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A WARM, ORANGE LIGHT shone through the next doorway. It was only once Cyrele turned a corner that she could see the source—a wall of fire blocking the passageway before them.
Matiser stepped towards it and the flames instantly receded into the walls, leaving behind only the glow of embers embedded into the stone. The prince strode forward with confidence while Cyrele followed on his heels, half-afraid the fires would spring up again just as she tried to walk past.
But they didn’t. And so, Matiser’s vast power allowed him to counter yet another deadly trap with ease.
Past the embers lay a startlingly familiar room, as Cyrele found herself in the chamber overlooking the entrance to the very same vault she’d helped to open only a few days ago—but this time, she was on one of the upper levels, where fires just like the one the prince had doused provided illumination for the room. Why would Matiser bring her here, so close to the vault whose existence he wanted to keep hidden?
The prince hesitated. “Wait here,” he finally said. “I’m sure you can imagine the punishment for stealing my cousin’s bride. There is no need for you witness it.”
That meant Kamene and the captor were close by...and yet, despite bringing Cyrele all the way here, he wanted to leave her behind as he dealt with them? Inside the room with the vault?
That wasn’t the plan, a voice suddenly spoke to her. Why has Matiser gone behind our backs to change it? Has he gone soft? But it was his idea in the first place!
Cyrele stiffened, unsure who it was this time. She hated that the Karits had made themselves so comfortable inside her mind.
Giving Matiser an acquiescing bow, she thought back to the voice, I don’t understand. How can you hear Prince Matiser without him knowing?
Oh, does he truly not realize I’m still in his mind, then? It would be marvelous if that were the case. He knows that I can hear him but not see him whenever I listen in, so if he wants to keep secrets from me, all he has to do is communicate without speaking—Cyrele took note of that information for her own use—meaning that he must either not know or not care. Which one do you think it is?
Matiser moved to one of the staircases that led to the higher platforms, disappearing into another doorway. He truly was leaving her here. Was he that certain that no harm could come from allowing a glyphwriter so close to his secrets?
Would it hurt him in any way if you knew he’d changed his mind about... What exactly had been the plan Matiser had supposedly come up with? To make her watch what he did to Osena’s disciple? To let her see with her own eyes what happened to those who crossed his family? ...scaring me?
Warning you, more like. We want you to cooperate with us. Each of us will give you very different incentives to do so. I prefer rewards, Matiser prefers threats—except not today, apparently. So I suppose he loses nothing by letting me know he’s reconsidering his tactics in your case. Perhaps he thinks you’re frightened enough as it is?
This was all so confusing, especially since Cyrele didn’t know who to believe. It didn’t surprise her that Matiser had ulterior motives, but it did surprise her that he hadn’t made her watch him kill Osena’s disciple—she didn’t even know the man’s name—after dragging her all this way. Why change his mind?
Well, none of that matters anymore, does it? Here you are, deep inside the Temple of Lost Hope, with only me for company. Let’s make good use of this opportunity.
A wary dread pooled in Cyrele’s stomach, because this way lay danger. She had no desire to give any of the Karits what they wanted—but she also couldn’t afford to make an enemy of even a single one of them.
You still have your mirror? the voice said. Use it now.
Cyrele almost wanted to laugh at the irony. This moment was always coming for her, of course, because one of the royals would always have found some use for an artifact as powerful as the mirror. But that it should come for her now of all times...
Your highness, I’m not certain if the mirror still works. There was an accident—it’s been cracked.
Has it? What a shame. Still, I want you to try. This is my best chance to see inside the temple and I don’t want to squander it.
That was an odd sentiment coming from a Kavan royal. As she pulled out the mirror and began pressing glyphs into the wax, Cyrele turned part of her attention to puzzling over what the voice must have meant. The Kavan royals must have entered the temples—how else could the voice have the power to enter Cyrele’s mind?—but if not all of them had been inside every temple...
Then this voice was suddenly far less likely to be Avenah. As the heir, Avenah would one day wield the power of the Maelstrom. Perhaps the Maelstrom didn’t want his heir to have all that power while he still lived, but if Matiser had access to the Temple of Lost Hope, then surely Avenah did as well.
Lady Akaterin? Cyrele ventured.
Well done, the voice thought back. I knew you would figure it out.
Then the last glyph to activate the mirror was done and there was nothing to do but wait to find out if it worked.
The magic from the mirror is genuinely weaker than it was before, Akaterin told her as the mirror remained inert. While the artifact’s function appears to be intact, its means for powering itself has broken. It should be enough for my purposes today, but I believe it will run out very soon.
That revelation should have been bittersweet. But somehow, Cyrele only felt relief. After today, she could never be used as an instrument to work the mirror again.
Now, do not speak a word out loud. We don’t want Matiser finding out what we’re doing, trust me—he’s truly not as nice as he’s pretending to be.
Akaterin’s features appeared in the mirror, the cracks running along her face. Her eyes roamed from side to side, taking in the temple’s interior.
Show me, she said.
Cyrele tilted the mirror, moving it to give the Karit a view of the room.
If only I could sink into this mirror and come out of the one you’re holding, Akaterin thought, wistful. Then we would figure out how to open those vault doors and I could claim the power to walk through the barrens’ storm. But sadly, I can only stare at those doors in longing.
This was far more than any of the royals had ever revealed about themselves. Cyrele could theoretically hurt Akaterin with this knowledge if she disclosed it to Matiser and Avenah. Why would Akaterin give such sensitive information to someone with unknown motives and unformed loyalties? Was she acting to create such a loyalty early, before her rivals could? Did she have the means of protecting herself should Cyrele betray her? Was this a test that the three royals had collaborated on?
Cyrele, I want you to help me get inside this vault. My cousins have this power, but to me, it is denied. Is that fair?
There was a hunger in Akaterin’s words, a desire to overcome the obstacles in her path—how could one of the mighty Kavan royals know enough to fake that? Akaterin had to be telling the truth. But that didn’t make Cyrele any less wary of her.
Help me, Akaterin implored. We will figure out how to reach this temple without my cousins’ powers. We will open the vault together. I’ll reward you greatly—before, during, and after. I will do much more for you than Matiser and Avenah ever would, and I won’t expose you to their wrath, either. Avenah would play with you like a cat with a toy, Matiser might stop being uncharacteristically delicate with you at any moment—he’s torturing a man to as we speak, you know.
Cyrele shuddered. She’d intellectually understood that Osena’s disciple had given himself up to die. But she didn’t know how to handle the knowledge that he was suffering at this exact moment. And there was nothing she could do about it. It was all she could do to avoid ending up in the same place as him.
I’m not like them, Akaterin continued. I will protect you and provide for you. Help me.
Lady Akaterin, a Kavan royal with unfathomable power, had asked Cyrele for her help—genuinely asked her, rather than demanding it—and yet, the help Akaterin wanted would grant her still more power. Cyrele didn’t know which part of this moment was the most difficult to believe. A royal making an impassioned plea to a servant? Someone with Akaterin’s abilities craving still more power? Akaterin going behind Matiser’s back? And yet, for all that Akaterin apparently had less power than Matiser and Avenah, for all that she had shown at least the slightest consideration to Cyrele’s perspective, she was still immensely dangerous to displease.
There was only one answer that Cyrele could safely give her. Whatever the consequences of doing so, and whatever the consequences of eventually failing to give the royal what she wanted...that was a problem for later.
Of course, your highness. I wish I could promise you success, but I can only promise you my best efforts.
Your best effort is all I ask for, Akaterin told her, pleased to have gotten her way—as far as she was aware, at least. Now, turn off that mirror before Matiser returns. He’s taking his time, true—sadistic man—but there’s no sense in tempting fate further than we already have.