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Chapter 12: Knives in the Light

  The Varnholt mansion buzzed like a hornet’s nest, with servants darting through hallways laden with trunks and bolts of fabric. The Conclave of Spears, just three days away, had turned the estate into a whirlwind of preparations. Emilia, caught in the eye of the storm, felt the weight of her disguise as Celeste heavier than ever. Every dress they fitted her with—silk, velvet, lace that scratched her skin—was a chain, a reminder that she had to be the cruel noble everyone expected. But in her mind, there was only room for Lumen, the dungeons, and the certainty that Eldoria spared no one who let their guard down.

  That morning, she escaped to her refuge in the shed, shrugging off Lady Isolde’s orders to “act like a Varnholt.” Lumen was in a corner, gliding over a pool of hardened sap Emilia had poured the night before. The slime, with its glowing core and green mass, seemed more alive each day, as if it understood it was part of something greater. Emilia knelt, pulling out a vial of vinegar stolen from the kitchens. Marcus’s parchment suggested acids could enhance slimes, and she needed Lumen to be more than a sticky puddle.

  “Try this,” she said, pouring a few drops. Lumen quivered, absorbing the liquid with a hiss. Its surface bubbled, and when Emilia tossed a scrap of leather as a test, the slime dissolved it in seconds, leaving a sharp, acrid smell. The jelly secreted a mucus that sizzled on contact with the floor, burning a circle into the wood. Emilia stepped back, a mix of awe and caution in her chest. It was a mild acid, not strong enough to melt metal, but enough to harm skin or cloth. “Good job, little one,” she murmured, jotting down the result. Lumen wasn’t a sword, but every new ability was a brick in her wall against the world.

  Training with Lumen focused on commands. Emilia snapped her fingers to make it move, whistled for it to secrete mucus, and stomped the ground to make it stop. The slime obeyed imperfectly, sometimes sliding in the wrong direction, but its core glowed brighter with each attempt. Emilia felt a warmth in her chest, not just from the aura growing within her, but from her bond with Lumen. It was more than a creature; it was her proof that she could build something in this cruel world.

  Lunch in the dining hall was a battlefield disguised as a banquet. Baron Dietrich, his knuckles white around his goblet, grumbled about the Conclave’s costs. “Dresses, carriages, gifts for the dukes. And you, Celeste, still wasting time with that slimy thing!” His voice was thunder, and Emilia felt every eye on her.

  She forced a haughty smile, channeling Celeste. “My ‘slimy thing’ might be more useful than your banquets, Father. Dungeons aren’t impressed by gold.” It was a risk, but the challenge distracted the baron, who snorted and returned to his wine.

  Lysa, seated across from Emilia, narrowed her eyes. “Useful? Please, Celeste. All you do is filth up the mansion. What’s next, bringing your toy to the Conclave?” Her tone was pure venom, but Emilia noticed she didn’t press too hard. Lysa suspected something, but without proof, her words were mere stings.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Elara, in a dress that shimmered like fire, laughed. “Imagine it, Lysa. Celeste striding in with a green puddle. The dukes would faint.” Livia and Sylvia, the twins, let out identical giggles, but Mina, off to the side, looked at Emilia with something like pity. Freya, at the end of the table, said nothing, but her silence and sharp gaze cut deeper than the others’ taunts.

  Emilia pressed her lips together, responding in an icy tone. “At least my ‘puddle’ doesn’t waste time fighting over mirrors, Elara. And you, Freya, could share something useful instead of acting like a tart.” The words were pure Celeste, and though Emilia hated saying them, they worked. Freya blinked, caught off guard, and Elara raised an eyebrow, but the baron cut in before it escalated.

  “Enough!” he roared. “All of you, behave at the Conclave, or I swear I’ll lock you up until you’re married. The dukes don’t tolerate nonsense, and the Iron Council even less.”

  Emilia bowed her head, hiding her relief. The sisters were a whirlwind, but she could handle them if she kept her mask on. The Conclave, though, worried her. An event filled with nobles, mages, and politicians was uncharted territory, and her fa?ade as Celeste would be tested.

  Emilia was in the courtyard, training with Gavril under a sky heavy with clouds. He was teaching her to use a dagger in close quarters, correcting her grip with grunts. “Move like your life depends on it, princess. Because it will.” Emilia nodded, feeling the aura flow, a warmth that made her strikes sharper.

  A scream interrupted the lesson. It came from the stables, where a servant ran out, his face pale. “A beast! It crawled through the drainage!” Gavril drew his sword, but Emilia was already sprinting, dagger in hand, an idea forming. If it was a small creature, Lumen could help.

  In the stables, chaos reigned. Horses whinnied, and servants crowded the doors. The creature was a worm the size of an arm, its segmented body writhing, its mouth bristling with needle-like teeth. It had torn apart a sack of grain, its black ichor splattering the floor. A guard tried to strike it with a pitchfork, but the worm dodged, lunging at his leg. The man screamed as blood spurted where the needles sank in.

  Emilia acted without thinking. She ran to the shed, freed Lumen, and carried it to the stable in a bucket. “Come on, little one,” she whispered, whistling to make it secrete acidic mucus. She flung Lumen at the worm, and the slime enveloped it, sizzling as its acid burned the monster’s skin. The worm thrashed, but Lumen pinned it, dissolving its body until only a puddle of remains was left. The servants backed away, murmuring, and Gavril looked at her with a mix of disbelief and respect.

  “That was your toy?” he said, wiping his sword. “Not bad, princess.”

  Emilia panted, scooping up Lumen, which trembled but remained intact. The creature had proven its worth, but it had also drawn attention. The servants would talk, and Lysa would use it against her. The baron, if he found out, might confiscate Lumen as “dangerous.” Emilia needed to be more careful, especially with the Conclave looming.

  Later, in her room, Emilia reviewed her notes on Lumen. The acidic mucus was a weapon, but she needed to control it better. She also thought about the Conclave: the dukes, the Iron Council, a world of intrigues where a single misstep could cost her everything. Her sisters would be a trial, the baron a threat, and the nobles an enigma. But with Lumen, the aura, and her own cunning, Emilia was ready to face it. She wasn’t Celeste, nor a fragile noble. She was a force Eldoria couldn’t ignore, and the Conclave would be just the beginning.

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