banyu Cendana, still bearing the fresh welts from his capture, was strapped to a reinforced steel chair, his usual swagger replaced by a sickly pale defiance. Amira stood opposite him, her posture rigid, her voice a low, steady current of ice. Kirana was permitted to observe from a viewing pane, a silent witness to the clan’s brutal justice, his cheerful mask firmly in place, though his knuckles were white where he gripped the cool surface. “Speak, Banyu,” Amira commanded, her gaze unwavering. “The data streams linked to Sanjaya’s proxies are unequivocal. Confess your complicity.” Banyu scoffed, a weak, reedy sound. “Sanjaya? Do you think I’m that foolish? That I’d betray the Cendana to some outsider?” He strained against his restraints, his eyes darting towards the viewing pane, seeking Kirana. A sneer twisted his lips. “It was never about Sanjaya. It was about *him*.” Amira followed his gaze, her brow furrowing slightly. “Explain.” “The clan is rotting from the inside, Amira! Look at him!” Banyu’s voice rose, cracking with a desperate fervor. “A street urchin, a dilettante, elevated to heir just because of his bloodline. He’s weak! A soft target! The Blossom Summit is approaching, and he’ll be a liability, a pawn for our enemies to exploit.” He spat, his pupils dilated with fierce certainty. “We needed to know if he had the steel. If he could withstand the pressure. If he deserved to lead.” “‘We’?” Amira’s voice deepened, a dangerous resonance in the confined space. “Who is ‘we’?” Banyu hesitated, a flicker of fear crossing his face before being overtaken by a desperate resolution. “The Elders talk of unity, but they forget strength. We believe in strengthening the roots, not coddling the weak.” He took a ragged breath. “Elder Tariq. He understands. He remembers what happened to his own branch, how weakness cost them everything. He wanted to test Kirana, push him. To forge him, or break him before he could break us.” Kirana felt sudden clarity slice through his assumptions. Tariq. The ever-loyal advisor, Ismail’s shadow, whose words had always seemed to carry an undercurrent of something sharp and unforgiving. He had suspected, but hearing it confirmed pinned every suspicion to the wall. Elder Ismail arrived moments later, his usually placid face a mask of thunderous fury. He stood before Tariq in the compound's central council chamber, the woven silk screens depicting Cendana victories standing mute behind them. Tariq knelt on one knee, head bowed, shoulders squared without an ounce of remorse. “Tariq,” Ismail’s voice was low, trembling with a controlled rage, “I gave you my trust. I valued your counsel. And you orchestrated this… this charade! You endangered my heir, sowing discord from within!” Tariq finally raised his head, his eyes, usually so calm, now held a fierce, almost fanatical light. “Forgive me, Elder, but your methods are too gentle. You seek to unite through diplomacy, through a soft hand. But the Cendana name was built on iron. My family, the Pusaka branch, we were collateral damage when the previous clan head, Elder Raharjo, hesitated, when he chose compromise over decisive action. The Sungai Emas negotiations, they were our chance to prevent a repeat.” He looked directly at Kirana, who stood a few paces behind Ismail. “You are untested. A gamble. I couldn’t allow the clan’s fate to rest on an unknown quantity. I sought to prove your worth, to see if you possessed the fortitude required to lead.” Ismail slammed a fist onto the ornate mahogany table. The sound echoed like a gunshot. “You believed your judgment superior to mine? You dared to scheme against my decisions, against the very stability of this clan? This is not strengthening the roots, Tariq, this is tearing them apart!” His gaze, usually warm, hardened into an obsidian stare. “Your actions are an affront to the Cendana, a violation of the sacred oath of loyalty. You are hereby stripped of your rank, your assets frozen, and you are exiled from the estate. You will leave Kota Intan by dawn.” Tariq’s face remained impassive, betraying no emotion. He merely nodded, a single, sharp dip of his head. As two burly guardians stepped forward to escort him, Tariq’s eyes found Kirana’s. There was no animosity, no regret, only a deep, unsettling conviction. He began to walk past Kirana, his footsteps echoing in the suddenly silent chamber. Just as he drew abreast, his left hand subtly brushed Kirana’s arm, a quick, almost imperceptible contact. Kirana felt something small and cold pressed into his palm. Tariq’s lips barely moved, a ghost of a whisper that only Kirana could possibly discern. “Your parents knew the real poison was inside the palace. Level B7, archives.” The guardians led Tariq away, his figure disappearing through the grand doors. Kirana’s hand closed around the object. It was a sleek, black keycard, heavier than it looked. The words Tariq had uttered resonated in his mind, a cold confirmation of his deepest fears. Ismail had been hiding the full truth all along. The comfortable illusion of his grand-uncle’s benevolent, if stern, guidance shattered. He was not a pawn in a game, but a target in a war, and the battle lines ran straight through the heart of his new home. The Serene Palace was a gilded cage of secrets, and his own family harbored the deadliest ones. Kirana looked down at the keycard in his hand, plastic edges digging into his skin. Level B7. What dark truths lay buried there, deeper even than the redacted files he had already found? And if Tariq was right, if the poison was truly within, how many more would he have to unmask before the Blossom Summit? He had to know. He had to uncover the depths of this deception, before it consumed him whole.

The Price of a Secret