There are moments when power changes everything around you.
Then there are moments when it changes something within you.
Chapter 17 crosses both lines.
Max is about to discover that the Living Scripture carries an authority even she does not fully understand, but power may not be the most dangerous thing waiting for her in this chapter.
Sometimes the truths we uncover are the ones we were never meant to hear.
And once known, they cannot be unknown.
Enjoy the chapter.
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Seth's napkin dies a slow and brutal death in his hands.
By the time I lower my phone, he has twisted the poor thing into shredded pieces that flutter onto the table like fallen leaves. His eyes remain fixed on the screen for another second before he releases the remains as though they have personally offended him.
"That was them, wasn't it?"
The strain in his voice wipes away the last traces of humor from dinner.
I nod and reach for a fresh napkin, dabbing my lips before lifting my glass. The rim catches lightly against my teeth when I drink.
"They know we're leaving in a month." I lower the glass and trace one finger through the condensation. "Which means waiting that long could give them four weeks to prepare whatever charming welcome they have planned."
Seth exhales and drags a hand down his face.
"I'll drop you at home, then book myself into a hotel."
My eyebrow rises. "Why?"
"Because I need somewhere to stay?"
"You could stay with us."
Seth stares at me long enough for a smile to start pulling at my mouth. Apparently, I have finally discovered one of my lesser-known gifts: rendering Seth speechless.
A quiet laugh escapes him as the tension around his mouth eases. "I'll take you up on that if the offer stands and nobody is currently sharpening a pitchfork."
I pat his bicep with all the reassurance I can manufacture.
"You might get some pushback from Eric, but that's mostly because his protective instincts occasionally forget they're supposed to have an off switch."
Seth glances at my hand before meeting my eyes again.
"I had noticed."
"You'll survive."
"Your confidence in me is touching."
"Don't get emotional."
His smile follows me all the way out of the restaurant.
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Back at home, everyone gathers in the lounge while I recount the message, the bounty and Seth's spectacular contribution to putting my name in circulation among people who apparently solve confidentiality problems with murder.
The expressions around the room suggest nobody is planning to send him a thank-you card.
Seth handles the collective disapproval from the safest available chair while I wrap both hands around my mug and finish explaining what we know.
Then I remember one minor detail.
"Oh, by the way, Seth's staying with us until we leave for the Sepulcher of Echoes."
My mug barely reaches the table before Eric turns toward me.
His eyes move from my face to Seth, who suddenly becomes extremely interested in the contents of his cup.
"You invited him to stay here?"
"Yes."
"With us?"
I glance around the room. "Unless the house has developed another meaning for staying with us."
A couple of smiles threaten around the lounge, although Eric doesn't share them.
His jaw shifts once.
Seth lowers the cup. "Until we leave for the Sepulcher, unless something changes before then."
"So, a month."
"Potentially."
The word lands with considerably more weight than it deserves.
I look between them. "He's staying in a spare room, Eric. I'm fairly certain civilization will survive."
Jamey coughs into his mug, suspiciously close to a laugh.
Eric ignores him. "You could've mentioned it before inviting him."
That wipes the humor from me.
"I could have, but after tonight, keeping Seth somewhere we can protect each other makes more sense than sending him alone to a hotel. Whoever sent that message knows about the Sepulcher, knows when we're leaving and has my number. I'm not scattering the people involved across town just to make everyone comfortable."
Eric's mouth tightens, but the argument dies before reaching his lips.
Seth places his cup on the table. "If my staying here causes a problem, I can find somewhere else."
I turn toward him. "You're staying."
His eyes meet mine.
Something warm flickers through them before his mouth curves slightly. "Apparently, I'm staying."
"Congratulations. Try not to touch anything expensive."
"I drive a Bentley."
I point toward him. "That attitude is exactly why I'm establishing rules."
A few laughs finally break through the tension, and even Seth's smile widens.
Eric remains quiet.
When I glance toward him again, he is looking at Seth, then at me, with an expression that disappears the moment our eyes meet.
I tell myself he'll get over it.
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The next morning, word reaches us that Mr. Willow's trial will resume in two days, sending the house into another round of preparations. Bags are packed, plans checked and responsibilities divided before we gather in the lounge the night before the hearing to make sure everyone knows what they're doing.
Eric, meanwhile, has attached himself to my side so thoroughly that if I stop too quickly, he'll probably crash into me.
Every time Seth speaks to me, Eric somehow appears nearby. When Seth makes me laugh, his attention shifts in our direction, and even the simple act of Seth passing me something across the table earns enough scrutiny to make me wonder whether Eric expects a marriage proposal to be hidden beneath it.
The irritating part is that I can't pretend there is absolutely nothing for him to notice.
Something shifts around Seth. A strange pull catches me whenever he comes too close, tightening somewhere inside me before disappearing whenever I try to understand it. Sometimes his presence carries a familiarity I cannot explain, and every now and then I catch myself smiling before I've even realized he's responsible.
Eric is still the person I chose, and betraying him has never crossed my mind.
Which makes being treated as though one badly timed smile might send me running into Seth's arms considerably less charming.
Later, while I'm getting ready for bed, Eric appears in the doorway with the stealth of a jealous ninja who has apparently made lurking part of his evening routine.
I catch his reflection in the mirror and lower the brush in my hand.
"Eric, enough."
He steps farther into the room.
I turn to face him. "Seth is my friend. That's it. You have no reason to feel threatened by him, and before you start..."
"Oh, please."
The words cut straight across mine.
Eric throws one hand into the air and starts pacing. "You might not say it, Max, but I see how you look at him. You're different with him. You're gentler, and when he talks to you, you get this ridiculous little girlish smile."
My eyebrows climb.
"A what now?"
His gaze flicks away before returning to me. "You heard me."
I put the brush down before my irritation turns it into something throwable.
Then I cross the room, grab the front of his sweatshirt and pull him close enough to make sure I have his complete attention.
"Like I was trying to say, Seth is my friend, and he's part of this team now. He sacrificed everything to be here, Eric. Do you even know what he gave up?"
The argument waiting on his tongue disappears.
His chest rises beneath my fist before he shakes his head.
I release his sweatshirt and step away.
"With the gifts he carries, he was never supposed to come into contact with the outside world. He lived by rules we barely understand, yet he chose to break them because we needed him."
Eric's eyes remain fixed on mine.
"He chose to help us. He chose to help me, and now he's taking us to the Sepulcher of Echoes even though doing that breaks the vow he made to his master."
The tension slowly leaves Eric's shoulders.
I should stop there, except the anger I've been swallowing for days finally gets loose.
"He gave up the life he knew to help people he'd never met, and you've spent days treating him like his greatest crime is talking to me."
Eric's mouth opens before closing again.
For once, he has nothing to throw back.
I move past him before the argument finds another life.
"Max."
My hand closes around the door.
"He deserves better from us, Eric."
I leave the room and shut the door hard enough to rattle the frame.
Sam doesn't ask questions when I appear at her door later that night. She takes one look at my face, moves aside and lets me in.
I could kiss her for that.
By morning, I wake early and slip out while she's still buried beneath the blankets. Sam sleeps deeply enough that I reach the door without waking her, sparing myself the interrogation I know will arrive eventually.
I return to my room, change and dress for the trial.
Eric is nowhere around, which makes getting ready considerably easier.
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By the time we reach the Obsidian Forum, the place is packed. People crowd the entrance beneath the towering stonework while conversations overlap from every direction, and anticipation moves through them with enough energy to make the entire building feel charged.
I spot Neil near the entrance and catch his sleeve before he disappears into the crowd.
"Hey. Why does it feel like there are way more people here than last time?"
Neil leans closer, wearing the grin of a cat that somehow managed to rob an entire fish market.
"You, my dear, are the rave of the town."
I squint at him. "What?"
"Word travelled quickly after the last hearing. Everyone heard about your powers and what you did to Mr. Willow." His grin widens as he gestures toward the crowd. "People came to see a show."
I glance around at the number of faces gathering beneath the towering stonework.
"They're in for a massive disappointment." I lower my voice. "Whatever was attached to Mr. Willow is gone. I vanquished it."
Neil chuckles. "That won't stop them from hoping for fireworks."
"Maybe I should start charging admission."
"I wouldn't joke about that. Half these people would probably pay."
Before I can respond, Lady Elsa strides past us with her usual air of someone who has already run out of patience with the day. The Keepers of the Rift follow behind her, and conversations nearest them fade as people move aside.
"Let's get this over with," she says.
Neil gestures toward the chamber. "Your audience awaits."
I give him a look before following Lady Elsa inside.
People begin rising throughout the chamber almost immediately. Whispers sweep between the rows, carrying a strange mixture of awe, curiosity and fear as hundreds of faces turn in my direction.
Fragments reach me while we make our way toward our seats.
"There she is."
"Isn't she beautiful?"
"She terrified me last time."
That one nearly earns a smile.
Several people who could barely hide their suspicion during the previous hearing now lower their heads when I pass. Others stare openly, while a few shift farther from the aisle when the golden marks along my skin catch the light.
Being the spectacle feels considerably stranger than I imagined.
A few people seem ready to cheer. Others look as though they came hoping to see me fail, and several appear unable to decide whether they should admire me or maintain a sensible escape route.
Whatever brought them here, their attention follows me across the chamber.
Then my gaze finds Eric.
He is already looking at me.
The jealousy that has shadowed him for the past few days is missing. Something quieter has replaced it, visible in the slight tension around his mouth and the way his eyes hold mine before dropping away.
Last night's argument sits between us without either of us saying a word.
I turn toward my seat, but the look follows me there.
Whatever Eric is feeling now goes deeper than jealousy, and I can't decide whether understanding it would make things better or considerably worse.
Magister Kaelith rises once the chamber quiets, carrying himself with the grandeur of a man convinced his voice alone could part the heavens.
His words thunder across the Forum.
"Mr. Willow's sentencing shall now be declared by Mr. Levi."
Attention shifts toward Mr. Levi as he rises from his seat with a crisp sheet of parchment held between both hands. He clears his throat and looks across the chamber before beginning.
"Mr. Willow has been found guilty of Enslavement and Human Trafficking and is hereby sentenced to ten years' imprisonment."
Approval rolls through the audience in a low murmur. Several heads nod while scattered whispers of finally and serves him right travel through the nearest rows.
Mr. Levi waits for the reaction to ease before continuing.
"On the charge of Torture and Psychological Manipulation, he is sentenced to an additional ten years' imprisonment."
The whispers gather momentum again, spreading through the chamber like a drumroll determined to accompany every sentence.
Mr. Levi raises his voice slightly.
"On the charge of Spiritual Corruption and Soul Manipulation, he will serve an additional twenty years' imprisonment."
The response grows louder.
Someone near the back calls, "Well done, Mr. Levi," with enough enthusiasm to make it sound as though the man has just produced an exceptional batch of bread instead of handing down a prison sentence.
A few people laugh.
At the Apex, Magister Kaelith's patience finally gives way.
"Can we have silence, please? Those who do not obey will be ordered to leave."
The effect sweeps through the chamber within seconds. Conversations die, bodies shift back into place and even the enthusiastic supporter near the rear decides that further encouragement might be hazardous to his continued attendance.
Mr. Levi gives Kaelith a small nod of thanks before lifting the parchment once more.
The final verdict waits on the page.
"For Black Magic and Forbidden Arcane Practices, Mr. Willow is sentenced to life imprisonment."
Mr. Levi lowers the parchment slightly.
"These sentences shall stand against each conviction. However, one charge remains."
The chamber quiets.
"Murder and Blood Sacrifice."
His gaze rises to Mr. Willow.
"For this crime, the Forum imposes its highest sentence. The previous custodial sentences are superseded by a sentence of death by electrocution."
The chamber erupts.
Applause crashes through the Forum as people rise from their seats, cheering and stamping their feet until the sound rolls against the stone walls. Relief spreads through the crowd with almost physical force, carried between strangers who seem to have waited years to hear those words.
I'd be lying if I claimed I wasn't relieved with them.
Even Magister Kaelith abandons his campaign for silence. He remains at the Apex while the noise swells around him, making no attempt to restore order.
For once, the celebration is allowed to run its course.
Then Mr. Willow laughs.
The sound cuts through the celebration badly enough that the applause nearest him falters first.
His head hangs forward while another ragged laugh drags itself from his throat. Defeat is nowhere in it. If anything, he sounds like a man who has just heard the punchline to a joke nobody else understands.
The remaining cheers begin to die.
Mr. Willow's shoulders jerk.
His restraints rattle as another violent spasm tears through him, wrenching his body against the chair hard enough to scrape it across the floor. His back arches as though something inside him has hooked its fingers beneath his flesh and started pulling.
People recoil from the nearest rows.
Then his mouth opens.
The sound that comes out belongs to far more than one man.
Voices pour through his scream in overlapping layers, old and young, furious and terrified, each fighting through the others until their agony becomes one hideous chorus. The sound claws through my head and drags a memory behind it.
The boy in Master Dan's office.
My stomach tightens.
Dark lines appear beneath Mr. Willow's skin.
They spread from his throat across his jaw and down beneath his collar, branching through his arms as though something rotten has found every path his blood once travelled. His skin buckles around them before the shape of his body begins to collapse.
The first section gives way at his shoulder, followed by another as flesh and fabric sink together into a thick black mass that spills beneath the chair and spreads across the floor. Its surface churns instead of lying still, swelling and folding around shapes that keep trying to rise through it.
A hand breaks free.
Another follows, then dozens more.
Phantom fingers claw through the black surface while faces form between them, mouths stretched around cries swallowed by the same substance holding them captive.
I lean forward before I realize I've moved.
"How many souls did this guy consume for it to have this kind of effect?"
Eric leans around Lady Elsa from the opposite side, his eyes meeting mine across her shoulder.
"Judging by that scream? A buffet of souls."
Lady Elsa turns her head slowly toward him before looking at me.
"Do I need to switch seats, or are we pretending I'm invisible now?"
Despite everything writhing across the floor in front of us, a laugh nearly escapes me.
Then every phantom hand stops moving.
My amusement disappears with them.
One by one, the hands turn toward our row.
Toward Lady Elsa.
The black mass surges.
Dozens of shadowed limbs tear free and race across the chamber, stretching farther than their forms should allow as they reach for her.
Instinct crushes thought.
I throw myself toward Lady Elsa and reach for her arm, but my fingertips barely brush her sleeve before the Living Scripture answers.
Gold erupts across my skin.
The force hits before I can draw another breath, wrenching my arms wide as my hair whips away from my face. Golden symbols race over my hands, climb my wrists and flood across my body faster than I can follow them.
The phantom limbs keep coming.
Something vast gathers behind the Scripture.
Then the wave comes.
The living language roars above me, carrying a power without ordinary sound that still reaches somewhere deeper than hearing. A colossal current of golden glyphs crests from behind my body and sweeps forward in one fluid surge, reaching Lady Elsa a heartbeat before the phantom hands.
Gold closes around her.
The Scripture folds over her shoulders, races down her arms and seals across her body until radiant armor surrounds her from throat to feet. Celestial inscriptions move across its surface in shifting patterns too intricate for my eyes to follow.
The first shadowed hand strikes and disintegrates on contact.
Several more crash against the armor and collapse before their fingers can reach her.
Before I can understand what I've done, the force inside me changes.
My feet leave the floor.
I rise slowly above the chamber as though gravity has received an order it cannot refuse. Light threads beneath my skin, flowing through me instead of merely covering me, and every golden current carries symbols that appear, vanish and reform somewhere deeper.
For one dizzying moment, my body feels less like flesh and more like something the Living Scripture has chosen to write upon.
Fine golden seams appear throughout the space surrounding me, shimmering for seconds before closing again. Another forms near my shoulder, followed by several above my head, until the air itself struggles to contain the authority gathering inside me.
My hair lifts into the unseen current, each strand drawn toward the moving glyphs.
Then my left arm moves without waiting for permission.
My palm turns toward the chamber as Sha'Viel ignites across my skin, its spiral burning with truth and judgment.
My right hand follows as Tha-um forms within my palm, intricate lines unfolding until Divine Command shines opposite it.
Pressure builds between my brows.
I barely have time to react before the sensation breaks open and Vel-Tar lifts from my forehead in a stream of gold. The glyph moves into the space between my hands and begins rotating.
Truth, authority and severance enter me together.
My arms draw inward beneath a rhythm older than conscious thought, and when my palms meet, all three glyphs converge.
Their shapes weave through one another until three radiant infinity forms lock into a circular mandala between my hands. Golden orbs gather at the outer points and begin travelling along the interwoven paths while a larger sphere forms at the center, pulsing with a rhythm close enough to my heartbeat that I can no longer tell which one I am feeling.
Gold fills my vision.
The same symbols appear within my irises, rotating slowly enough for the chamber to reflect between them.
When I speak, another resonance rises beneath my voice. Ancient harmonies move through every syllable, carrying an authority that asks for nothing because it already knows it will be obeyed.
"Submit."
The word changes the room.
Golden orbs tear free from the mandala and multiply as they cross the chamber, becoming dozens before the first reaches the writhing mass.
The shadowed hands recoil too late.
Gold passes through the first limb and its shape collapses instantly, unraveling from fingertips to wrist until only black dust remains. The others follow in rapid succession as the orbs move through them with terrifying precision, stripping away whatever holds the corruption together.
The black mass convulses beneath the assault. Phantom faces surface and disappear while the remaining limbs claw desperately at the floor, only to collapse when another golden orb passes through them.
The evil comes apart like a tapestry being pulled simultaneously from every thread.
Eric staggers backward and shields his eyes.
Across the chamber, people clutch their seats or one another as pressure rolls through the Forum. Stone groans somewhere overhead, dust trembles from the walls and thin golden seams continue opening and closing around me.
Then my hands begin to shake.
The mandala flickers as strength drains from my arms so quickly that I struggle to keep them raised. My breathing shortens while darkness presses against the edges of my vision, swallowing pieces of the chamber between every blink.
Something inside me has changed.
I feel it before I understand it, buried somewhere beneath the exhaustion and fading gold. The change reaches deeper than the Forum and whatever I just destroyed.
It reaches me.
The force holding me above the floor releases.
I fall.
Darkness reaches me before the ground does.
Yet consciousness doesn't disappear with the light.
I drift somewhere between waking and sleep, caught in the same strange silence that held me when Alec stood trial and the Judicars first arrived. My body lies beyond my reach, distant enough to feel borrowed, while awareness stretches through a place without edges.
I remember this silence, and more importantly, my body remembers it too.
Fear never comes. Whatever remains of my strength draws inward instead, conserving itself with the quiet instinct of an animal sleeping through winter. My heartbeat continues somewhere far away while my breathing follows without needing me to guide it.
Then warmth enters the stillness.
The Living Scripture returns.
I sense its golden radiance withdrawing from Lady Elsa and flowing back toward me, crossing the darkness like molten silk. The moment it reaches me, warmth blooms beneath my chest and spreads outward with a pulse that answers my own.
For a while, that is all there is.
Then Eric's voice breaks through.
"Max, wake up. Please."
Something twists inside me.
I try to move toward him, but my body remains beyond reach.
Other voices gather around his. Prayers mingle with frightened whispers while hands shift somewhere near me, and through it all I feel the weight of people waiting for one small sign that I am still here.
More voices reach me from farther away.
"She saved her."
"She saved all of us."
"She's our hope."
Their faith presses strangely against the silence. Hours ago, many of these people came hoping to see what the Living Scripture could do.
Now they are asking it to give me back.
Footsteps approach through the chamber.
Several sets draw closer before Alec reaches us, followed by Seth and the others. I cannot see them, yet their presences register through whatever part of me remains stretched beyond my body.
Eric's arms tighten around me.
Seth comes closer, and Eric immediately shifts away.
The movement sends a faint disturbance through the darkness, followed by something I recognize before I understand why.
Silver Breath.
It gathers around Seth without wind or force. The atmosphere changes instead, drawing inward around him until even my distant heartbeat seems to hesitate beneath its touch.
Alec's voice reaches me.
"He's our friend, Eric. Let him look at her. Let him help."
Silence follows.
Eric's fear reaches me before his answer does, stripped of every trace of the jealousy that followed us through the past few days. His arms tighten once before gradually loosening.
For the first time since I fell, I understand what remains beneath all that anger.
He is terrified of losing me.
Seth kneels beside me and cups my cheek.
The contact is so gentle that I almost miss it, but his thumb begins tracing small circles against my skin and something inside the darkness turns toward him.
His fingers brush my forehead.
Silver threads enter me.
They move softly through the stillness, carrying none of the force I expected. Each strand follows the shape of my exhaustion, slipping between thought and memory as though searching for the places where I have withdrawn.
They find me without dragging me back.
The silver gathers around my consciousness and holds while warmth answers from deeper within.
The Living Scripture stirs.
Gold moves toward the silver.
For the first time, I feel Seth beyond the surface of his power.
His presence follows the Breath through the connection, carrying pieces of him that words have never shown me. His restraint reaches me first, followed by the fierce steadiness beneath it and something so carefully guarded that touching it feels almost forbidden.
I should pull away.
Instead, some deeper part of me opens the door.
Seth enters the silence with me.
His consciousness brushes mine as gently as dusk meeting dawn, and suddenly I understand why his presence has always felt familiar without knowing what I was remembering.
He simply finds me.
Silver moves around the quiet places I have kept closed for so long, touching none without permission and leaving warmth wherever it passes. The sensation reaches the center of me, the private place where every burden eventually finds its way when nobody else is there to carry it.
Seth reaches that place and stays.
Something passes through the connection.
His feelings reach me before I can retreat, and one rises above everything else with enough force to steal whatever breath consciousness is supposed to have.
Love.
It carries no demand and asks for no answer. It simply exists inside him, deep enough to ache and steady enough to have endured far longer than I ever knew.
Seth.
The Living Scripture reacts.
Golden inscriptions rise through me and move toward the silver strands, curling around them with an eagerness that feels almost like memory.
Silver answers.
The two currents weave together, gold through silver and Scripture through Breath, ancient powers meeting somewhere neither of us knew existed.
For one suspended moment, I cannot tell where his presence ends and mine begins.
Our heartbeats find the same rhythm.
Then the Living Scripture pulls back.
Gold withdraws into me while silver follows Seth, leaving the connection thinner until his breath reaches my face with a slow exhale.
"She is okay," he says quietly. "She's unconscious, but unharmed. Her body is recovering."
Eric releases a breath that sounds as though he has been holding it since I fell.
Seth remains beside me.
His fingers hover near my cheek after the touch ends, close enough that some hidden part of me still feels their warmth. The connection has left something exposed beneath the calm he presents to everyone else, but he draws his hand away before anyone notices.
I remain inside the darkness, capable of reaching for waking now but strangely unwilling to do it.
The connection fades with him.
What passed through it remains.
His love.
Something Seth never intended me to know.
I could open my eyes.
Instead, I stay where I am, because the moment I wake, I will have to look at him.
And I have no idea what he will see in my face.
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Well... that became complicated.
Max went into the Forum expecting a sentencing and somehow walked away with a terrifying new understanding of the Living Scripture, an unconscious body, and one truth she was never supposed to hear.
Seth never confessed.
He never asked her for anything.
Max simply found the one thing he had kept hidden from her.
And now she has to wake up.
The question isn't whether Seth loves her anymore.
The question is what Max does with that knowledge when her heart already belongs to someone else.
The journey to the Sepulcher of Echoes is getting closer, but something tells me the road there just became considerably more complicated.
Thank you for reading, and I'll see you in the next chapter.