Morning light streamed through the laboratory's tall windows, gilding the edges of parchment and glass. The basin sat quietly in its warded circle, its last ripples long stilled. Vandryl adjusted the clasp on his cloak, glancing once at the stack of notes Jace had compiled overnight.
"Bring those," he said. "We're presenting our results to the Queen's council."
Jace straightened, his usual composure hiding a flicker of nerves. "Of course. Do you expect her to attend?"
"Azshara rarely attends council," Vandryl replied, tucking a quill behind his ear. "But her Majordomo will. And he's the one we must convince."
They left the laboratory together, their footsteps echoing along corridors of silvered marble. The palace gleamed like something carved from starlight—too beautiful to be real, too polished to breathe.
When they reached the reception hall, however, it was not the council waiting for them. A single attendant stood by the great silver doors. "Her Majesty will see you now," the woman said smoothly.
They followed her through a winding passage lined with enchanted glass. The walls shimmered faintly, reflecting not their faces but the Well itself, its vast surface rippling in spectral imitation. At last they arrived before a pair of carved doors inlaid with silver filigree.
The Majordomo was waiting there—tall, immaculate, expressionless. "Her Majesty appreciates your punctuality," he said, opening the doors without waiting for a response.
The chamber beyond was warm with perfumed light and utterly devoid of modesty. Gauzy draperies shifted in the breeze, casting patterns across a floor of polished marble.
Queen Azshara reclined upon a divan, draped in silk so sheer it might as well have been mist. Jewels caught the light at her throat and wrists, glittering like patient eyes.
"Lord-Magister Darkrune," she purred, rising gracefully. "You're punctual, as always. I had expected our meeting to be… private."
Her gaze slid toward Jace—who instantly became very interested in the floor.
Vandryl, utterly unruffled, inclined his head. "My apprentice compiled the data. His presence is necessary."
For a heartbeat, the Queen's irritation flickered beneath her perfect smile—gone as soon as it appeared. "Of course," she said smoothly. "Then let us proceed."
Vandryl gestured. "Jace, the notes."
Jace stepped forward, handing her the neatly bound folio. He kept his eyes firmly on the pages, because looking anywhere else felt dangerous.
Azshara took the report, her nails gleaming faintly with enchantment as she leafed through it. "And what am I reading, exactly?"
"The recorded amplification effect of Vael'theran proximity," Vandryl said. "Observed under contained conditions. The results suggest further study—ideally at the Well itself."
Her brows lifted. "You wish to experiment with my Well?"
"Our Well," he corrected gently.
Silence stretched, taut and fragile. Jace wanted to disappear.
Azshara's voice softened—too sweet to be kind. "You're aware, of course, that access to the Well is not freely given." She leaned back against her divan, the silk of her gown whispering like a sigh. "Most who ask must offer something… of equal value."
Her gaze drifted over him, slow and deliberate—from his ink-stained fingers to the measured calm in his eyes. "Tell me, Lord Darkrune," she murmured, "what do I gain from granting you such privilege?"
Vandryl met her gaze without flinching. "The results," he said simply. "And the satisfaction of knowing they were achieved under your reign."
Azshara's smile deepened—sharp and dazzling. "Flattery ill suits you, Vandryl."
"It isn't flattery," he replied, tone mild. "It's credit."
For a moment, silence pulsed between them—bright and brittle as glass. Then she laughed, low and musical. "You truly are impossible."
"So I've been told."
Her irritation flickered, too refined to be called anger. "Very well," she said at last, waving one elegant hand. "You'll have your access. A private cove, properly warded. Perhaps your brilliance will even rival your restraint."
He bowed slightly, the gesture courteous but devoid of submission. "I'll try not to disappoint you."
"I doubt you could," she said—and meant it, though not the way he thought.
She turned the full weight of her smile on Jace. "You may go."
He hesitated, glancing toward Vandryl.
"Go on," Vandryl said quietly. "I'll follow."
Jace bowed awkwardly and left, the Majordomo closing the doors behind him.
The Queen's voice, low and amused, followed through the closing gap:
"Tell me, Lord Darkrune—do you ever tire of pretending indifference?"
Vandryl's reply came calm and dry. "No, Majesty. I find it keeps me focused."
Outside, Jace waited in the long marble corridor, the air faintly perfumed and entirely too still. After several minutes, the doors opened, and Vandryl emerged as composed as ever.
"She agreed?" Jace asked.
"She did," Vandryl said, straightening his gloves. "Though she's not pleased about it."
"She seemed…" Jace hesitated. "Distracted."
Vandryl's mouth quirked faintly. "That's one word for it."
He started down the corridor, his tone as serene as ever. "Pack the instruments. We begin at the Well tomorrow."