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THE CONCERN OVER HOW tangled her life had become settled over Cyrele like a weight...yet despite that, she found herself momentarily free of both Matiser and Akaterin. Left to her own devices, right in front of the vault’s entrance. She’d wanted to prevent anyone else from accessing the power inside the temples. And Osena had told her how to do just that—change the locks.
Matiser might return at any moment. Dare she risk it?
But if she didn’t do it now, she might never get another chance.
Scurrying down to the bottom floor of the room as fast as she could, Cyrele made for the piece of glyphwriting that she, Aralath, and Osena’s disciple had deciphered only a few days ago. The one with the instructions for opening the vault door. How could she tamper with this critical passage? She couldn’t make it obvious—the Kavan royals may not have been able to read glyphs, but even they might notice if she scratched out any part of the writing.
Then she spotted the perfect opportunity, among the words that read, ‘The door is sealed when the brazier is empty of power from the second temple’. The glyphs for ‘second’ and ‘fourth’ were similar enough that she could change the former into the latter. The resulting symbol would look a little sloppy for it, but only someone who knew how to read the language would notice.
Cyrele pulled out her chisel and made the change, heart hammering in her chest as she calculated how much care she could afford to take, how much time she might have before Matiser returned. A distant thud made her finish in a hurry, though for all she knew, the sound may not have come from the prince.
Sparing a quick look to assess her work, she decided it was good enough. The door should no longer open by the power of the second temple. Either it would open by the power of the fourth temple or, if Cyrele’s alteration had created a contradiction with any other piece of glyphwriting in this room, it wouldn’t open at all.
She’d done as much as she could.
But just as she began scrambling back towards the platform where Matiser had left her, the soft thud of footsteps echoed from above. Matiser was close. And she would never make it back to the platform in time.
There had to be something she could do that wouldn’t rouse his suspicions. What was plausible? Matiser had left her alone in a room filled with an ancient language that she’d dedicated herself to studying, so surely he must expect her to be curious?
Quickly, Cyrele bolted across the room to stand in front of another passage of glyphwriting, far from the one she had tampered with. He would still catch her at the room’s ground level rather than the platform where he’d left her—she couldn’t avoid that—but at least he was unlikely to guess her actual purpose.
She stared at the glyphs, the language blurring before her eyes, listening for those footsteps with every bit of her attention. They paused for a moment, filling the air with a crushing silence, but still Cyrele dared not look away from the glyphs. Then the footsteps reappeared, coming closer and closer.
“There you are,” Matiser said, thankfully sounding bemused rather than angry.
Gathering up her courage, she finally turned to look at him—and promptly flinched back at the sight of an unconscious Kamene behind his shoulder, floating in the air.
Her reaction earned her a chuckle from the prince, which had questionable implications as to his sense of humor. “The princess is fine,” he said. “She hadn’t the strength to stay conscious after her ordeal. This is the most comfortable way to transport her back to the barges, I assure you.”
She didn’t know if she believed him—Osena’s disciple had the power to put Kamene to sleep for his own convenience, so Matiser surely did as well. But she nodded nonetheless.
“Did you not consider it might be dangerous to come down here by yourself?” Matiser asked.
Cyrele hadn’t considered it, actually. Not after spending so much time here without activating a single trap. But what excuse could she give that the prince might believe? “I...assumed that you’d left me here because it was safe? Was I wrong?”
A flash of genuine surprise appeared behind Matiser’s eyes—and why not? She’d just insinuated that she trusted him, like some sort of fool.
“You weren’t wrong,” he finally answered. “I’m simply surprised by your boldness. You seemed quite afraid when I left you.”
“I was—and I still am, but...” she trailed off, looking back to the glyphwriting before her, trying to suggest that her curiosity had gotten the better of her.
“I see,” he said, turning his gaze to the passage she’d chosen. She didn’t even know what it said—what if she’d chosen a dangerous one? “What do you make of it?”
She turned back to the glyphs, so nervous that she couldn’t put her mind to deciphering any of it. “I’m not sure about this one,” she admitted. “The glyphwriting here is more complex than anything I’ve seen in my life. I could spend the rest of my life studying it and still not understand all of it.”
“A shame,” the prince said. “I would have liked your take on it. But this isn’t one of the important ones anyway. Rest assured, we understand that these translations are difficult. We won’t ask you to perform miracles. But there will be time enough to talk later, after we’ve returned to the barge.”
He turned and started walking, the princess hovering after him. And Cyrele following after Kamene’s unconscious body, discomfited by the entire situation.
Still, her position at the back meant that the prince couldn’t see her skimming over every piece of glyphwriting that they passed. He wouldn’t know she was searching for any information that could gain her the slightest advantage, that could help her stay ahead of the Karits who intended to use her. The Kavan royals had been pursuing their goals for years and years, leaving her far behind when it came to staying pace with their machinations...but they couldn’t read glyphs, let alone write them. Which meant she could overtake them—in theory, at least.
In practice...well. The sheer extent of the incomprehensible glyphwork that surrounded her suggested she would need as much luck as skill to overcome her disadvantages.
But she’d already tampered with their secrets without them knowing. She’d already made a difference. No matter what happened next, she refused to simply let them control her. Her actions would matter, even if she was the only one who knew it.
#
THE FIRST TIME CYRELE had boarded a barge for Lesra Kar, her purpose was to act as Kamene’s secret tool, performing feats of glyphwriting that no one would ever see. This second time, everyone knew that she was glyphwriter. And yet despite her more public role, evidenced by the furtive glances the crew kept tossing her way, Cyrele carried more secrets than ever before. Deadlier secrets, at that.
So of course, Aralath soon appeared at her side, ready to question her the moment Matiser disappeared somewhere with the princess’ body. “What happened?” the other woman asked in a quiet voice, ushering them away from prying ears under the guise of fussing.
“I’m not certain,” Cyrele said—and that wasn’t entirely a lie. She truly didn’t know if Matiser had wanted to frighten her or test her, let alone whether he’d accomplished his goal to his satisfaction. “I think he intended to warn me off from crossing him? I didn’t admit to understanding much of the glyphwriting inside the temple.”
An expression of unease passed over Aralath’s face. “Don’t be too useful to the Karits, Elei Cyrele. I prefer it when we aren’t at odds.”
The warning filled the air with an unwelcome tension. “As I already told you, I wasn’t useful to him.” Cyrele pointed out.
“I know, but...you can’t afford to be useless to them either.” Aralath’s shoulders suddenly slumped. “Ah, but I shouldn’t have told you that.”
And yet she had, even knowing the conflict it presented. Cyrele couldn’t help a twinge of gratitude.
But whatever crumbs of sympathy the two of them offered each other now wouldn’t matter against the larger forces colliding around them. Aralath wanted to challenge the Karits, which meant anything that benefited them would hurt her. Cyrele might very well have to accommodate the royals in some things to survive, no matter if she sabotaged them in other ways. It was a matter of life and death for the both of them—and Cyrele found herself genuinely saddened that it had come to this.
“Elei Cyrele?” a startled voice said from behind them.
They turned to find a somewhat bedraggled Enosis, huddled in a light shawl made of Kavan linen. Underneath the shawl was the same dress she had worn on the day of the shipwreck, caked with a layer of dried mud. And then there was her expression—the woman Cyrele remembered had worn a mask of near-perfect placidity like armor, but this one...looked lost.
Aralath excused herself, though not without tossing back one pointed reminder for Cyrele to take care. Their paths would cross again, no doubt—either Aralath would want Cyrele’s help or the Karits would ask Cyrele to do something Aralath couldn’t allow. Only time would tell if they’d end up as friends or foes, assuming they both lived long enough to find out.
Enosis shuffled closer to Cyrele. “You survived?”
“I washed up on shore. What happened to you? To everyone else?”
Her fingers clenched around her shawl. “I don’t recognize...anyone. Not the servants and not the sailors. They told me the prince rescued the princess from bandits, that I could proceed exactly as I would’ve before, but”—her voice cracked—“none of the princess’ retinue is even here. How can anything be like it was before?”
It couldn’t. Like as not, even Kamene would wake up changed.
“I’m sorry,” Cyrele told her, knowing there was nothing else she could say.
“If it is only you and I left,” Enosis began hesitantly...before her voice strengthened with a sudden determination. “Then we shall simply have to make do on our own. The Kavans might assign additional servants to the princess, but it won’t be the same as having her own people to rely on. You and I will have to be the pedestals that lift her up into her husband’s notice.”
...they would have to be what? Pedestals, of all things?
For one long moment, Cyrele couldn’t fathom why Enosis thought any of that mattered anymore. But then she realized that, while the role that the princess and her retinue played in Cyrele’s life had diminished greatly over the past few days, the same was not true for Enosis. Enosis remained chained to a life as Kamene’s servant just as Cyrele had been chained to the carcass of her dead project for so long—come to think of which, as soon as Cyrele finally had possessions again, she should drop that artifact at the bottom of the deepest trunk she could buy and never touch it again.
But she could hardly speak any of those thoughts to Enosis. There was no sense in alienating the other woman the very first time that she’d reached out to Cyrele. Where was the harm in humoring her?
“I suppose we shall have to be pedestals, then,” Cyrele said, trying not to feel ridiculous as the words left her mouth.
So of course Matiser walked behind Enosis at just that moment. Join me at the bow at your earliest convenience, Elei, his voice spoke into her mind, polite yet direct—she’d have known it was him even if he weren’t the only Karit here.
He hadn’t asked her to drop everything, but it was still better not to keep him waiting. “Perhaps we should figure out where the princess is resting, so we can tend to her once she wakes?” Cyrele suggested.
Enosis blinked. “Yes, of course. I should ensure her chambers are in order.”
With that, they parted ways, leaving Cyrele free to find the prince.
Matiser stood at the very front of the boat, facing the endless span of water and storm before them. The sailors gave him his space, but otherwise ignored him—odd behavior around a royal, so it was likely Matiser himself had requested it.
“My people are setting up a space near your princess, where you and the other servant can rest,” he said as she approached. Then his tone turned wry. “It will give you a chance to plan for how she’ll lift the princess to Avenah’s notice.”
Oh, he had heard that? Cyrele felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“It’s not a bad idea,” the prince added.
It...wasn’t? But hadn’t he been the one to interrupt every interaction between Kamene and Avenah, during that first conversation over the mirror?
Has he told you how he’s decided to make me suffer yet? asked a voice in her mind, sounding put out.
“Avenah,” Matiser said, with a trace of exasperation. “You’re fully aware that you interrupted me before I had the chance to say anything.”
What was going on?
My disloyal cousin has decided I should take an interest in my new betrothed.
“I didn’t say that. I said you should allow people to think you’ve taken an interest.” Matiser looked at Cyrele. “Removing you from the princess’ household would bring unwanted attention. It’s safer for you stay with Kamene. The problem is that Avenah likes to send his wives away from court, which won’t do.”
And when I don’t send her away, what will people think? I still say we should send Cyrele to Akaterin. Our cousin will cooperate, I can make sure of that.
“Not good enough,” Matiser said. “Akaterin is known for her scheming, so her moves are watched. Senna would be better, but—”
—she hates us, Avenah finished for him. Oh, I suppose if I must, then I will play the besotted fool for you.
“No one is asking you to—”
I will woo my betrothed with poetry and invite her to our excursions. I will make an effort to find out what she likes and shower her with gifts. I—wait, I don’t have to neglect my mistresses, do I?
“Simply letting Kamene stay at court will be sufficient.”
Because Atra and I have been friends since childhood. It would be rude to ignore her in favor of someone I’d only just met.
“Avenah,” Matiser snapped.
Fine, fine. But Cyrele, do me this one favor. Have Kamene win me over first, will you? I should like to retain a sense of pride.
“I...will try, your highness?” Cyrele said, unable to hide her uncertainty.
“She has better things to concern herself with, Avenah.”
Just until the wedding! We both know that none of us will have time for anything useful until that diplomatic travesty is over with.
Matiser let out a heavy sigh, while Avenah continued trying to persuade him—of what Cyrele should do, because of course her time was a matter of their convenience. The princes were already promising to give her no peace until she found some way to circumvent their power.
And yet, this meant that Avenah and Matiser couldn’t progress with their plans for her until after the wedding, whatever those plans might be. It was impossible to believe that their intentions were innocuous. Not with the sort of games they’d been playing with her life, with the lives of the people on those barges—even with Kamene’s life. She had to make use of this opportunity to learn more about the temples.
Clearly, the next chapter of her story would begin as soon as they reached Lesra Kar. Cyrele needed to ensure it went differently from the journey to get there. She was no hero from the epics, but that didn’t mean she should simply allow the world to overpower her the way the currents in the river had. She had to fight back. Against Kamene, against the princes, against Akaterin. Even against Aralath, if it proved necessary.
This time, she would resist anyone—anyone at all—who strove to control her.
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