The Ember Council met beneath the volcano, in the Hall of the Molten Sigil—an ancient chamber carved directly into the living stone of Mount Solis. Its ceiling wept with heat, casting shifting patterns of red and gold across the obsidian floor. Seven thrones ringed the circular table, each marked with the flame-forged crest of an ancient noble house.
Princess Seris had grown up watching her mother rule from the High Seat of Flame, but this was the first time she had ever been summoned to stand before the council.
A message had arrived at dawn: her presence was not a request.
She entered the chamber flanked by her seneschal, a quiet woman named Elaryn who wore her wisdom like armor. Queen Alaryss sat tall and composed in the central throne, a living statue of control and cold elegance. Around her, six other lords and ladies of fire waited with veiled expressions.
And one empty seat—her father's.
Seris didn't let herself look at it for more than a moment.
"You summoned me," she said evenly.
"Indeed," said the queen, fingers steepled. "Word has reached the council of your…encounter in the gardens yesterday."
Of course it had.
"Kaelen Thorne is a guest," Seris replied. "One I did not invite, but I did not turn him away. He claims to be an envoy of Cael'Thorne."
Lord Thalos, a hawk-nosed noble of the outer provinces, leaned forward. "He's a skyborn spy. Their kind drift on the winds and pry into kingdoms they have no claim to. You should've had him detained."
"Had I done that, we'd have insulted the House of Air," Seris snapped. "And possibly reignited the old treaty flames."
"A little fire might be what we need," muttered Lady Iness, her amber eyes flicking toward Seris. "We've grown complacent. The bloodline of fire is thinning. Our gifts are weakening."
Seris clenched her fists beneath the table. "I have not weakened."
The chamber went still.
"Your fire is erratic," said the queen. "Your dreams disturb the balance. You think they are prophecy. Perhaps they are madness."
Seris felt the sting like a slap.
But before she could respond, Elaryn stepped forward. "With respect, Your Majesty, the fire does not lie. It reflects what is. And what will be. Perhaps the princess sees what we do not yet wish to face."
Several of the council members murmured uneasily.
Queen Alaryss narrowed her eyes. "You speak out of turn, Elaryn."
"She speaks truth," Seris said quietly. "I saw him before he arrived. In the flame. In my dreams. He's part of what's coming."
"Enough," the queen said sharply. "This kingdom cannot afford indulgent mysticism or sentiment. War is moving in the west, the borders are stirring, and the Virelyan alliance—through your engagement to Lord Darek—is the only path to preserving the balance."
Seris's throat tightened. "You're aligning us with a viper."
"He is a necessary viper," said Lord Thalos.
"I am not some coin to be traded for peace," she growled.
"No," said the queen softly. "You are the last living heir of the Emberblood. You will do what must be done."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Then Queen Alaryss rose. "This council is dismissed."
Seris didn't move. Her heart was pounding. Her hands itched with fire. But she turned and left without another word, Elaryn trailing close behind.
---
Later That Night
Seris stood alone on her balcony, eyes fixed on the horizon. The volcano rumbled beneath the palace as if the mountain itself were restless. She could feel it in her bones—the shift. The stirring.
And then, like wind through her mind, she heard his voice.
> "Meet me at the Mirror Gate. Midnight."
Kaelen.
She spun, but no one stood behind her. The words had echoed inside her skull like thunder. A whisper carried on sky-magic.
She should refuse. Should go to the queen. Should sleep and ignore the burning in her soul.
Instead, she went to her chamber door, summoned her cloak, and slipped into the night.
Because part of her already knew:
The council could debate. The queen could command.
But the future would not be decided in a chamber of thrones.
It would be decided in the dark, where flame meets wind—and fate begins to burn.