Dawn broke pale and thin over the capital. The palace courtyard, usually alive with the clatter of servants and guards, stood unnervingly still. A mist hung low over the stone, softening the edges of everything—the walls, the banners, even the gallows being assembled at the far end of the square.
Conall had not slept. He stood at the balcony above the execution yard, his cloak drawn close, eyes fixed on the slow preparations below. The rhythmic creak of rope and the muted clang of iron boots were the only sounds that reached him.
Behind him, footsteps approached. Abiri entered, already in uniform, her expression composed but her eyes shadowed.
"Everything is ready," she said.
Conall nodded. "And the Emperor?"
"He'll come when it begins."
They fell into silence. The faint wind tugged at the banners, carrying the scent of rain from the west—the same scent, Abiri realized, that must have hung over Khaamsha on the day Alden Haidi died. She adjusted her gloves, movements deliberate, precise—like someone preparing for battle, not for judgment. Below, guards were leading Adan out. His chains clinked softly against the flagstones. Even from this distance, Conall could see the calm in his face—the kind that came when a man had already burned through all his fear.
The crowd gathered slowly, murmuring, restless. Abiri's eyes followed Adan as he was brought to the centre of the courtyard.
"He doesn't look like a traitor," she said.
"Most men don't," Conall murmured.
The bell tolled once. Then again. The sound rippled through the air like something final.
Egon appeared at last, robed in white and gold, his face impassive. The emperor's presence silenced the murmurs instantly. He took his place upon the raised dais, each step echoing like judgment.
Conall glanced at Abiri. Her face was unreadable now, her earlier doubts buried beneath the mask of duty. But he could see the tension in her hands—the smallest tremor as she folded them behind her back.
The executioner raised his blade. Somewhere high above the palace walls, a raven cried. Conall closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them again, Adan Osvaldo was no more.
In the days that followed, both the palace and the city seemed to exhale. The tension that had lingered since the rebellion gradually dissolved, and the atmosphere within the palace noticeably lightened.
With the rebellion officially concluded, Adan condemned as a traitor, and Abiri rewarded for her service, rumours multiplied instead of fading.
Some claimed she had framed Sir Whir and orchestrated his death to secure the position of Head of the Royal Guard. Others insisted Conall had abused his influence to place her in power. The most absurd whispers alleged that she had bewitched the emperor with her beauty, earning both his Favor and Conall's elevation to Crown Prince.
Abiri paid the gossip little mind. Since the existence of the Shadow Watchers had to remain secret, she simply acted as though she knew nothing of it.
Aziza, however, was furious.
"The rumours are becoming more vicious by the day," she complained one evening as the Arlos family gathered for dinner. "Do you have any idea who's spreading them?"
"I don't know," Abiri replied calmly. "And I don't care."
At least, that was what she wanted everyone to believe.
In reality, she had already instructed Rya to trace the source of the rumours. It wasn't the insults themselves that concerned her. It was the pattern behind them.
After a failed rebellion, the public usually spoke of the traitor's crimes. The royal court often encouraged those stories, ensuring the consequences of treason were remembered. But this time, the conversation had shifted almost entirely away from Adan.
Instead, every rumour cantered on her or her father. The speed with which the rumours had spread was suspicious. So was their timing.
Even more troubling was how they reshaped the narrative. Rather than remembering Adan as a man who had betrayed the empire, people were beginning to speak of him as a heartbroken lover seeking justice. In those tales, it was the ambitious Arlos family who had silenced him, crushing a righteous cause beneath the weight of royal power. Someone seemed to be deliberately rewriting the story.
Abiri kept those thoughts to herself. She wanted evidence before burdening her father or sister with her suspicions. Besides, the rumours were only one piece of a much larger puzzle.
If Adan had not poisoned the emperor, then who had? How had Sir Whir and Idris become involved? Where had Sir Whir obtained such a rare poison? More importantly, why had a man who had served the emperor faithfully for years suddenly turned against him? Even their deaths felt too convenient.
The more Abiri examined the events, the more convinced she became that someone else had orchestrated everything from the shadows. She had no proof, only an instinct.
A gentle tickle brushed against her arm, pulling her from her thoughts. She looked down to find Adeer grinning mischievously, a long feather in his hand as he poked her arm again, silently urging her to play. A smile spread across her face. For now, the mysteries could wait.
Snatching another feather from a nearby cushion, she lunged toward him. Adeer squealed with laughter and darted across the pavilion, his delighted giggles echoing through the garden as Abiri chased after him. Conall and Aziza watched the siblings over cups of wine, laughing quietly at their antics.