Chapter Three: The Flameless Makes the Stele Bow

“I spend memories to learn what I cannot know. Not to have you walk for me.” The letters vanished. The ancient voice inside the stele laughed. “Interesting.” Lain cut his palm. Blood touched stone. One breath passed, then another. Nothing happened. Laughter stirred. “Flameless after all.” “Bastard blood remains bastard blood.” Cassian stood in the fading glory of seven rings, merciful satisfaction on his face. Ysolde frowned. Unlike the others, she saw that Lain’s blood had not run down the stone. The stele had swallowed it. Mordred raised his hand. “The stele refuses—” “Wait,” Lain said. “The ancestor has judged.” “Did you hear him speak?” No lie-flame appeared. Mordred believed his own answer. “No light means refusal.”