I storm into the ruined Council Chamber, noting the guards my mother has at her back. Mikkos and Leon are absent, but then they are councillors, and this get-together was arranged for only one member of the Council to attend.

My mother. The Queen. The woman who somehow released my father from his Alchemist chains and watched as he brutally harmed my former lover.

I checked before coming here; my father is again contained. Noah is in consultation with the newly appointed Alchemist leader, ensuring that the chains can not be removed again.

Not until the challenge at any rate.

But before I left his side, he confirmed they had been tampered with. My father has not spent the entire time since the challenge was made restrained.

Sonya has refused to speak to me. She has remained inside the tent with Melita. Upholding her side of the pact. There was no need to press for further information; I have enough already.

The only thing that concerns me is why I still feel like Melita is lying when all evidence points to her words being fact.

Noah informed me that Melita wears a brand on the inside of her thigh in the shape of a dragon. In the shape of the Petropoulos coat of arms. In the shape of my father’s ring.

He marked her. So I would know. He marked her so she would never forget.

I am furious. So angry that I am shaking.

I come to a stop across the brazier from my mother and attempt to get my ragged breathing under some semblance of control. She watches on patiently. Aware I am incensed with rage.

“Mitera,” I say.

“Yios,” she replies cooly. Son. I have not been her son for decades.

It takes everything in me to calm myself. I do not have my Thisavros to draw on, but I do have precious memories of her soft touch, her gentle words, her beautiful face.

The next time I speak, I am peaceful, and I am rewarded with a small show of surprise on my mother’s face.

“Thank you for agreeing to this meeting.” Two days too late.

“We must end this squabble,” she says.

“I have claimed Right of Rule, Mother. This is no mere squabble.”

“You can withdraw from the challenge. No one would doubt your allegiance then.”

She wishes to question my allegiance to Pyrkagia? She can do better than that.

“I will not withdraw. Father’s rule is at an end.”

“He is the rightful Rigas. He is a direct descendant of Aetheros. How can you question that?”

“How can you stand by and watch him perform atrocities?” I demand.

“What atrocities?”

“You know what.”

“No, son, I do not. We are Athanatos. We are Ekmetalleftis. You are thinking as a human would.”

“I will not back down.”

“Then I shall be forced to watch you die. Because you cannot win, Theodoros. His blood is stronger than yours.”

She is not wrong. But the knowledge changes nothing. My father cannot continue to rule. Pyrkagia will suffer for it. The world will suffer for it. I need her to understand.

“We have entered a dangerous time, Mother,” I say. “The world is healing, but it is not fully healed yet.”

“And you attempt to use such an imbalance as a means of attack?”

“I attempt to ensure balance is maintained.”

“Oh, this Aether’s sword nonsense?” She waves a dismissive hand at me. “What has that girl got you believing now? Such rubbish.”

“Cassandra sacrificed much to save our world. The least we can do is ensure the sacrifice was worth it.”

“Sacrifice?” My mother takes a step toward me, a look of utter revulsion on her face. “She is Gi. Always was. Always will be. What sacrifice has she made that she did not want to anyway?”

“She is my Thisavros.”

“Ah, you miss the tangle of Pyrkagia. Theodoros, son, you could tangle your Stoicheio with anyone. Why waste it on an imposter?”

“Casey is my Thisavros.”

“A Thisavros who is not Pyrkagia. Really? You think your father has not tangled his Stoicheio with another? You think I hold this against him? It is the right of kings to choose who they share that honour with. Why only two days ago he shared his Stoicheio with another.”

It is like a record has screeched to a stop. I struggle to maintain composure. My mother watches me like a hawk. She is talking of Melita. She is casually talking of my father abusing another.

“While you watched,” I say in a growl, my hands fisted.

“I did not say I watched.”

We stare at each other. Something is happening. I am not sure what. But I have misstepped.

No one speaks. I barely breathe. My heart thunders in my chest. What have I done wrong? How has she trapped me?

Because I know I am trapped. I know it.

I have seen too many political battles not to know when one opponent is lost.

And I have lost. I am just not certain whether I have lost the battle or the war.

And then I hear it. A commotion. Out in the camp. Someone is screaming. Someone else is shouting. A chill races down my spine. The wind whips up. Little stones and chips of marble whirl at our feet. The brazier flares up in response.

Air is here. Fire is answering.

And then Hip’s voice reaches me on the wind.

Come quickly. I do not think we can hold them off.

I take one long look at my mother, realising that there will be no calling of the Council this day, and then I turn on my heel and run from the chamber. The path into Pyrgos had seemed clear on arrival, but now every cracked and broken obstacle seems to be in my way. I trip over rocks; I slide down crumbling walls; I even have to crawl under a fallen column.

It is at that point, I realise my return to camp has been hindered intentionally. I am not meant to make it.

At least, I am not meant to make it in time.

I emerge from a recalcitrant Pyrgos into a silence that threatens the soul. The camp is packed. Aeras. Nero. Alchemists. But it is the Pyrkagia around me that lets me know I am in trouble. That what transpires here will have repercussions for years to come. That if I misstep again, I will lose the Right of Rule. I will lose the chance to maintain balance.

That I will fail to be Aether’s sword.

I slow my steps because there is no longer any reason to rush. They are waiting.

They are waiting for me to fail.

The crowd parts for me. No one says a word. Nor do they meet my eye. Our tent stands in the centre of a vortex, or maybe a black hole. Because I feel like it is sucking out my essence. I feel like it is sucking out my soul.

Melita is outside of the tent. Mikkos and Leon stand at her back.

And on the ground before her crouches the human.

Sonya, I say to myself.

“A pact has been broken!” Melita shouts.

There is no weakness to be seen here. She stands tall, strong, impeccably dressed. If she wears bruises, she wears them with honour.

I don’t look at Sonya. I know she needs me to, but right now Melita needs to see my eyes far more than Sonya does.

Melita needs to see my rage.

“What pact?” I demand.

“The human entered a pact to keep my secret,” Melita sneers. “She broke it.”

“She broke nothing.”

“Do you deny your words to our Queen?” she snaps.

I stare at her and say nothing; the conversation with my mother runs on repeat inside my head. The moment I knew I’d misstepped shining brightly. As if spotlit by a thousand suns.

Or close to seventy of my kin.

While you watched.

I do look at Sonya then. She deserves to look the Athanatos in the face who has condemned her to her fate.

Hip steps forward. I halt him with a raised hand. His words would not free Sonya of blame.

The secret has been shared. The pact broken.

Melita calls on her Pyrkagia; a ball of tightly curled flames.

“A pact has been broken,” she repeats, softly.

Twice now she has betrayed me. Once when my heart was involved. Now when my honour is.

If I act, I condemn the world.

If I don’t act, I condemn myself, and I will lose Casey.

“Theodoros?” Isadora says softly at my side.

“We’re here,” Nico offers at the other.

They know what this will mean. They know what will happen.

I smile.

It shows a row of very sharp teeth.

And then I act.