By the time Liam reached the Golden Court, the entire palace had changed.
The corridors had been cleared hours earlier, every suspended bridge surrounding the imperial complex closed to ordinary traffic while security formations shimmered across the air like sheets of transparent gold. Beyond the palace, Deira seemed unusually still. Its floating districts hung beneath a pale afternoon sky, bridges and towers threaded together by currents of ether that were brighter than Liam had ever seen them.
Nuria knew what was happening.
More importantly, Nuria was watching.
The oath was being transmitted through the imperial network to every populated district connected to the Core: public squares, administrative halls, military compounds, schools, factories, and private residences. Rubis had informed Liam of the estimated audience while fastening the ceremonial clasp at his throat.
Liam had immediately decided he did not want to know the number.
