Chapter 97 When the City Chose Sides

Chapter 97 When the City Chose Sides
Chapter

The war for the Empty Throne was no longer a rumor. It lived in every corridor, every whispered talk, every look across the council tables. Ashfall felt different. Market squares that used to hold music and trade now held gossip. Witches wore their factions in the open. Silver ribbons for Elara. Crimson threads for Mira. Black iron pins for Varron. Even children argued in the alleys about who would rule when the killing stopped.

Elara stood alone on the balcony, watching lanterns move under the night. They are preparing for war, she said. They have been, Cael answered from behind her. She did not turn at once. The space between them had its own language now, disappointment.

When she faced him, the shadows under his eyes were deeper. His hair was a mess, his face harder than she remembered. The man who once frightened battlefields looked worn in spirit. You should not be out here alone, he said and yet I am still here, she answered. His jaw tightened. Elara. No, she said. You do not decide where I go anymore.

The words hit. Hurt broke on his face. The great Cael, feared by half the covens, looked almost wounded by six words. You stopped trusting me, he said. Maybe I stopped recognizing you, she answered. Silence fell between them, cold and sharp. At last he stepped closer. I made choices to keep you alive. You made them for me because I could not lose you.

The honesty tightened her chest because she did. Cael would burn kingdoms for her. He would trade alliances for her. He would choose her over duty, every time. And that would undo everything, including him. You cannot keep choosing me over everyone else, she said. His eyes held hers. I already have. The air left her. For a second the war vanished. The throne vanished. Mira vanished. Only the two of them under a dying sky, with a truth neither knew how to carry.

Then the three bells rang as an alert for an attack. Cael moved before the last echo faded. By the time they reached the square, chaos had it. Bodies in the streets. Smoke in the air. Healers pushing through screaming crowds. Elara’s stomach turned. Someone had hit civilians.

Commander Seraph pushed to them. Eastern district. Who, Elara asked. Seraph hesitated and held out a bloodied banner. Silver. Elara’s silver. No, Elara said. Survivors say your soldiers came in and killed anyone wearing Mira’s colors, Seraph said. Impossible. The witnesses disagree, Seraph said quietly. The square noticed them. Whispers spread. Murderer. Tyrant. Just as Mira said.

This is a setup, Cael said. Perhaps, Seraph replied but twenty-seven are dead. Twenty-seven. The number echoed. Twenty-seven innocents, under her banner. Ordered or not, it no longer mattered. The damage was done. Mira had struck where it hurt most. Reputation. Legitimacy. Soul.

Hours later the council met in the Hall of Ashes. It felt less like debate and more like judgment. Varron sat with his arms folded. Some leaders would not look at Elara. Others looked at her like she was filth. Then Mira entered in white looking like she was mourning and displaying innocence and victory. She went to the center. Twenty-seven witches died tonight, she said. They died because ambition made monsters of leaders. Her eyes found Elara and did not hide the challenge. How many more must die before we say the truth.

Murmurs rose. Elara stood. I did not order those attacks. Then control your people better, Mira said. You know I was not responsible. Do I, Mira asked. Silence. You have changed, Elara, she said. Every eye turned. You execute traitors in public. You threaten covens. You use forbidden magic. You keep an army around you. Perhaps you are the ruler we should fear. The room erupted with accusations, defenses and threats. The covens split before their eyes.

Varron rose. The throne cannot stay empty, he said. So I propose what we should have done months ago. All eyes on him. We hold the Choosing. Even Mira blinked. The Choosing. The old rite. Each coven names its claimant. The one with the most takes the Empty Throne. No more waiting. No more doubt.

The room broke open. Elara’s pulse jumped. This was it. A finish line. Seven days. Seven days to gather allies. Seven days to live through knives. Seven days until someone ruled and someone fell. Mira smiled. For the first time she looked pleased, because she thought she had already won.

The meeting ended late. Exhaustion hung on Elara as she went to her rooms. She barely noticed Cael until the door shut. You should not be alone tonight. I am tired of hearing that. I mean it. So do I. She turned. Everywhere I go, people die. That is not your fault. No. My banners killed civilians tonight. Your enemies did. Does that matter to their families. Neither answered.

He stepped close enough to feel his heat. The world narrowed to the space between them. You carry too much alone. So do you. His eyes searched hers. Then let me carry it with you. For a second she almost did. Almost leaned in. Almost forgot war and crown. I am afraid of what you become if you keep choosing me, she said. I am afraid of who I become if I stop, he answered. The confession cracked her open. She moved and held him. No politics. No army. No crown. Just two people in the wreckage of choices.

The door slammed. Commander Seraph, looking pale said there was an another attack. Where. The western barracks. That cannot be, Cael said. Those are sealed. Not from the inside, Seraph said. Your soldiers opened the gates, she said to Cael. No. They did it themselves. Elara stared at him. He looked shocked, and that made it worse. We have one alive, Seraph said. Bring him, Elara said. There is a problem. What. He says he acted on your orders, Cael. The room stopped breathing. A lie, Cael said. Maybe, Seraph said. He knows things only your inner circle knows.

Before anyone moved, a messenger stumbled in, bleeding. The Hall of Ashes has been breached. What happened, Elara demanded. He looked at her, terrified. The Empty Throne. He gasped. Someone has taken it. Mira is sitting on the throne.