Ashes in the Snowfall

"Last night, firestars tore through the heavens—seventeen homes burned in the South Quarter, more than a hundred wounded. The Celestarium reports it is a sign of Mars aligned with Heart—"

Clang!

A gold-beast paperweight slammed against the marble dragon column, scattering golden dust across High Magistrate Pereon's court badge.

The Lord Justiciar held his scepter steady, his hand never trembling.

High King Vaeren rose from the Dragon Throne, the twelve-crested robe sweeping cups from the table.

"Mars?" he said, laughing from rage.

"Twenty years ago, when snow buried the Northwatch Marches, the Celestarium claimed it was Mars. Fifteen years ago, when the River Eron flooded, they said it again—"

He hurled the scroll down the dais. "Now even nursery rhymes dare mock my crown?"

Shattered porcelain skittered across the marble floor toward Pereon's boots.

"Your Majesty, I beg you—"

The Star-Seer fell prostrate, forehead to the cold jade stone.

"The Codex Astralis speaks clearly—red stars with burning tails foretell blood and blade—"

"Blood and blade?" Vaeren sneered. "Then does your Codex also say my brother in the North plots treason?"

His voice dropped like a blade. "Yes or no?"

The nobles collapsed into silence, shadows from the carved pillars tightening like nooses.

Pereon raised his badge, catching a sliver of dying sunlight:

"The rhyme speaks of golden crows and fading moons, Your Grace. The golden crow is the Phoenix Seal granted to the Duke of Northmarch. The silver moon—"

He glanced at the unlit bronze lantern beside the throne. "—was the Hope Lamp lit upon your coronation."

A crane's cry broke the stillness above the eaves.

Vaeren stepped from the dais, his armored boots grinding over Pereon's shadow.

"You speak of omens, Justiciar, while the Imperial Testament lies sealed in iron in the Celestial Temple."

He paused. "And yet slander runs loose in our streets—under your watch."

"I am to blame," Pereon said, bowing low. "Please, for your health—"

"Enough!"

"Purge the rumors in three days. Anyone singing them—eighty lashes. As for you—"

The King's gaze narrowed.

Sunlight stabbed through the lattice, branding Pereon's sweat-slicked back.

-

-

-

Across the Nine-Turn Bridge, the scent of withered chrysanthemums drifted with fallen leaves.

Prince Kaelen traced scattered gold petals on a stone table, the Grand Tutor's voice echoing through the wind.

"The traitor's execution soaked three layers of hemp parchment—justice served, retribution delivered."

The Tutor's sleeves swept a ginkgo leaf from the bench. Chrysanthemum tea rippled in a glass cup.

Kaelen tapped the table, startling sparrows from the roof.

"Forgive me, Master, but what retribution? If justice was done, why are the pawnshops on Phoenix Street still sealed?"

The Grand Tutor stiffened. "The Ministry of Justice—"

"Filed its closing statements three months ago. And yet," Kaelen stood, his dark robe stirring petals to flight, "I found something curious in the canal ledgers: the grain fleet that vanished—docked overnight by the very river that was raided. The guard captain? Eldest son of Lord Vareth."

A crow shrieked from the dying lotus stalks.

"Your Highness, take care!"

The Tutor's scepter struck the table. Tea spilled, leaves swirling.

"House Vareth has long been loyal—"

"Loyal enough to run secret iron mines in Greystone?" Kaelen unfurled a scorched parchment sealed in crimson wax. "This came from—"

"Silence!" the Tutor bellowed, his face darkening.

Kaelen opened his mouth to reply—then noticed the Tutor's flicker of fear.

A cold voice broke the air.

"Is this how a prince honors his elders?"

Kaelen turned and dropped to his knees. The speaker stood behind him:

High King Vaeren.

The prince's dark robe swept across the tiles, the jade clasp at his waist clicking softly.

"I meant no offense. Only that the case bears further scrutiny."

Ripples marred the pond's surface.

"You seem well informed for a student," the King said. "Even carrying court documents."

He let the words hang. "Pereon is your man, isn't he?"

Vaeren's fingers brushed the dragon-carved buckle at his belt. Pearls flashed. Kaelen blanched.

The Grand Tutor's hand tightened on his staff.

Sweat ran cold under Kaelen's collar.

"I would never presume—"

"Presume? You presume much."

Dead leaves rained on stone.

Kaelen bowed deeply, his forehead striking the stone.

"If you are so capable," the King said, voice laced with venom, "then investigate the treason rumors yourself."

His robe stirred as he left, crossing the bridge alone.

Kaelen knelt in silence, staring at the cracks between the stones where sunset bled like old cinnabar flaking from the palace walls.