The Twilight Senate came next, followed by all the Hartan matriarchs, then the Warrior Tribunal. Last, Mother entered, the sole representative of Damyan and Darina.

No one came to represent Idris.

I was stationed near the grand double doors at the back of the room, which meant that everyone had to walk past me, yet no one actually noticed. From here, I had a wide view of the chamber, and also Aaru—and his hands. We’d be able to communicate by quiet code.

Meanwhile, Nine was positioned near the high magistrate’s bench, her posture straight and waiting. Anyone could see her there, but that was her best way of blending in. After all, who expected an imperial spy in the Fallen Isles? And in the high magistrate’s personal guard? Nine had the perfect disguise, and though she was small, no one could mistake her for anything but deadly. She and Gerel would probably get along as well as sisters.

Movement sounded in the galleries above. Thirty or so people began to file in—some I’d seen last night, or during my previous visits to Anahera. They were all high-end merchants, bankers, or traders: Anaheran elite with a connection to the high magistrate.

Where were the regular people?

Well, I knew that answer. Regular people hadn’t been invited. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have needed Nine’s help to get in. Only Paorah’s friends were allowed to watch today. Maybe every day.

As everyone began to settle into their seats, the hum of voices echoed off the polished wood and obscured any single voice, but from what I could tell of people’s profiles, they mostly wore curious, expectant expressions—and as the door near the high magistrate’s bench opened, everyone grew quiet.

Paorah stepped into the room, robed in deep gold and red, and flanked by a pair of guards. He went to the floor, rather than his bench, and there he studied everyone he’d brought here—by force or by invitation.

“Welcome, friends.” He gazed around the chamber as the last of the murmurs died, and then said, “Thank you all for coming.”

As though they’d been given a choice.

“Last night, we attended a memorial for our brothers and sisters on Idris,” he went on, “but let us take another moment to remember the Silent Brothers, who are forever silenced, and the Luminary Council, who were murdered by rogue warriors just a decan ago.”

Everyone bowed their heads. One of the matriarchs who’d been seated near Mother reached out and offered a hand to hold.

A moment passed.

Then another.

I met Aaru’s eyes—briefly, before anyone could see—and we, too, shared a moment. Of understanding. Of grief. Of longing for a world that didn’t exist anymore.

Then the high magistrate cleared his throat and looked up, and so did everyone else.

“Seventeen years ago, all the governments of the Fallen Isles came together in an unprecedented way: we signed the Mira Treaty. In it, we united ourselves against our enemies on the mainland. We enacted safeguards to protect the dragons of our islands. And we declared that all of us are equal in the eyes of our gods, and that no island should be held below others. We bow only to the light of Noore.”