The library's flame gutters low. Dust breathes.
Elara sits before the coded note N'kobi handed her. The page is small, the ink rushed. A fragment of truth barely veiled beneath cipher and superstition.
It reads:
"The moon speaks freely, but not all her children are loyal. Watch the left hand of the ghost."
Zela crosses her arms. "Cryptic riddles and traitors—your court is starting to feel like a second palace."
Elara doesn't look up. "Palaces are built on lies. I built mine on desperation. That's always messier."
"When the termite nest becomes a palace, the king must learn to sleep with one eye open."
Zela leans in. "We need to root out the spy. Brutally. Publicly."
Elara shakes her head.
"No. That would serve Myra. She wants me to punish the wrong one. Break the trust I've built. Turn my shadows into chaos."
Zela scoffs. "Then what? You'll wait for the traitor to confess?"
Elara finally meets her eyes.
"No."
A beat.
"I'll let them feel safe again."
Phase One: Silence the Noise.
Elara cancels all court missions for two days.
No shadow walks. No code extractions. No infiltrations.
Zela objects. So does Ebele.
But Elara insists.
Instead, she hosts a gathering in the Sunken Library—an informal gathering of her entire court. Food. Laughter. A poem sung by a drunk N'kobi. Even a memory offering for Ramos.
Everyone relaxes.
Even the traitor.
Especially the traitor.
Elara watches from the edge.
"The mouse that dances when the cat sleeps is either bold or foolish—or both."
Phase Two: Watch the Left Hand.
She remembers the note: "Watch the left hand of the ghost."
Ramos was left-handed.
He hadn't been able to sign his own death recipe. The poison vial Zela found in the servant's wing… it was labeled with a shaky right-handed script.
Which meant the leak didn't come from him.
She thinks about those who handled Ramos' materials.
Only one person cleansed his tools before burial.
Ebele.
Elara doesn't confront her.
Not yet.
She waits.
Phase Three: The Mirror Test.
She calls Ebele privately.
Tells her she's worried the spy might strike again.
"I need your storm-sight," Elara says. "To help me root out lies."
Ebele nods, nervous but compliant. She always obeys Elara. Like a loyal wolf pup.
Elara places a mirror between them.
"Do you trust me?" she asks.
"Yes," Ebele replies.
But her silver eye flickers.
Just once.
"The tongue may lie, but the eye knows the truth—and shames the mouth for speaking it."
They speak for hours.
Elara reveals things—real secrets, some true, some false.
She watches where Ebele flinches. Where she presses her lips. Where her hands tremble.
Then, just as dawn peeks through the shattered skylight, Ebele says:
"I never meant to hurt Ramos."
Silence.
Elara whispers, "Why?"
Ebele looks away.
"Because he loved you. And I loved him. And he would have died for you."
Her hands shake.
"So I made sure he did."
Elara feels nothing.
Not yet.
Only a hollowing wind.
"You gave Myra the code?"
"No," Ebele says. "I gave it to her priest. I didn't know she'd kill him. I just wanted her to know you were getting stronger. So she'd back off."
"She doesn't back off," Elara says.
"She burns," Ebele answers.
And then, softly: "Like you."
Elara stands. The betrayal feels old now. Like something planted in her chest seasons ago and only now sprouting roots.
Zela enters silently.
Elara says, "Take her to the crypts."
Zela pauses. "To be killed?"
Elara shakes her head.
"No. To be watched."
Zela frowns. "You're letting her live?"
"When the knife knows the hand, it's harder to throw away—but still too sharp to keep close."
Elara's voice is iron.
"She betrayed me because she loved. That makes her dangerous. But not evil."
She turns to Zela.
"But if she ever lies again—don't bring her to me. Just finish it."
Later, alone in the observatory, Caelum finds her.
"Something's shifted in the court," he says.
Elara doesn't turn.
"I plucked a thorn before it festered."
"Do you need help?"
She finally turns, eyes hard as obsidian.
"I need you to choose."
"Between what?"
"Between loving me—and surviving me."
"The river does not fear the stone in its path—it simply carves around it."