They entered the throne room with enough force to turn every head. Vorin stood near the throne—which had been righted after the excavation—speaking with Marin. Several other councilors lingered nearby, their expressions showing various degrees of concern.
Dacian was there too, flanked by guards but standing free. His eyes found Celesse immediately, and she felt his relief through the bond so strongly it made her breath catch.
"What is the meaning of this?" Vorin demanded. "The prisoner is not authorized—"
"She's not a prisoner anymore," Thane interrupted. He threw the ledger onto the council table hard enough to make it slide across the polished wood. "And you're about to understand why."
Renna followed, pulling out pages marked with silver tabs. "Evidence of conspiracy. Alpha Marin Grayclaw's private ledger, showing payments to a threadwalker code-named 'memory-keeper.' The payments began three weeks ago—before Celesse Threadwalker was ever summoned to the palace."
She laid out the marked pages. "The amount: ten thousand silver fenris. The same fee we offered Celesse."
Whispers erupted around the chamber. Marin's expression didn't change, but Celesse saw his jaw tighten.
"That ledger was in my private quarters," he said carefully. "This is an illegal search—"
"Enforcer's privilege during active investigation of threats to the crown," Thane countered. "The King authorized it."
"I did," Dacian confirmed, his voice carrying across the chamber. "When my enforcer informed me that someone was actively sabotaging the threadwalker's work, I granted him full authority to investigate."
Vorin picked up the ledger, his fingers tracing the entries. "This proves Alpha Grayclaw hired a threadwalker. That's not illegal."
"It is when that threadwalker is actively working to kill the King," Celesse said. All eyes turned to her. "I encountered her in the dreamscape last night. She's been tampering with the hex anchors, strengthening them to accelerate Dacian's collapse. When I tried to stop her, she threatened me. And she's using techniques that were banned by the guild twenty years ago."
"Techniques that only one person in the Crescent ever mastered," Renna added quietly. "Kael Grayclaw. Marin's sister. Dacian's mate."
The throne room went silent.
Marin remained still, but Celesse caught the calculation behind his eyes. He was weighing options, deciding whether to deny or pivot.
"My sister was a brilliant threadwalker," he said finally, his tone measured. "She died before she could pass on all her knowledge. If someone has learned her techniques, it's not through me. I hired a memory-keeper to help preserve her legacy—letters, journals, technique notes. Nothing more."
"Then explain why your 'memory-keeper' is in the King's dreamscape destroying the very anchors keeping him alive," Thane pressed.
"Prove it." Marin's tone hardened. "Bring this rival threadwalker before the council. Let us question her. If she's guilty of what you claim, I'll withdraw my petition for the tribunal."
It was a good move, Celesse had to admit. Without the rival physically present, the ledger was circumstantial.
"I can prove it," she heard herself say. "Give me access to the dreamscape again. Let me map where she goes, track who she answers to. Threadwalkers leave traces—scent-signatures, pattern preferences, emotional resonance. I can follow them."
"And if you're wrong?" Vorin asked.
"Then you can execute me for the crimes you're already planning to charge me with." Celesse stepped forward. "But if I'm right, you'll have proof of conspiracy."
Dacian moved before anyone could stop him, crossing the throne room to stand beside her. The guards tensed.
"She does this with my full support," he said. "One condition: the investigation happens now, with the council watching. Full transparency. We end this today."
Vorin and Marin exchanged glances. After a long moment, the Chancellor nodded. "Very well. But if this fails—if you can't produce evidence—the tribunal proceeds immediately."
"Agreed," Dacian said.
The council chamber was cleared to create space. Celesse knelt in the center while observers formed a ring around her. Renna provided proper supplies—moonflower oil, silver compass, silk thread.
"Explain what you're doing," Vorin demanded.
Celesse rubbed oil on her temples. "I'll enter the dreamscape and track the rival by following traces she's left. If I can see where she goes when she's not in the hex, I'll identify who's controlling her."
She didn't wait for more questions. She closed her eyes and pushed.
The dreamscape formed smoothly. She landed in Dacian's forest and moved directly to the second anchor's location—where she'd last encountered the rival. The threads were tangled and reinforced, exactly as before.
Celesse knelt and examined them closely, searching for traces. There—a scent-signature embedded in the weaving. Ash and burnt sage, with copper and stone-dust underneath. The rival's signature, distinct but connected to Marin's.
She focused on that scent and pulled, letting it guide her.
The dreamscape shifted. She was following a thread to a different space entirely—the rival's home dreamscape. The landscape was harsh: black stone, ash-gray sky, burned trees frozen mid-collapse. Trauma made manifest.
In the distance, a figure moved. The rival threadwalker, heading toward a black stone building.
Celesse followed carefully, keeping her distance. The rival entered through an open door. Inside, Celesse glimpsed a workshop—thread-maps, curse-diagrams, walls covered in notes.
And in the center, someone sat at a table. Not Marin. An older woman with silver-streaked hair and familiar features.
The woman spoke: "The second anchor is reinforced. She tried to map it, but you drove her off."
"Let her try again," the rival's rough voice answered. "Each attempt weakens her. When she breaks it, the King's collapse accelerates."
Celesse's consciousness flickered—someone in the waking world was trying to pull her back. Renna's voice, distant: "She's been under too long. We need to wake her."
"No," Dacian's voice, firm. "She's tracking something. Let her finish."
In the dreamscape, the older woman stood. "Marin grows impatient."
"Then he'll have his wish soon enough."
Celesse needed to see the older woman's face clearly. She moved closer—
The rival's head snapped toward her. "We're being watched."
Before Celesse could retreat, black-violet threads erupted. They wrapped around her, constricting, but this time she was ready. She grabbed one thread and channeled consciousness through it, sending feedback.
The rival stumbled. The older woman's face turned toward Celesse's hiding spot, and she finally saw clearly—
Not Renna. But someone with similar features. Gray eyes, sharp cheekbones. Family resemblance was unmistakable.
"My daughter always was soft-hearted," the woman said. "She'll try to protect the threadwalker. But it won't matter."
*Renna's mother.* The one who'd helped cast the hex.
Celesse pulled back hard, forcing herself awake before the rival could trap her.
She gasped, returning to the throne room. Blood trickled from her nose.
"What did you see?" Dacian demanded, kneeling beside her.
"The rival. And someone else—an older woman who looks like Renna. She called Renna her daughter."
Renna's face went white. "My mother died ten years ago."
"Then she's either alive or someone's using her image," Celesse said. "But they're working together. The rival and this woman. And they're coordinating with Marin."
"This proves nothing," Marin said. "Dreamscape visions aren't evidence."
"Then let's find more," Thane said. He looked at Renna. "Your mother's records. Where would they be kept?"
Renna hesitated, conflict clear on her face. Then she made a decision. "The archives. She was oath-scribe before me. Her personal journals are still there—I couldn't bring myself to destroy them."
"Show us," Dacian ordered.
Hours later, after searching the archives, they'd found fragments—burned pages, encrypted notes, references to "the project" and "ensuring the King's peaceful end." But nothing conclusive. Nothing that would hold up in tribunal.
Vorin used the lack of concrete evidence to issue his edict: "King Dacian must declare a bloodline heir within thirty days or submit to a regency tribunal."
The words landed like hammer blows. If Dacian named Celesse publicly, he'd expose her heritage and make her a target. If he refused, human court would force a regency.
After the council dispersed, Celesse found Dacian alone in the null-zone. "The second anchor is on the Tithe Bridge. Accessible during the full moon—six days from now."
"Absolutely not." His response was immediate. "Marin's exile-pack controls those territories. You'd be killed."
"We're running out of time."
"And losing you would mean my death and the realm's collapse." His voice strained. "I won't risk it."
"You don't own me, Dacian."
"That's not—" He stopped, pain flickering across his face. "I can't lose you too."
The admission hung between them.
"Your mate," Celesse said quietly. "You loved her."
"More than life. When she died, I nearly destroyed everything. The hex was supposed to stop that madness." He met her eyes. "I won't let the same thing happen to you."
"Then help me survive."
Silence. Then: "If you go, Thane goes with you. And you follow his lead."
"Agreed."
That night, Celesse found Thane in the enforcers' barracks. "I'm going to the Tithe Bridge during the full moon. I need your help."
"The King forbade it."
"He gave conditional permission." She knelt. "I'm offering a blood-debt. A life owed for a life risked."
Blood-debts were sacred in pack law. Binding oaths that transcended death.
Thane pulled her to her feet. "You don't know what you're offering."
"I know exactly. Do you accept?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "I accept. We leave in six days."
As Celesse left, she didn't see Renna watching from the shadows, her expression tortured.
The oath-scribe had a choice to make: protect her mother's legacy, or stop a conspiracy that would destroy everything.
By morning, Renna would be gone—not as a traitor fleeing justice, but as someone racing to find the truth before it killed them all.