Chapter 50 – The Whispering Council
The sun rose over Gildcrest, casting its golden light over walls too weary for dawn. Inside the council chamber, tension weighed heavier than the stone pillars.
Jean stood before the Luther Clan's inner council—a circle of seasoned warriors, old nobles, and cold-eyed advisors. Silvia sat silently behind her, eyes still shadowed from the attack.
Jean's voice was sharp and direct. "There's a traitor among you. Someone is feeding the Shadow Guild intel. They knew exactly when Silvia would be alone."
An old advisor, Lord Callen, scoffed. "Baseless accusation. You bring light, girl, but no proof."
Jean held up the scrap of silk she'd recovered from the Whisper's escape—black cloth embroidered with a sigil. Not of the Shadow Guild, but of a house within the Luther Clan.
"House Virelan," Jean said, narrowing her gaze. "The cloth was tied with a blood oath thread. That only binds through family."
Whispers broke out.
Lord Virelan, a lean man with hawk-like eyes and a sword at his hip, sneered. "Circumstantial. Any Guild assassin could forge such a thing."
Whitney growled behind Jean, stepping forward. "We tracked Guild scent trails through the Virelan estate's side tunnels."
"Enough," Jean snapped. "You're hiding something. And if I have to burn through every lie with Luxclade, I will."
Council Master Elric, one of the few neutral elders, raised a hand. "This threatens more than one house. The Guild is not an enemy we can fight with squabbling tongues."
Jean nodded. "Then I propose a trial of truth. By aura flame."
Silence.
No one volunteered. Especially not Lord Virelan.
Jean smiled coldly. "Refuse, and the Clan will know what your silence costs."
Virelan's glare was a blade—but he said nothing.
Later, in the corridors beyond the chamber, Cassien caught up to Jean.
"You just made a powerful enemy."
Jean's reply was iron.
"Then he should've stayed in the shadows."
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