Chapter 41 White Robes, Dark Secrets
Warden Voss
I did not sleep well.
Lucien Arclight’s voice lingered in the corners of my mind like smoke that refused to dissipate. Even in dreams, he stood too close, caramel eyes calculating, fingers tapping crystal as though people were pieces on his private board.
I woke before dawn.
For a moment, I remained still beneath the dark canopy of my bed, staring at the carved ceiling of my chamber. The tower was quiet. No footsteps. No distant clang of Collectors or guards changing shifts. Only the faint whistle of wind through stone.
His smile had been the worst part.
Not the threats. Not the mention of boys and girls as commodities.
The smile.
One day, Lucien Arclight will get what is coming to him.
One day.
I sat up slowly and swung my feet to the cold floor. The chill bit deep, ripping away the last of my lingering sleep. I crossed to the washstand, splashed water onto my face, and let the shock of it clear the last fragments of wine from my system. I gargled, rinsed, and studied my reflection in the mirror.
Composed. Controlled. Alert.
I shed my nightclothes and stepped into my uniform piece by piece. Black trousers first. Then the high-collared shirt. Finally, my coat—the heavy black fabric settling over my shoulders like armor. I fastened the gold clasps and adjusted the sigil at my breast: the obsidian circle, etched in yellow gold.
Authority did not rest in magic alone. It rested in presentation.
My necklace lay upon the table where I had placed it the night before. The orb at its center shimmered faintly, responsive to the pulse of my magic. I lifted it and clasped it around my neck, letting it settle against my collarbone.
An unassuming symbol of power. It once made me uneasy. Now, it was simply part of what I was.
I gathered my long black hair behind me and began the practiced motions of twisting and folding. Fingers moving without thought. Pins sliding precisely into place. A neat chignon formed at the base of my skull—severe, efficient, immovable.
There had been a time at the Academy when I wore my hair loose. There had been a time when I wore only white.
I turned from the mirror and left my bedchamber.
My office greeted me in stillness—maps pinned neatly, ledgers stacked, the hearth dim. I had barely reached my desk when the knock came.
Punctual.
“Enter.”
Mason stepped inside with his usual quiet efficiency. His once-dark hair had turned completely white, though his skin remained deep brown beneath the lattice of wrinkles and age spots. He moved carefully but never slowly. Never uncertainly.
He had served the previous Warden for decades and I kept him because competence is rare.
He set the breakfast tray before me: warm bread, butter, jam, sliced bananas, and tea already steeped to the precise strength I preferred.
“Good morning, Warden,” he said with a small bow.
“Good morning, Mason.”
I sat and broke a piece of bread. “I will be leaving for the Academy shortly. I may be gone the entire day. You will remain here in my stead. See that the Collectors gather the necessary taxes as usual. If an emergency erupts, summon me. I will come.”
“As you wish, Warden.”
He turned to leave.
“Stay, Mason.”
He paused.
“You will remain in my office today. If you require assistance, I will assign it.”
I pressed my sigil.
Another knock followed almost instantly.
“Enter.”
Darrick stumbled inside.
The scent hit first—ale, stale and heavy. His coat was half-buttoned, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot.
I pursed my lips.
“Warden,” he muttered, swaying slightly. “Why do you need me so early?”
I exhaled slowly and pressed my sigil again.
Lloyd entered—alert, uniform pristine, hair still damp from washing.
The contrast could not have been clearer.
“Darrick,” I said evenly, “you have proven efficient in tax collection. However, this behavior will not continue unchecked. I have urgent business at the Academy today. Mason will oversee operations. Lloyd will assist him.”
“Mason?” Darrick scoffed, words slurred. “He can’t be in charge. I know the routes. I know the schedule like the back of my—”
“You are drunk,” I cut in. “And you reek of ale. That is not how I conduct business.”
His jaw tightened as sobriety crept back in.
“You will go home. Sleep. By noon, you will resume your duties. If you fail to do so, I will replace you.”
He looked at Lloyd then—resentment flashing—and lunged.
I raised my hand.
He froze mid-motion, body locking as invisible force seized him.
My fingers curled slowly. He began to choke. Mason did not move. Lloyd did not speak.
“You are becoming a liability,” I said calmly. “These are precarious times. You dull your mind with black ale instead of sharpening it. You are of no use to me impaired.”
His boots scraped against the floor as he struggled.
“Perhaps I should strip you of authority,” I continued softly. “Throw you to the streets like the drunk beggar you resemble.”
His lips moved soundlessly. I eased my grip just enough to catch his words.
“I apologize,” he gasped. “I’m grieving my brother.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You are consumed with guilt.”
Shame darkened his eyes.
“You colluded with the Mistress. When Sera Bale was in trouble, you chose gold instead of loyalty. The sooner you admit that to yourself, the sooner you may begin to recover what little integrity you have left.”
I released him. He collapsed to his knees, coughing.
“Now,” I said, returning to my breakfast, “if there are no further objections, I would like to eat in peace. Lloyd, wait outside. Darrick, go home.”
Lloyd hauled him upright.
Before leaving, Darrick shot me a furious look. I held it without blinking.
When the door shut, I took a measured sip of tea.
“And if he steps out of line again,” I told Mason quietly, “send him to the dungeons. One day below will correct him.”
“Yes, Warden.”
After breakfast, I rose and touched the orb at my throat.
The world fractured into light.
When it reformed, I stood before the Academy gates.
White marble towers reached skyward, banners snapping gently in the morning wind. Students in pristine white robes crossed the courtyard in clusters, books clutched to chests, laughter echoing.
I had not stood here in years. Nostalgia struck with uncomfortable force.
I remembered wearing white robes. The silver book sigil pinned proudly at my breast. Long nights studying in dormitory chambers. Tests. Spellcraft. Competition.
Back then, my only concern had been to outsmart my classmates.
Simpler ambitions.
“Warden Elara Voss.”
I turned.
Ember Magistrate Elowen Pyra approached with a warm smile. Her long white curls were tied in a half-ponytail, pointed ears adorned with delicate earrings. Her dark blue eyes twinkled with intelligence.
She had once been my reagent.
I bowed respectfully. “Magistrate.”
“It is a surprise to see you here,” she said. “What brings you back?”
“I have research to conduct. I hope I may be accommodated.”
She laughed lightly. “You are always welcome. I will escort you myself. What subject occupies your formidable mind?”
As we walked, students stared openly at my black uniform amid their sea of white.
I lowered my voice. “I am searching for information on a former student. One well known.”
Elowen’s steps slowed. “Perhaps I can assist. Who?”
“Helena Valen,” I said quietly. “After her marriage to Godwin—”
She stilled and raised her hand to silence me.
“Not here,” she murmured. “Come.”
We ascended a winding staircase, passing portraits and carved archways. At last, we entered her office high within a tower.
She closed the door and ushered me into a chair.
“Why seek Helena?” she asked. “You know she was executed as a traitor.”
“I need to know if she had children,” I said truthfully. “I believe they may now be in danger.”
Elowen’s expression shifted—sorrow threading through it.
“Helena’s children…” she whispered.
“Magistrate,” I pressed gently, “why was she deemed a traitor? A woman of her brilliance would not commit treason lightly.”
Elowen studied me for a long moment.
“Before I answer,” she said quietly, “we will have tea.”
She moved to prepare it herself.
That simple act spoke volumes—the subject she was about to discuss carried weight.
As she poured, steam drifted upward. Then she spoke.
“Helena was the finest student this Academy had produced in a century. Not merely powerful—principled. She questioned doctrine. Challenged Imperial decrees when they conflicted with ethics.”
I listened carefully.
“She married Godwin Valen for love,” Elowen continued. “But love is inconvenient in Aetheria when it does not align with ambition.”
“Magnus,” I said.
Her eyes flicked to mine.
“Magnus Ironside courted Helena. Her refusal haunted him. He pursued her relentlessly, driven by obsession—until he learned her secret. And he wielded it without mercy.”
“And what secret is this?” I asked.
Elowen handed me a cup.
“She discovered something within the Imperial archives. Records regarding the Emberborn. Regarding Celestia.”
My pulse remained steady—but only just.
“She intended to expose it,” Elowen said softly. “Godwin supported her.”
“Expose what?”
“That the Collapse was not the dragons’ doing,” she said. “Celestia did not perish by its own hand.”
Silence thickened between us.
“Helena indeed had children,” Elowen said at last.
I tightened my grip slightly around the porcelain cup. Finally, the truth I sought was within reach.
“Two. A son,” she continued, “and a daughter. Hidden before the arrests. Even I was not told where.” Her eyes met mine. “Why do you suspect they are in danger? Have you seen them?”
“I’m not certain they are Helena’s children, Magistrate,” I replied evenly. “I was hoping to find a portrait… perhaps records of their births.”
“The records you seek are in the archives, Elara,” Elowen said. “You will have to sign your name in the ledgers. Once you do, the Empire will know.”
She was right. Like stepping into a spotlight with a target painted on my back. “Do you know their names at least?”
She shook her head. “No. But I can direct you to someone who was a dear friend of the Valens—Examiner Andreas Thorne.”
I rose slowly and set my cup on her desk.
“Thank you, Magistrate.”
“Elara,” she said gently, using my name as she had when I was a student, “be careful. Asking these questions puts you close to truths the Empire buried for a reason.”
I held her gaze.
“I have stood near worse.”
As the magistrate's office door clicked shut behind me, a single thought struck with clarity: Helena Valen had not died for treason. She had died for knowledge.
And Magnus was now hunting her children.
Which meant I needed to find Sera Bale first.