Chapter 146: A Call For Him
"Your love must be so great," Lorraine said at last, her voice silk threaded with steel, "that after all these years, you still cling to your husband’s shadow."
The Dowager laughed, brittle, too sharp to hide the crack in her composure. Her eyes misted even as her mouth twisted. "And if you don’t listen—" her voice dropped, low and dire, each syllable weighted like a curse, "—you may learn too late how swiftly devotion curdles into mourning."
The words struck like ice water poured straight into her veins. Lorraine’s fingers curled hard into her palms. She had expected this. Of course, she had. The Dowager would never leave without baring her fangs at last. She had braced for the moment. But when the threat finally came, when Leroy’s life was dangled so carelessly in that venom-laced mouth, something sharp and furious tore loose inside her.
"The silent will not stay silent for long, Your Excellency!" Lorraine’s voice cut through the pearl-lit chamber like a blade, the serene mask of the Divina breaking as fury surged through her. "And the ones keeping their heads bowed... Do not mistake them for cowards. They bow not from fear."
Her challenge echoed in the circular hall, rebounding off mirrored walls until the air itself seemed to shimmer with defiance.
The Dowager rose, her lips curling into a smirk that barely masked the flicker in her eyes. It was a challenge and she accepted it with relish. Behind the mirrors, Leroy’s hands fisted tight. He had seen too well how deeply the Dowager’s roots still clung to the emperor’s court. With Lorraine’s open defiance, she would stop at nothing.
"Oh, you poor child," the Dowager said, voice steeped in disdain. "It was silence that shielded you. His cowering and your meekness are what kept you breathing. And now, with this outburst, you’ve marched your husband to the gallows and placed his head upon the block yourself."
Lorraine’s heart thundered, the rhythm of fury beating through her veins. Her breath quickened, ragged, her anger flaring past the point of caution. She tore away the veil, baring her face at last.
"Try touching him, Your Excellency." Her voice was low, deadly, unflinching. "I dare you to try."
The Dowager stilled. A flicker of shock, calculation, and something unreadable passed over her face. Perhaps it was the audacity, perhaps the unveiled confirmation that the Silent Crown and the Swan Divina were one and the same. Or perhaps it was something simpler: the sudden, bone-deep realization that Lorraine was not bluffing.
For the first time, the Dowager stepped back. Her voice faltered, brittle against the mounting weight in the room. "You dare threaten the throne?"
Lorraine scoffed, her lips curling. "Throne? Whose throne is he sitting on? Usurpers will be usurped. That tale is older than your line, older than the dust beneath your feet."
Leroy pressed his hand to his forehead. He had no idea what his wife was planning now, but every word out of her mouth rang like a challenge that could never be withdrawn. Threatening the Dowager so openly... this would end in ruin. He needed to step in, to salvage the moment, to plead, to turn her wrath aside...anything.
Then the chamber shifted.
A wind stirred that had no source, lifting her gown and tearing her cloak wide like wings of swan and shadow. Moonlight pooled unnaturally bright, every silver ray bending toward her. The air reeked of blossoms that did not bloom, sweet and choking.
Lorraine’s head snapped back. A gasp escaped her lips as her body convulsed—but when she straightened, her eyes burned white fire. Strands of her dark hair bled into silver at the roots, as though time itself was unspooling through her veins.
When she spoke, it was in High Veyrani, each syllable flawless, ancient, and final. The voice did not sound borrowed. It sounded eternal. Her voice came split, two-toned—one her own, one older, deeper, reverberating with the gravity of mountains.
The Dowager clutched at her skirts, the wind tearing her crown askew, her hair undone in wild strands. She stumbled, tried to resist, but her knees gave way. It was not a choice, but compulsion, as if the air itself dragged her down.
Lorraine’s body trembled, too slight a vessel for the weight that spoke through her. Her hands clenched until her nails drew blood, glowing faintly in the light that poured from her skin. She was unraveling even as she declared:
"When the mute breaks her silence, your laughter shall choke.
When the mark sears bright, your false crowns shall smoke.
When roots split the grave, your secrets shall cry.
When the mountain awakens, your empires shall die.
He rises with wrath, ten kings in his hand.
Your thrones into dust, your blood in the sand.
When the sky burns fire, no lion shall stand.
Kneel now, or be broken, by his vengeful command."
The Dowager tried to look at Lorraine’s face, but the sight seared her eyes. Her body buckled. With a strangled gasp, she pressed her forehead to the floor, unable to withstand the weight of that power.
But Leroy, reckless or faithful, he did not know, walked forward. Again, the words poured from Lorraine’s lips, the same prophecy that had thundered through the chamber moments ago. Yet this time, it was not hurled outward. It felt like it was meant for him.
Was it a warning to the world, or a summons for him alone?
Leroy’s heart clenched. He wanted none of it. No crowns, no wars, no prophecies. He wanted only a quiet life: to hold his wife close, to watch her move through the days, to steal her kisses, to lean his head on her chest and forget the world. Perhaps one child, only to silence the whispers of barrenness. But no more. He wanted her, nothing else.
And yet the world wanted something from them. Something he dreaded.
He reached for her anyway. The moment his hand touched her, the light shuddered, broke... and vanished. Lorraine collapsed limply into his arms, her body too slight, too human again. The Dowager’s paralysis broke; skirts rustling, crown askew, she fled without a word.
Lorraine stirred, eyelids fluttering. She blinked up at him, dazed.
"Did... something happen?" she murmured.
Leroy’s breath hitched. Fear spiked through him. His wife shouldn’t be losing herself like this... becoming something other, something he could not hold.
And then, there was a knock, sharp and urgent. A sealed message. Lorraine tore it open, her expression hardening as she read.
Her lips pressed tight. "We need to go," she said. Her eyes burned with urgency.
"That woman’s life is in danger."