Milada walked into the Storm Hall and stopped, taken aback by the silence. The feasting hall should have been a riot of laughter after the Diamond Storm, celestial siblings boasting of their strength while plates piled with spiced meats, salted fish, and twisted loaves were passed along the long table. Instead the dishes lay untouched, steam long gone, a crust forming on gravies. Half-empty goblets, tipped on their sides, spilled dark wine onto the stone. Someone's knife lay embedded in a roast as if abandoned mid-cut. The air carried the faint tang of burning diamonds and the iron taste of blood.
She wrapped her arms around herself and glanced up toward the staircase that spiralled to the private chambers. Worry thrummed like a drumbeat under her skin: Ari had been struck by radiation that morning. She needed to see him, to touch him, to feel his light and reassure herself that he still burned as brightly as ever.
A low growl stopped her. Zora padded out of the shadows, metal-spined fur clinking softly against the flagstones. The hellcat looked as if she'd been forged rather than born: her hide rippled with flexible plates, her whiskers were fine chains, and her eyes glowed like embers. Milada had always suspected that the Stormwright didn't find his beloved companion beast in Mullano, the land of the dead, as he claimed, but pulled her from some deeper, older place. It hardly mattered though. The cat rubbed against Milada's ankles, then reared up, warm breath smelling of smoke washing over her cold fingers. Flames flickered from Zora's throat, their heat easing the ache left by the nitrogen she had siphoned from the storm. Milada's hands shook as sensation returned.
"Good kitty," El scratched Zora's chin as she purred. "Let me pass," she murmured, stepping to the side. Zora matched her, large paws blocking every path to the stairs. The cat's tail lashed once, steel barbs clinking.
"Don't." Vectra's voice carried across the hall. Milada turned to see the tall woman stride in, black robes swirling, slim silver chains on her wrist clinking with every sway of her arms.
Light from the high windows caught the gleam in Vectra's green eyes, a warning and a measure of concern.
"Is everything alright?" El asked.
Vectra's expression was a mask. "No one goes up. There's quarantine in effect." She stopped at the far end of the table, gaze flicking over the abandoned food with distaste. "The radiation harmed Areilycus. We don't know how far it's spread. Until your father can control this, you are to stay in your rooms."
Milada's stomach dropped. It felt like ice shards dragging down her spine. "That isn't possible," she said, hearing how small her own voice sounded in the cavernous hall. "I contained the storm. You know I did. Something was wrong with the storm itself."
Vectra's mouth tightened, a barely-there movement. "Regardless. His light is dim. He needs isolation. The rest of us must not risk further exposure."
Anger flared, hot enough to match Zora's breath. "You're blaming me." Her throat went dry. "If I hadn't anchored the storm—"
"Had you anchored it properly, nothing would have leaked." Vectra cut her off with a flick of her hand, the chains on her wrist chiming. "We will discuss your performance later. Right now, you will obey. Go to your chamber and wait. Do not attempt to interfere. Zora will stay with you."
A dozen protests rose to Milada's tongue, each as useless as the last. She wanted to argue that she felt something shift when Ari was hit, that the realm of Tripolis buckled in a way she had never known. Instead she bit down on her anger. Defiance would not change Ari's condition, and she could not risk harming him further by disobeying. So she nodded stiffly.
"As you command," she whispered, though the words tasted like ash.
Vectra turned away, already thinking of other duties, other crises, and murmured something in the hellcat's ear. Zora snorted a plume of sparks and loped to Milada's side. The cat bumped her calf , urging her toward the eastern wing. Milada allowed herself one last glance up the staircase, toward the rooms where light had always spilled under Ari's door. No glow came from that hall now. A lump formed in her throat. She followed Zora through the echoing corridors, boots whispering on stone, the weight of Storm Hall closing around her like a prison.
In the privacy of her own chambers, once the door slid shut and the hellcat curled at her feet, Milada pressed a trembling hand over her heart. She could not feel Ari's brightness through their bond. Fear settled in her bones like cold. Waiting was an agony, but she had no choice. She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the wall, counting breaths and conjuring memory after memory of her brother's laughter to hold onto until she could see him again.