Chapter 70: A Trap Wrapped in Orihalcum

Retave delivered his opening line unhurriedly, closing the distance to Helia one measured step at a time. His hand settled on her shoulder, and with the other he tilted the open box holding the carving chisel toward her, as though offering a jewel for her approval.

"Well, little sister? Won’t you show us a small taste of your talent?"

Helia fell silent, watching him. Simply presenting the box, it seemed, was not enough for him. Retave lifted the chisel from its velvet bed himself and brought it around toward her, the polished steel catching the light of the great chandeliers overhead.

Gareth moved before the blade could come any closer. He stepped in beside Retave, angling his broad frame so that the space between the prince and the princess quietly widened.

"Prince Retave... a chisel can turn dangerous when it isn’t held properly."

Beside Helia, Rhaiven had understood it too. Retave’s plan was already in motion. He meant to show the entire hall, in front of every Pillar family, that Helia was not the true creator of the Pocket Orb.

"Princess," he murmured from behind her mask, "it would be wiser to invent an excuse this time. Something about your brother’s conduct is not right."

"Of course I know that," Helia whispered back, smile unmoving.

"He has some strange scheme to corner me. But if I retreat now, House Austur, who want to side with me, and every other noble house watching us will slip away and withdraw their support."

She was right, and she knew it. Her position, on its own terms, was a favorable one.

With a Pillar house like Sarnel standing behind her, she had already secured roughly fifteen percent of the votes for the coming selection.

House Austur would add to that. Their share would not match Sarnel’s, but seven percent was a very respectable sum, bringing her total to twenty-two percent.

"And remember, Rhaiven. If we mean to defeat my eldest sister, Andromeda, we cannot afford to lose new support now."

The First Princess was, by any honest reckoning, the favorite for the succession.

Her command of the Bravenheart military bore a striking resemblance to Varka’s own, and she was renowned for her leadership and for a wisdom in decision-making that many considered more rational than the Emperor’s.

Yet there was one trait she shared with Varka more than any other: the instinct of a conqueror. Andromeda was infamous for her hunger for brutal war.

She was called the War Maiden, and though she was not yet thirty, her record on the battlefield surpassed that of any commander or general in the empire.

Many now believed her chances had already climbed past thirty percent of the vote, and House Augusta, without question, stood at her back.

Helia was too consumed by the thought of Andromeda to heed Rhaiven’s warning. She had her own view of the moment, one in which her image, and every action she took in this instant, was being displayed before the whole hall.

If she backed away from Retave’s challenge now, every chance she held of winning people over for the selection would only grow harder to reach.

She lifted a hand, a small, elegant gesture, and Gareth understood it as an order to withdraw.

"Gareth, step back. It isn’t as though my brother would bring something dangerous to me in front of everyone."

If she kept hiding behind Gareth’s shoulder, the guests would begin to wonder why.

"Quite right, little sister. How could I possibly mean you any harm?"

Retave’s smile widened. She had started to rise to the bait.

"Everyone here is dying of curiosity to see how a Forgemaster actually works. We hope that you, who earned a place at Orvis Academy as one, will grant us a small performance."

A wave of low voices rolled through the hall as the nobles and honored guests began to discuss Retave’s push. To some it looked a little forced. But nearly all agreed that watching a Forgemaster at work was a rare thing indeed, and a fascinating one.

A few even saw it as a stage. If Helia could prove her talent here, in front of everyone, it would be the most persuasive evidence she could offer that she deserved to be chosen as the next ruler.

Helia let her eyes drift over the crowd below the dais. Some of the nobles were plainly leaning toward her. Retave’s supporters, meanwhile, watched with open doubt that she could do it at all.

"Of course. I’ll show everyone."

Before most of the room had even noticed, she took the chisel from her brother’s hand with a smile pulled tight at the corners.

Her other hand closed around the Orihalcum, and she sent her mana flowing into the stone, the white vein at its heart brightening faintly in answer.

Her hand rose, the chisel poised to cut the first line of a pattern into the stone. Then Retave’s voice reached her from behind.

"I do hope the pattern you carve is the same one as the three layers of that Pocket Orb you built."

Helia’s hand stopped in midair.

He had said it plainly. Three layers. The very core of how that Relic worked.

"How does my brother know the Pocket Orb has three separate layers?"

A cold unease crept through her chest.

She had the nerve to show her skill before all of them. She truly was a Forgemaster now, taught in recent days by Rhaiven himself.

But she was still new to intricate patterns, and a complex, three-layered design identical to the Pocket Orb’s was nothing she could attempt on a whim. Even Rhaiven had struggled to reproduce it.

"Why have your hands stopped, little sister? Have you forgotten how to make a Relic you only just built yourself?"

This time, Retave was truly cornering her.

Helia had meant to carve a different Relic pattern altogether, anything other than Lucian’s Pocket Orb. That door had just been shut in her face.

"Prince Retave... Isn’t that a little excessive toward my betrothed?"

Kaelyn, who had stood silent until now, stepped forward to Helia’s side.

"Excessive?... Hmm, I don’t think so. I only want to make one thing plain to everyone here. There is a flaw in the Orvis Academy recommendation route for Forgemasters."

Gasps broke across the hall. The prince had just declared, openly, that a gap existed in the Academy’s own system.

"As you all know, the recommendation route for a Forgemaster has no systematic examination like the others. Each applicant is only asked to demonstrate how a Relic works, not how it was made."

Retave turned slowly, addressing the whole room.

"So how are we to know whether a person truly created a Relic, such as this Pocket Orb?"

In truth, what he described was not a flaw in the Academy at all. It was correct that the route held no public trial of Relic-making.

But the Academy had its reasons: those who entered through the Relic route received far more instruction in crafting than the ordinary students did, so anyone who could not make a Relic at all would only be wasting their own time.

And Helia was not incapable. She could make simple Relics, and that had been enough to prove herself to the Academy.

The gap Retave was truly exploiting lay elsewhere. It was Helia’s own claim to be the Pocket Orb’s creator, the weapon he had chosen for this moment. It was the Orb’s brilliance that had earned her recognition as a throne contender.

And if it turned out to be nothing more than an ordinary Relic of her own making, Retave was convinced she would never have been granted that status.

"Curse it. Where did my brother get all this information?"

Helia glanced toward Rhaiven, and her body began to tremble.

Then, without warning, came the sound of a glass striking the floor.

"Helia!"

The whole hall flinched. The voice was one they had not heard all night, heavy with pressure, and it silenced every whisper at once.

"Is it true that you created the Pocket Orb, or was it someone else?"

Retave smiled. Those were the very words he had been waiting for, and they had not come from his own mouth. They had come from Varka, who now stood risen from his seat.