The great chamber where the Council of the Eight Towers held its sessions had no windows. It was a block of polished white marble crowned by a great crystal dome that broke the incoming light, scattering it across the stone in all the colors of the rainbow. Intricately wrought golden candelabras hugged the walls, their warm trembling flames scraping for space against fractured daylight.
In the center stood a great round table carved from the same marble as the walls. Around it, eight thrones, and on them eight rulers of eight great Houses.
Gioden V’Asanii sat upon the seat of the Fifth. As customary for the occasion, he wore official indigo lliath with a golden sash and ribbon. His wings were meticulously groomed and folded with surgical precision.
Around him, the other House rulers sat in silence.
Everyone had heard of the Maestral over Astochia. Everyone yearned to probe at the Fifth’s exposed flank.
It was the Sechvenn of the Third, Boran V’Kethris, who broke the silence. “Reports from Astochia speak of Antarrila in full array,” he said. “Columns of water, spirals in the sky. The city has never seen such a sight before, and they whisper of Maestral.”
Once the silence cracked, others followed.
“Demonstrations of such force are not to be done lightly,” said Hedren V’Renthor, ruler of the Seventh and head of state law. “Especially not above a principality already under the Temple’s scrutiny.”
Gioden let them speak. His face stayed smooth, unreadable. Only his fingers tapped once against the table. A quiet, measured rhythm.
At last, the Sechvenn of the Sixth House, Cyril V’Lorath, Vareth’s uncle, cleared his throat. “This was done outside our knowledge and sanction,” he said, voice thinning with barely held anger. “High Priest Alerion has informed me that the demonstration took place outside the Temple’s knowledge as well.” He drew a breath and eyed Gioden, who sat coiled like a spring. “We cannot allow a precedent where Antarrila exceeds its authority. The people are already asking to whom they owe obedience. The Temple, or the Fifth House.”
Eyes turned to Gioden. He tapped the table once.
“I ordered it.” He let the words fall heavy, then rose. “The Fifth House rules Astochia.” His harmonics were flat but cutting. “I command Antarrila.” He paused. “I deemed it necessary for the preservation of peace and stability in the principality governed by my House. As my brother informed me, the Temple’s proclamations turned a human pestilence into a sign of divine punishment.”
He let the silence carry the weight of it.
“The exercise was not an act of force, but a demonstration. It carried nothing that could be interpreted as hostile under the Law. Therefore I was under no legal obligation to seek sanction from the Council. Or am I mistaken, Hedren?” Gioden’s gaze cut to the Seventh’s Sechvenn.
Hedren pressed his mouth into a thin line. “No,” he managed. “You are not.”
Gioden grinned, slow and predatory. “And correct me if I’m wrong, Boran.” He turned to the Third. “The disease arrived on one of your ships. Afterward, traders refused to dock. Some caravans turned back. It would only be a matter of time before fear, stoked by the Temple’s wandering interpretations of faith, began to gnaw at trade, grain, coin, at every vein that keeps Astochia alive.” His gaze swept the room. “And when one principality falls, it wounds the entire Sechvennat and every House within it.” His eyes stopped at the Sixth seat.
“The High Priest Alerion,” he said lightly, “is a man of your blood, is he not, Sechvenn V’Lorath?”
Cyril stiffened. “He serves Ellevath. Not my House.”
“He serves both,” Gioden said. “Letters reaching me from Astochia say he used his sermons to cast judgment upon my brother’s seat.” His eyes sharpened. “And he is your kinsman. Additionally, I hear whispers of your nephew Vareth’s influence. We all know he carries his own grudges against my brother.”
Silence lasted a heartbeat before Cyril struck the table. “Lies. All lies.” Color flushed his cheeks. “You had better have proof for this slander.”
“I never speak without proof. If the Seventh demands it, I will provide acolyte reports with names and dates.”
No one moved. The air froze.
“I will not let a principality fall into famine because a priest wishes to play god over plagues,” Gioden said, the smile gone, leaving only iron. “Nor will I allow any House to wield the Temple as a tool in games of power. Antarrila flew under my order. To lift fear from Astochia’s throat. To remind all that Heaven answers to the Steward, not to murmurs in the dark. I also sanctioned my brother, former Seraph, to lead the demonstration, as is appropriate given Astochia lies under his guardianship.”
He inclined his head by a fraction.
“In the spirit of unity and peace within the Sechvennat, I expect the Sixth House to make its position clear.”
Silence.
All eyes turned to the Sixth seat.
Cyril V’Lorath looked briefly at the other Sechvenni and found no ally. Their faces stayed neutral. Their wings did not stir.
At last he drew a breath.
“If that is how the Council breathes… in the interest of that same peace,” he said, each word dragged out, “the High Priest will withdraw from his position in Astochia.” His jaw clenched. “And my nephew Vareth will step down from the Minor Council. The Sixth House will not give cause for misinterpretation.”
The price was spoken. The debt paid.
“Good,” said Gioden, a glint returning to his eye. “Let it be written.”
He sat. The matter, to him, was closed.
The Council moved on, grain, silver ore prices, a route dispute between the Third and Fourth. But when the session ended and the Sechvenni rose, more than one glance followed Gioden as he left the chamber.
He did not look back.
As he approached the Fifth Tower, he saw Ithrim waiting on the terrace of his study, a sealed scroll in hand. Gioden had requested the Archangel report directly to him, not wanting intermediaries. Ithrim stepped aside when Gioden landed.
“Heavenly Steward.” He bowed just enough to satisfy protocol and offered the parchment. “Dominion Revein’s report,” he said. “With my addendum.”
Gioden broke the seal as he walked toward the balcony door. Light spread across the neat script.
The formal report was dry. Mechanics. A half-formed, half-contained variant of the Maestral with Eirran’s signature all over it. The power had been diverted from the city. No casualties. Good. Eirran carried out his tasks with precision when it benefited him. In that, he never disappointed.
Then came the addendum. The handwriting shifted.
I harbor doubts that Eirran V’Asanii conceals something about the half-blood, Ithrim wrote, without ever using the word Lily.
He noted the demonstration had passed better than expected. Some Angels had feared Ellevath’s wrath, and its absence sparked quiet debates about scripture.
That, he had not expected.
Gioden’s fingers tightened around the parchment.
“Say it,” he said without turning. “I want to hear it from you.”
“The demonstration changed things,” Ithrim replied, his voice stripped of all but duty. “Some claim Ellevath’s favor was with us that day. That it can be read as a blessing of Eirran’s cause. A pardoning of his sin. It has led some of ours to speak of mercy. Of what it means if it pertains to a child conceived in sin.” A pause. “They are not disloyal. Not yet. But they think. And they speak more often than before.”
Gioden folded the parchment.
Thinking led to questions, and questions were cracks in the pillar of obedience.
“It is my duty to bring this to you,” Ithrim said. “And my duty to obey. Whatever you ask.”
Gioden raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were Eirran’s friend.”
Ithrim straightened, solid as stone. “Antarrila knows no friends. We live and die to the glory of Ellevath.” He swallowed. “And Eirran hasn’t been one of us for a long time. Some of us did not… could not forget the way he left.” A beat. “Both times.”
Silence drifted between them.
“And what of your claim that my brother hides something?”
“I have nothing concrete,” Ithrim said. “Only an observation that raised doubt. But you ordered I report everything. So I do.”
Gioden let the silence stretch.
“Very well,” he said at last. “If Eirran begins gathering allies, I want you to report directly to me. Discreetly. Names. Motives. If such things arise, I want to know which wings would follow him should the wind shift.” He met Ithrim’s eyes. “Would you have a problem with this?”
Ithrim shook his head.
“No, Heavenly Steward.”
“That will do. Return to Astochia.”
Ithrim nodded once and left as silently as he’d come.
For a while, Gioden remained on the balcony, looking out past the white towers toward the deep blue ocean. Behind him, soft rustling feathers announced another presence.
“Alina,” he said without turning.
She came to his side, lliath skirts whispering around her ankles, pale hair braided tight.
“The Council?” she asked.
“As expected,” he said. “The Sixth stepped back. Bowed.” A smirk touched his lips but never reached his eyes. “The High Priest and Vareth are out of play. I hope Eirran knows how to honor this favor.”
She nodded. “Undoubtedly. Your brother is perceptive enough to understand the value of it.” She turned fully to him. “You didn’t leave tails.”
“I never do,” he replied. “The Sixth crossed a line. Troubling Eirran is one thing. As I said, it kept the torch lit in Astochia. But this… this threatened coin. Stability. Us.”
Alina gave a sharp nod. “And used the Fifth matriarch to do so.”
Gioden’s eyes narrowed. “That in particular.” He let the air breathe. “They touched the House. That is unforgivable.”
He said nothing more. Instead, he looked down at the folded report. “And then there’s this.”
He handed it to her.
She read quickly. “Doctrine debates,” she said. “In Antarrila.”
“Faith can be useful,” Gioden said. “I care less about prayers and more that the Sword of Heaven points where I tell it. But if angels start questioning rather than obeying, the aim falters.”
“You fear Eirran has shifted the aim.” Alina folded the parchment.
“There is an order to things,” Gioden murmured. “I hold Antarrila. Yet a part of Antarrila still loves their fallen Seraph. The Houses watch for weakness. To keep my tower standing, I must not let his crack.”
Alina touched his arm lightly. “Then let him think he stands freely while you keep the ground beneath him.” Her harmonics lowered. “You know his weakness.”
He huffed a humorless laugh. “The mongrel, yes. I set him conditions. He keeps them or gives me cause. He will not formally name her. He will not bring her to Win’Tarra. If he breaks either, he gives me law. Until then…” His gaze turned distant. “I endure him. Keep the House strong.”
“And you have Ithrim,” Alina said. “A good choice. A man who once followed Eirran into fire and now follows you. If anyone can hear where loyalty tilts, it is him.”
“I know.” Gioden set the parchment on his desk. “Let them debate doctrine all they like, as long as I know which way their wings tilt.”
~~~~~
Fire crackled in the hearth of Eirran’s study, its warm orange glow caressing the walls and casting color into the grey light spilling from the window.
Eirran stood by the flames, leaning into the heated stone. Light danced across his features as he watched a log split and collapse, releasing embers that drifted upward like fireflies.
Astochian representatives of Second, Fourth, Seventh and Eighth House have already requested private meetings outside of Council. That meant only one thing – leverage.
A smile touched the corner of his lips. Everything was falling into place, better than he’d expected. His feet had finally found footing his wings couldn’t trample. It felt like lungs opening after being underwater too long.
Knocks on the door pulled him from his thoughts.
Keth slipped inside, followed by Rahl. The Ilari guard bowed low.
“My lord. You called?”
Eirran turned. “Yes.” He inclined his head to the right.
Keth moved into the shadows while Rahl stepped to the center of the room, expression neutral though his eyes searched the prince’s face.
“Rahl,” Eirran acknowledged. “You’ve served as a guard for many years. Long before I took the seat in Astochia.”
Rahl’s right wing twitched. “Seventy-six years, my lord.”
Eirran nodded thoughtfully. “You are among the senior guards, then. One would expect you to be a district commander by now. Yet you remain a common guardsman.”
The log cracked and hissed, bathing both Ilari in trembling light.
Rahl opened his mouth, then closed it.
“You have never asked for promotion. Yet you perform your duties with precision and integrity. With silence and compassion.” Eirran lifted his head. “With eyes that see not the light or clay, but the purity of heart.” A pause. “I have seen this. That is why I assigned you to protect what is most precious to me. Why I gave you the authority to lead the search with other guards despite lacking the rank.” He watched Rahl shift under the weight of it.
“That is why,” Eirran continued, “I will make you Chief Captain of the guard.”
Rahl’s eyes widened. His throat bobbed. “Chief Captain?” he echoed. “But…”
“I need men I can trust,” Eirran said firmly. “Ilari with integrity. With spine. Those who see the wingless not as a burden but an asset.” His jaw tightened. “Because of today, we will begin recruiting more humans into the guard. And I will personally begin basic combat training for all district captains and lieutenants.” He exhaled. “For too long, Astochia’s guard has been little more than decoration, a child’s toy under Antarrila’s spear. No more. As of today, we forge our own blade.”
Rahl swallowed, nearly stepping back. “But, my lord… that could be interpreted as…”
“A coup?” A smile twitched at Eirran’s lips, a glint lighting his eyes. “Only if I play it poorly. Which I will not. Rest easy, Rahl. Have faith.”
Rahl exhaled. “Of course.”
“You’ll need a new spear,” Eirran added. “And a thicker cloak.”
Rahl bowed and withdrew.
Once alone, Keth stepped from the shadows. “You will put this in writing.”
“Of course,” Eirran said. “And I will send a copy to Gioden.”
“That is my concern,” Keth admitted. “Your enemies will call this a coup. You said so yourself. And Gioden may let them, if it serves him.”
Eirran lifted his head. The air sharpened. “If Gioden were a fool, he would believe them. But he is not. If he strikes openly, he strengthens his hand today and weakens the Fifth tomorrow. And he will not pay that price. Not yet.” His voice gained quiet steel. “Right now, my strength does not take from his. It amplifies it. I am Fifth’s power in Astochia. He is Fifth’s power in Win’Tarra. He will allow this balance as long as I do not cross the borders he set.”
Keth weighed the words, eyes narrowing.
“The only clean blade he can use is law,” Eirran continued. “As long as I do not break it, he has no clean cut. And I intend to leave him none.”
“He set you conditions,” Keth said quietly. “Formally.”
Eirran’s jaw tightened. “Yes. That I do not name her. That I do not bring her to Win’Tarra. Either would force his hand. Not as a brother, but as Sechvenn and Steward. The Houses would demand it.”
Keth said nothing. He couldn’t afford an opinion.
“Speaking of Lily…” Keth said gently. “I heard how she described the Maestral. Not just with awe, but with understanding.” He paused. “She did not sound like an… earthborn child.”
Eirran’s eyes lifted. Something unguarded flickered, then stilled.
“Lily is my daughter,” he said simply. “And anything you noticed remains between us and these walls. For now.”
Keth inclined his head. “Of course.”
Their eyes held for a moment longer.
Then Eirran breathed out, slow. “She bears my blood, Keth. And my name on tongue, if not on parchment. For today, it’s enough.” His fingers slid along the table’s edge as he walked toward the slightly open window.
Below, in the courtyard, Evan and Lily were throwing pebbles into the fountain. The air chimed with giggles and the murmur of water.
“Some day,” Eirran murmured, “her name will be written. She will walk the realm with her head high.” A beat. “But every battle has its hour. And this hour is yet to come.”
Down by the fountain, Lily laughed.
~~~~~
The night was quiet. The cold wind had swept the sky clean, leaving it clear and full of stars.
Eirran and Lily stood side by side at the small sandy alcove not far from the docks, yet far enough to feel secluded and peaceful.
Waves caressed the shore in a gentle rhythm. Two flames trembled in the lanterns they held, like fallen stars caught in glass.
Lily cupped her hands around her parchment lantern, holding it carefully.
“Are you sure it won’t fall straight into the water?” she asked, lifting her eyes to Eirran.
He smiled, moonlight and flame casting his skin in silver and gold.
“It will rise as much as it must to carry the light where it needs to go,” he said. “Then it will return to the sea.”
Lily nodded, the parchment crinkling softly under her fingers.
“You think it will reach Mother?” she asked. “That she’ll know it’s from us?”
Eirran blinked slowly, deliberately. “I know she will.”
He let the moment breathe.
“When you are ready.”
They released the lanterns.
Lily watched until they were only faint glows bobbing in the dark.
Her chest ached, though not entirely from pain.
They stood in silence for a while, listening the sea whisper a lullaby.
“Come,” Eirran said at last, reaching out automatically. “It is late. We’ll fly back.”
Lily stepped back.
“No,” she said softly. “I want to walk.”
His hand fell. His eyebrows drew together.
She touched his sleeve lightly.
“I like flying with you. But tonight I want…”
Her gaze drifted to the line of footprints they had left in the damp sand.
“I need to feel the ground. Just for a little while. It helps my head be quieter.”
A faint smile tugged at Eirran’s mouth. His wings drooped, the weight settling into his feet.
“Then we will walk,” he said. “Tomorrow, if you’re up for it, we’ll fly again. In daylight.”
Her eyes widened. “In daylight?”
“No more hiding,” he said. “The sky has seen us. Let it see us properly.”
Her face opened like a window to a new world, a smile spilling through like sunlight.
She stood a little taller, her steps lighter than before.
Together they walked, side by side, their shadows stretching long across the sand, merged into one by a wing stretched behind her just enough to keep out the cold.
Behind them, the lanterns drifted upward, rising until they became one with the stars.
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