THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR-Chapter 351: BENEATH THE SUN’S GAZE

Aria's frustration finally erupted. "And what happens when the performance ends? When they tire of this charade and decide more direct methods are warranted? We'll have squandered our opportunity!"

"Your concern is noted," Salomonis replied, not bothering to open his eyes. "And unnecessary."

"Unnecessary?" Aria's voice rose dangerously. "Our primary mission lies in ruins, Siegfried is missing, and the Duke's agents are likely already en route to Lysora County. Yet you lounge there like a cat in sunlight!"

Kairos turned from the window, his features still concealed within his hood. "Lady Stormweaver, perhaps you've forgotten whom you address."

Something in his tone cut through Aria's anger. She turned, white hair swinging with the suddenness of the movement.

"Forgotten what, exactly?"

"The legend of the tower." Kairos's voice dropped lower, adopting the cadence of a storyteller. "When the newly appointed Minister of Lysora first arrived at court, the noble houses that shared commonwealth interests in the golden coast protested. An outsider appointed without their consultation? Unthinkable."

Aria's expression remained skeptical, but her electrical discharges diminished as she listened.

"They dispatched their finest investigators," Kairos continued, "to uncover whatever leverage might remove this inconvenient minister. Do you know what they discovered?"

Salomonis released a soft snort from his cot, apparently amused by the recounting.

"They discovered a man who had declined the position of Archmage at the Aragorn Spire—declined it, Lady Stormweaver—citing that the administrative requirements would interfere with his afternoon naps."

Salomonis's lips twitched slightly at this characterization.

"A man designated 'The Spellwright' for his mastery of linguistic magic so profound that he once rewrote a hostile invasion force's battle orders by altering the semantic resonance of their command scrolls from three miles away. Without line of sight." Kairos gestured toward Salomonis's relaxed form. "The architect of seventeen revolutionary theories of arcane craft, whose published works are considered heretical by three separate magical traditions simply because they render centuries of established practice obsolete."

Aria glanced between Kairos and Salomonis, her initial fury gradually transmuting to reluctant consideration.

"If our esteemed Minister appears unconcerned," Kairos concluded, "I suggest we trust that appearance is deliberate."

Throughout this exposition, Salomonis had maintained his reclined posture, eyes closed, the perfect image of indolent unconcern. Only the most perceptive observer might have noticed the slight tension in his fingers or the carefully measured rhythm of his breathing.

Kairos turned back to the window, his thoughts now private. How did she do it? he wondered, not for the first time. How did Lady Elara convince a man of such caliber to exchange the academic prestige of the Spire for service to a remote county? What did she offer that the empire's greatest magical institution could not?

His contemplation was interrupted by the distinctive sound of the cell's locking mechanism engaging in reverse. The heavy iron door swung inward with rehearsed precision, admitting two Sun Brigade soldiers who entered with perfect synchronization, taking positions on either side of the doorway. Their armor gleamed with mirror polish, golden sun rays extending from their breastplates like metallic flames.

Between them appeared Sir Duk Villanties—Death Sun himself—his imposing presence filling the modest cell. The crown-like extensions of his helmet created the illusion of greater height, while the featureless faceplate with its single vertical slit revealed nothing of the man beneath.

"Minister Salomonis," he announced, his voice resonating with that strange quality that seemed to bypass normal hearing. "The Council of the Sun awaits your presence."

Only now did Salomonis open his eyes, rising from his cot with unhurried movements. "How delightful," he remarked dryly. "I do so enjoy these impromptu social engagements."

As he stepped forward, both Aria and Kairos moved to flank him. The Sun Brigade guards immediately crossed their ornate spears, blocking their path.

"Only the Minister," Death Sun clarified, the blue gem at his throat pulsing once with inner light.

"Unacceptable," Aria responded immediately. "We are his advisors and legal witnesses. Under Imperial Code Section Twelve—"

"You are detained persons of interest," Death Sun interrupted, the temperature around him noticeably dropping. "You will remain here until summoned. If summoned."

Salomonis, who had been adjusting his rumpled robes with fastidious attention, looked up with sudden sharpness. "Sir Duk," he said, his previously languid tone replaced by something altogether more precise, "Lady Aria Stormweaver carries the hereditary title of Stormspeaker from the Eastern Archipelago. Lord Kairos Vale represents the Ninth House of the Imperial Heartlands. Both are nobles of the Golden Coast under my administrative jurisdiction."

He straightened to his full height, which—while not matching Death Sun's imposing stature—carried its own authority.

"They will be treated according to their station, regardless of current suspicions. Or shall I request formal clarification of their status when I address the Council?"

A tense silence filled the cell. Despite the helmet obscuring his features, Death Sun's displeasure radiated from him like physical heat. After several heartbeats, he inclined his head in the barest acknowledgment.

"They will remain under guard until separate accommodations befitting their station can be arranged," he conceded, though his tone suggested the arrangement would be far from urgent. "For now, Minister, you will accompany me. Alone."

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Salomonis offered a gracious nod, as if the compromise had been Death Sun's idea entirely. He turned briefly to his companions.

"Patience," he advised quietly. "All pieces must move at their appointed time."

With that cryptic counsel, he allowed himself to be escorted from the cell, the heavy door closing behind them with ominous finality.

The journey through the Castle of the Sun was deliberately designed to impress upon visitors—willing or otherwise—the majesty and power of the imperial seat. Salomonis walked the gleaming marble corridors without obvious interest, though his keen eyes catalogued every detail. The positions of guard rotations. The subtle shimmer of wardstones embedded at regular intervals along the walls. The patterns of magical resonance that hummed beneath the visible architecture, forming layers of protection and surveillance invisible to untrained senses.

So much raw power concentrated in such confined space—yet deployed with surprising inefficiency, he noted. Later, perhaps, such observations might prove useful.

They ascended a grand spiral staircase whose steps glowed faintly from within, responding to the magical signature of authorized personnel. At the summit, an arched passage extended before them, culminating in massive double doors of ancient heartwood. The doors featured an intricate sunburst pattern wrought in precious metals, the central solar emblem radiating golden light that seemed almost alive.

The Sun Brigade guards took position on either side as Death Sun gestured for Salomonis to approach. The doors swung inward silently, revealing the Council Chamber beyond.

Salomonis drew a measured breath, composed his features into an expression of pleasant neutrality, and stepped forward to face whatever interrogation awaited within the chamber's ancient stones.