CHAPTER 196: REPORT

Mira had been looking for the seamstress.

A simple errand, really. One of Eris’s gowns needed adjustments before the wedding, the hem catching awkwardly when she walked. The head seamstress had mentioned she’d be working in the eastern wing today, somewhere near the preparation chambers.

So Mira walked those corridors with purpose, passing guards who nodded at her now that she’d been recognized as the future Empress’s primary attendant. She turned a corner, spotted the preparation hall ahead.

The door stood partially open.

And voices drifted out.

Mira slowed. Not intentionally eavesdropping, not at first. But something in the tone caught her attention. That particular cadence of women who thought they were speaking privately but weren’t quite quiet enough.

She recognized one voice immediately.

Lady Isolde.

"...doesn’t even understand proper court etiquette." Isolde’s voice carried clearly through the gap. "Can you imagine? At the first dinner, she apparently didn’t know which fork to use for the fish course."

Laughter followed. Light. Indulgent. The kind noble ladies made when they thought they were being clever.

Mira stopped walking. Pressed herself against the wall beside the door, out of sight but close enough to hear.

"I heard," another voice chimed in, "that she eats with her hands in private. Like some common peasant."

"Well, what can you expect?" A third woman, older judging by the rasp. "Savage customs from savage lands. They probably don’t even use utensils in Solmire."

More laughter.

"The Emperor must be beside himself," Isolde said, her tone dripping false sympathy. "Trying to civilize someone so... unrefined. I almost pity him."

"Almost?" someone asked.

"Well." Isolde’s smile was audible. "He did choose her. Despite every warning. Despite having far more appropriate options available." A pause, weighted with meaning. "One can only assume he was thinking with something other than his head."

The laughter that followed was sharper. Crueler.

Mira’s hands clenched into fists.

She’d heard rumors before. Whispers in servants’ quarters, muttered comments from nobles who thought themselves too important to watch their tongues around staff. But this was different.

This was deliberate.

This was Lady Isolde, the Regent Empress’s own representative, surrounded by other noble ladies, spreading lies and mockery about the woman who would be Empress in three days.

And they were enjoying it.

"I give it six months," one of the women said. "Before he realizes his mistake and finds a way to annul the marriage."

"Six months?" Another scoffed. "I say three. Once the novelty wears off."

"Assuming she doesn’t burn the palace down first," Isolde added lightly. "I’ve heard her temper is... volatile. Unstable, even. Fire magic and emotional instability. What could possibly go wrong?"

The laughter continued.

Mira had heard enough.

She turned, moving quickly but quietly back down the corridor. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Not from fear. From fury.

Because this wasn’t isolated. This was part of a pattern she’d been watching for days. Small comments here. Whispered rumors there. Always careful. Always plausibly deniable.

But always present.

Always poisoning.

She needed to tell Eris.

Now.

---

Mira found her in the smaller study adjacent to Soren’s office, the one Aldric had designated for their lessons. The room was warm despite Nevareth’s perpetual cold, a fire burning in the hearth, documents spread across the table in organized chaos.

Eris sat with perfect posture, attention fixed on a scroll Aldric was explaining. Something about ceremonial protocols, the proper order of precedence during imperial functions. Her expression was focused, engaged, showing none of the exhaustion Mira knew she must be feeling after days of intensive study.

Aldric stood nearby, gesturing to a diagram. "...and the High Priestess enters third, following the military commanders but preceding the—"

"Your Majesty." Mira’s voice came out more breathless than intended.

Both Eris and Aldric looked up.

Eris’s expression shifted immediately, reading something in Mira’s face that made her straighten. "What is it?"

Mira glanced at Aldric, then back to Eris. "Forgive the interruption, but there’s something you need to know."

"Go on."

The words tumbled out. Everything she’d overheard. Isolde’s voice mocking Eris’s manners, the lies about eating with her hands, the cruel speculation about how long the marriage would last. The laughter. The enjoyment they’d taken in their cruelty.

And where it was happening. Who was present.

Eris listened without interrupting. Her expression remained neutral throughout, but something changed in her eyes. A sharpening. A calculation happening behind that carefully maintained mask.

When Mira finished, silence fell.

Aldric cleared his throat. "My lady, I should mention that Lady Isolde has been... unfortunately vocal in her opinions since your arrival. This isn’t the first—"

"I know." Eris’s voice was calm. Almost conversational. "I’ve been aware of the rumors. All of them."

Aldric blinked. "You have?"

"They all trace back to approximately six sources. Three of which intersect directly with Lady Isolde’s social circle." Eris set down the scroll she’d been holding with deliberate care. "I’ve been tracking them since the second day."

Mira and Aldric exchanged glances.

"Then..." Mira hesitated. "Why haven’t you...?"

"Confronted her?" Eris stood, smoothing down her skirts. "Because fear is useful.... It’s useful to let them think I’m dangerous and let them whisper about unstable magic and savage customs. When I actually need them to believe something, they’ll be primed to accept it."

She moved to the window, looking out over the palace grounds. "But there’s a difference between allowing rumors to spread and permitting open mockery. The first is strategy. The second is weakness."

Her reflection in the glass showed that small, dangerous smile Mira had learned to recognize.

"And I am not weak."

Aldric started to speak. "My lady, perhaps we should—"

"Continue reviewing those documents." Eris turned from the window, her tone brooking absolutely no argument. "I’ll return shortly."

"But—"

"Shortly."

The single word carried enough weight to silence even Aldric’s protests.

Eris walked past them both, her steps measured, controlled. Not rushing. Not fleeing. Simply moving with the kind of purpose that suggested she’d already made her decision and was now simply executing it.