Chapter 16: A Blade in the Court
(982 Words)
A week had passed since the fire in the eastern ward, and though the blaze had been extinguished quickly, its cause remained suspiciously unresolved. The city guard offered no explanation, only vague assurances and closed doors. But Nyari knew what she'd seen—something had moved in the flames. Something unnatural. And it had vanished before the first bucket of water touched the ground.
The city had changed since then.
Tension now ran like a live current beneath cobblestones and between alley shadows. The people of Zephrylia whispered more—about disappearances, about the growing silence in southern streets, and about strange humming heard at night from under the palace. Children were kept indoors after dusk. Magical wards were redrawn, checked, and reinforced. Something was stirring, and anyone with even a flicker of intuition could feel it.
Now, Nyari stood in front of a mirror, dressed in silk and shadow.
Her reflection barely looked like her. The white tiger-striped hair had been woven into elegant twin braids, curled and pinned to frame her face. A subtle mask of silver lace covered her eyes. Her dress shimmered like starlight: sleeveless, flowing, slit high up one leg for movement. And underneath it all, her daggers rested in hidden sheaths strapped to her thighs.
"I feel ridiculous," Nyari muttered, flicking one of her braids.
"Good," Elen said from behind her, arms crossed. "That means it's working."
Blaze entered from the other room in a deep crimson dress embroidered with golden phoenixes. Her hair was woven into a crown of glowing flame-like braids. She grinned. "You look beautiful. Intimidating. Lethal."
Nyari sighed. "You mean like bait."
Blaze winked. "Exactly."
Nyari turned back to the mirror. Her slit-pupil eyes glinted beneath the lace mask. For a moment, she wondered what her past self—her first life—would have thought of this girl. This confident, deadly, half-divine warrior hiding behind poise and perfume.
She straightened. "Let's get this over with."
The Court Ball
Zephrylia's royal palace was a marvel of enchanted architecture. Floating chandeliers of moonstone light, marble staircases that shifted direction on command, and ivy that sang lullabies on the balconies. The ballroom sat at its heart like a jewel—a massive chamber of glass-paneled walls and silver-veined floors that echoed with laughter and music.
Tonight, it was packed.
Nobles from all five provinces swirled in elaborate silks. Dignitaries sipped goldenwine and whispered secrets behind fans. War-mages in golden robes stood like statues at the corners, their enchanted staves glowing faintly. Servants glided between guests, offering platters of delicacies that shimmered with enchantments—each bite an illusion.
The Court Ball was a celebration of unity. An annual reaffirmation of power and diplomacy. But Nyari could smell the fear beneath the perfume, the tension under the etiquette. Every glance was calculating. Every smile was a mask.
She moved through the crowd in slow, graceful steps. Elen shadowed her from a distance, cloaked in emerald-green robes that concealed light armor. Blaze had already slipped among the magical elite, playing the role of flame-touched noble with practiced charm.
Everyone had their part.
Nyari's was to draw attention—and uncover their prey.
It didn't take long.
The moment she stepped near the balcony garden, her glyph pulsed—a soft, celestial tremor like a string of fate pulling her forward.
The next Star was here.
She scanned the crowd. And there—standing alone by a moonlit fountain nestled in the alcove—a girl in midnight-blue attire. Her skin shimmered faintly, like moonlight on water. Her hair was styled in braids from another age. Her eyes held sorrow too deep for her apparent youth.
Nyari approached cautiously.
The girl looked up as she drew near, her voice soft as a breeze. "You feel it too?"
Nyari nodded. "You're carrying a Star."
The girl's smile was fragile. "I was supposed to protect it. But I failed. Over and over. It keeps returning to me like punishment. And now it's trapped inside."
Nyari tilted her head. "Trapped?"
"I see every time I've failed," she whispered. "Every life. Every death. The Star remembers. And now it makes me remember too."
Before Nyari could speak, a scream ripped through the ballroom.
Glass shattered. A noble was flung across a table. Panic erupted.
Three cloaked figures leapt from the balconies above. Blades gleamed. Their glyphs burned with twisted light. Their masks bore the serpent-star—the sigil of the Nightwatchers.
Chaos exploded.
Nyari didn't hesitate.
She shoved the girl behind her, drawing her twin daggers with a flash of silver. She met the first attacker mid-air, spinning into a crescent kick that sent him crashing into a pillar.
She landed in a crouch, tail lashing, blades gleaming.
Elen surged through the crowd like a thunderclap, her glaive carving a clean arc that dropped the second assassin in one stroke. Blaze extended both hands and unleashed a wall of fire, halting the third's path and shielding the civilians.
But the third vanished into mist.
Guards flooded the room, too late to stop any of it.
Nyari turned back to the girl, who sat on the marble floor, hands trembling.
"You okay?" Nyari asked.
The girl nodded slowly. Her eyes glowed like twin moons.
"I think… I think you just unlocked the Star."
A warm pulse radiated from her chest. Golden light wove upward, wrapping around her like a protective veil. A glyph formed in the air above her—a radiant star entwined with a broken crown.
The Star lifted, floating like a petal caught in wind.
Nyari reached up and caught it gently.
As the glow faded, she looked back at the girl—who was now fading, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Thank you," the girl whispered. "For remembering me."
Then she vanished.
Next Time in Chapter 17: The Whisper Below
As rumors spread of an underground cult and ancient secrets buried beneath Zephrylia, Nyari's next lead takes her below the palace into the forgotten catacombs—where shadows whisper truths meant to stay lost.