The Council and the Knife
1028 Words
The council chamber didn't just feel cold; it felt like a trap, a dungeon.
The air was stagnant, recycled by centuries of judgment, heavy with the scent of burning resin and old stone. The Elders sat in a semicircle of obsidian chairs that seemed to swallow the torchlight, their eyes predatory and unblinking. They weren’t looking at
Talia is a guest. They were looking at her like a variable in an equation that didn't balance.
Talia planted her feet on the stone floor, locking her knees to stop them from shaking. Beside her, Casius was a statue of lethal intent.
Behind her, she could feel the heat of Alina’s anger.
You shouldn’t be here, Talia thought, glancing back.
Alina had refused to stay behind. When the summons came, she had dug her heels into the floorboards of the guest quarters, chin jutting out in that stubborn way that meant she wouldn't be moved by anything less than a siege engine. "I’m not letting you walk into the lion’s den alone," she’d hissed at Casius until he finally relented. Now, she stood firm, a warm, unbending wall at Talia’s back.
"The blade," a gray-haired Elder demanded. His voice was dry as dust. He extended a hand, palm up.
Talia didn’t hand it over gently. She unclipped the sheath and slammed the dagger onto the black obsidian table. The metal rang out, a harsh challenge. With a quick flick of her thumb, she slid the narrow back plate free.
Inside, the hidden metal insert caught the torchlight. It wasn't just a piece of steel; it was a complex lattice of engravings, fine lines intersecting like a river map, culminating in a precise, microscopic cross at the center.
Casius leaned in, scanning the markings. "Crown Warden mark," he announced, his voice carrying to the back of the room. "The frequency key is intact. This is authentic."
Another silver-eyed Elder, a woman with a gaze that could peel paint, leaned forward. "I am Elder Neris.”
And the only one to introduce themselves. “Manners! Yes!” Kaela muttered.
Elder Neris continued, “And the mark on Alpha Calder’s knee?" Elder Neris sat at the center of the obsidian table.
“Now she is asking the right questions!”
“Shhh, Kaela, I can’t hear!” Talia chastised her wolf.
Casius replied first, "Likely a fake."
Neris didn’t posture like the others. She dominated with quiet control. Her steel-gray eyes held an unusual, youthful spark that belied her age, scanning Talia with a gaze that felt like a physical touch. There was compassion there, fairness, but Talia sensed rough edges, too—a brutality resting just beneath the surface like a submerged rock.
Talia found herself staring back, feeling a strange, magnetic pull. It wasn’t fear. It was recognition. If I live long enough, Talia thought, I want to be her.
Neris extended a hand. "The blade."
Casius placed the dagger in the Elder’s palm. Neris didn’t just look at it; she communed with it. She turned it again, feeling the weight, testing the balance, her thumb tracing the worn leather of the hilt.
The room held its breath.
Slowly, Neris lifted her eyes. She looked at Talia. Then she shifted her gaze to Alina, who stood rigid at Talia’s back.
"I see him," Neris said softly, her voice carrying to the vaulted ceiling. "I see your father in both of you."
A ripple of unease went through the other elders. Lucian, who had been leaning against a pillar, pushed himself off the stone, standing straighter. His focus locked on Neris.
"Name him," the gray-haired Elder to her left demanded, though his voice wavered.
Elder Neris set the dagger down with reverence usually reserved for crowns. She looked directly at Lucian.
"Their father was Elias Graves," she said. She let the name hang there, then added the weight that shattered the room’s composure.
"Royal Beta Elias Graves."
She emphasized the title. Not a Beta. Royal Beta.
The Council members gasped. The sound sucked the air out of the room. Talia felt Alina’s hand painfully clutch onto her forearm.
They knew their father was high-ranking, but this… this was history. This was a legend.
Neris didn’t blink. She held Lucian’s gaze, a small, knowing smile touching her lips. "Your father will be very interested to know his Beta’s bloodline found its way back home, Young King."
Lucian’s expression cracked, shock warring with calculation. "My father thought Elias was dead before the war ended. If his daughters are here..."
The implications were massive. Talia wasn’t just a refugee; she was the daughter of the King’s father’s right hand. They were legacy.
Casius spoke softly, "And a sign." He watched Lucian intensely.
Before Talia could process the shift in the room’s energy and the meaningful glances that everyone was exchanging, the heavy oak doors banged open.
A messenger sprinted into the chamber, chest heaving, ignoring all protocol. He ran straight to Casius, skidding to a halt.
"Beta Casius!" the messenger gasped, his voice cracking with panic.
Casius caught the boy by the shoulder to steady him. "Report."
"The gates," the messenger choked out. "There’s a banner. A parley. They are getting impatient."
"Alpha Calder?" Lucian demanded, his voice slicing through the noise.
The messenger swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Yes, Alpha. And he’s not alone."
Lucian didn't look up from the blade he had been observing on the table. "So, nothing has changed since we were initially informed?"
"No, Alpha," the page responded breathlessly.
"Then they must wait," Lucian stated, his voice dropping to a tone that dismissed any further argument. "We are in the Council Chambers at a crucial meeting. Inform them again."
"Yes, Alpha." The page turned and practically sprinted from the room to deliver the message, the heavy doors groaning shut behind him.
Silence settled over the war room. Lucian adjusted his cuffs, the picture of unbothered calm, though the air thickened with his aura.
He looked around the table at his Council, meeting their eyes with a dry, dangerous amusement.
"Well," he drawled, calmly pushing away from the wall he had been leaning against. "Shall we greet our guests?"
- Writer
