Cyrene’s hands were bleeding again when she made it back to her rooms.
The Queen had made her stagger there under the weight of the enormous stack of papers. She’d nearly tumbled headfirst into ten different people within the Queen’s common room alone—not to mention, the number of other people who had finally woken up and were strolling through the castle.
Over the next couple of days, the castle was occupied with the death of High Order Zorian and the preparations for his funeral, which everyone in the castle was required to attend. Cyrene spent the time leading up to that attempting to glean anything of value from the wreckage of Affiliate Lorne’s life’s work and learning her way around the Nit Decus castle. At some point, she returned to her room to find servants had deposited the remaining three stacks of paperwork in her room, and she despaired over ever finishing.
One day, on her way back to her room, Cyrene found Maelia waiting for her in the hallway. Cyrene had been so occupied with her studies that she had forgotten her promise to the girl, the only friend she had made in the castle.
“Cyrene,” Maelia said in greeting. “I have been looking for you.”
“Hello, Maelia. I haven’t seen you in days.”
Maelia nodded. “I have been…held up. I’ll tell you all about it.”
Cyrene walked beside Maelia the remaining way to their rooms. Cyrene opened her door and found that her things had finally arrived from home. Books lined the once empty bookshelf, jewelry dangled from an open box, and a multitude of clothes burst from her wardrobe.
“I see you’ve been given your full orders.” Maelia eyed the hundreds of pieces of paper neatly arranged on the sitting room table. “What was decided?”
“Foreign agricultural division.” The last thing Cyrene wanted to discuss was her dull research. She wandered over to the bookshelf and thumbed through the titles.
“Oh.”
“It’s as bad as it sounds.” Her finger landed on the book she had been looking for, and she extracted it from the shelf. She stared at the funny symbol that was like a tree missing branches on one side.
“It will get better. The first week is the hardest.”
Cyrene flipped open the mysterious volume and saw that Elea had added a note to the inside.
ASK FOR BASILLE SELBY AT THE LAELISH.
Interesting. Well, at least she had some sort of starting point.
“So, what took you away?” Cyrene snapped the book shut and replaced it on the shelf. The journal with its strange words made her nervous all over again. She had a strange urge to hide it under the floorboard when Maelia left.
She turned back toward Maelia and found her chewing on her bottom lip, her eyes watery.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. Sorry. I just feel so torn”—she glanced at the closed door—“between the Queen and the Consort. I probably shouldn’t say anything, but I didn’t know who else to talk to.”
“What happened?”
“Isn’t it obvious? The Queen is my Receiver. I should want to do as she orders, but the Consort has procured me to work with medicinal herbs. I find myself…drawn to the Consort and to the tasks she requests of me. Have you ever felt such a way?” Maelia’s hazel eyes widened.
“Yes, I know perfectly what you are describing. Have a seat, and I’ll ring for some tea.”
A pang of jealousy hit Cyrene at the thought of Maelia working for the Consort, but it quickly passed. She must deserve it if she was getting the privilege.
A few minutes later, a servant woman rushed into the room with a silver tray, a still hissing teapot, and a pair of cups with matching saucers. Cyrene thanked the woman and poured her friend a spot of tea out of the kettle.
Maelia thanked her, and after letting the beverage cool, she drank warmly from the cup. Once she seemed comfortable again, she began to talk, “I was raised in a militaristic household. My parents were both in the Royal Guard. A Receiver is your commander. You follow the orders perfectly and without question. One order is no different than another.”
Cyrene couldn’t imagine such a life—to never question, to never feel the freedom of your life since it was constantly shaped for you.
“This world here is very different. Court is not as I expected. The Queen expects me to work as a Treasury assistant, as if I’ve had more than a few coppers to my name in my life.”
“Maybe that’s why she has trusted you with it,” Cyrene offered.
Maelia softly shook her head, the wisps of her nearly white-blonde hair brushing against her youthful round face. “I don’t presume to understand Queen Kaliana’s agenda. And if that was the proper course, then why do I find myself enjoying my medicinal training under the guidance of Consort Daufina more than I ever have in the Treasury?”
“Well, I’ve wanted to travel the world my entire life, and now, I’m stuck with this.” Cyrene spread her hands for Maelia to see the stacks and stacks of papers she had to dig through. “I’m not sure we are always assigned to a program that suits us completely. I think we’re meant to adapt—just as you’re adapting. There is nothing wrong with that.”
Maelia seemed to weigh Cyrene’s words as she drank more of the tea. She slightly chewed on her bottom lip in a way that made Cyrene think of Elea.
“You don’t have to come to terms with it overnight,” Cyrene said. She knew that it would take herself a long time to get over being relegated to the agricultural division. In fact, she wasn’t sure if she would ever be okay with it. “How about we schedule a time to go see the city to take your mind off of it?”
Maelia nodded. “I’d like that.”
Everyone in the castle had been given two days off before the funeral for High Order Zorian. Cyrene would have preferred to keep working on her assignment, but she and Maelia had agreed they would go into the city.
While waiting in her bedroom for Maelia before they were to leave, Cyrene removed the leather-bound book from its new hiding place under the floorboard in her bedroom. She felt uneasy about having it in her hands, but she hoped to get answers from the peddler Elea had said she had purchased it from.
Why am I able to see the words when Elea hadn’t been able to? Maybe if she tried to read it, she would know what it said, and then she could go from there.
Taking a seat on the sofa in her living quarters, she opened the book on her lap. She inhaled deeply and stared down at the pretty pages. Cyrene had never seen anything like it. Something demandingly tugged at the back of her mind, but for the life of her, she didn’t know what about the font was familiar. Her fears were creeping in all around her. Since Elea hadn’t been able to see the words, Cyrene believed that something was…wrong with her. What could it mean?
Her eyes roamed the page, wondering what the secret language would unlock. Sighing, she pondered how much time she had before Maelia would show up. She probably still had twenty minutes. Cyrene shrugged and focused on trying to decipher the first sentence.
A second later, Maelia rushed into the room, breaking Cyrene’s concentration. Cyrene snapped the book shut, not wanting to risk Maelia seeing it.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said with a huff. “Got caught up in the corridor. Are you ready?”
Late?
Huh. Cyrene had thought she had twenty minutes. Strange.
Oh well.
“Yes, let’s be off.” She hastily placed the book in her satchel and followed Maelia out the door.
They weaved their way out of the Vines and back through the main corridors, angling toward the stable yard. As they got closer and closer to the entrance, they noticed that Affiliates clustered together. Cyrene recognized one of the girls as Jardana, but she did not know Jardana’s three friends. Maelia and Cyrene shared a confused glance and moved closer to the group to listen in.
“That’s right. High Order Zorian’s death wasn’t an accident. It was murder!” Jardana exclaimed.
“But who do they think did it?” another Affiliate asked.
“The Queen wants everyone to know they are perfectly safe, and they will figure all this mess out, but I know they took in High Order Ahlvie for questioning. He was the one who found the body.”
Ahlvie? No, that didn’t make sense. He had helped her when she came out of her warrior ceremony. Then again, he’d had blood splattered on him, and his clothes had been cut apart.
She blanched at the thought.
Cyrene pulled Maelia away from the other Affiliates.
“What do you think about High Order Zorian’s murder?” Maelia asked.
“I don’t know. I was with Ahlvie that night,” Cyrene admitted.
“What? You were?”
“Yes. He showed me how to get to my rooms. I never suspected—”
“You have to tell someone, Cyrene!”
Cyrene sighed. “Do you think so? I wasn’t involved.”
“But what if he brings it up?”
“Then, if I’m brought in to answer questions about it, I’ll answer honestly, of course. I hope it was all an accident,” Cyrene said as they reached the stable yard.
“Me, too. The Royal Guard always said that death was an unfortunate necessity that should never be taken lightly. I pray the Creator carries Zorian’s soul peacefully from this life.” Her friend’s cheeks flushed.
Cyrene nodded. “As She always does.”
Still, she wondered what was happening to Ahlvie if he was being accused of murdering Zorian. A gut instinct told her that he hadn’t done it, and she always relied on that instinct. But what do I really know about Ahlvie anyway?
The sun beat down on them as they took Cyrene’s horses out of the castle stable yard and into the city. Maelia borrowed her chestnut-brown horse, Astral, while Cyrene took her gray dapple, Ceffy. The pair trotted leisurely out of the castle gates and onto the cobble path that led into the inner city.
Cyrene weaved them down the main path, passing First Class stone houses along the way. She pointed out some of the large stone homes, like her parents’, that housed the wealthiest citizens among them. The houses became smaller and more tightly packed together as they neared the second tier of the city. The crowds grew dense, pushing Maelia closer to Cyrene. Then, they entered the main road, and the path widened considerably.
“This is Broad Street, our largest avenue to the Laelish Market,” Cyrene said.
Guards strode by them. Their leather breastplates were ablaze with the Dremylon golden flames, a scripted D lying across their hearts, and steel blades with a matching emblem hung at their sides. Women and men alike called out to each other in passing, dragging their children behind them while keeping them from dipping their hands in candy booths. Giant signs announced inns and taverns.
Cyrene guided their horses behind the well-established Winespring Inn, a sturdy-looking stone building with a waterfall of wine displayed on the hanging sign out front. She tossed the stableman a few copper coins to take care of their horses.
Once the boy had a hold of Astral’s and Ceffy’s reins, the girls left the stable and walked back to Broad Street. Their first destination was a simple two-story house off the main stretch. No decorative sign hung from the doorway. No welcoming host burst from the entrance upon their arrival.
Cyrene walked up the small staircase to the main door of the building and knocked twice. Not more than a minute later, a woman appeared at the door and frowned when she saw Cyrene.
“What are you doing here, girl?” Lady Cauthorn asked.
“I’ve come for a commission, of course,” Cyrene said. “Lady Cauthorn, this is Affiliate Maelia. Maelia, this is my seamstress, Lady Cauthorn.”
“How do you do?” Maelia said.
“Yes. Yes. Fine. Come in then.”
The girls followed Lady Cauthorn into a sitting room. An assistant hurried in with a pot of tea and some tarts from the kitchen.
“Tell me about this commission.”
“I’ve made a list,” Cyrene said.
She retrieved a sheet of parchment from her bag and handed it to the seamstress, who read through the items listed.
Cyrene wanted eight new gowns—one ball gown in the same design as her Presenting attire, three everyday silk dresses with embroidery, two dresses in a sturdy cotton wool, and two riding habits with divided skirts. She had told the King she would commission a new wardrobe, and she would see it would be done.
“Fine,” Lady Cauthorn said after a moment. “I require half payment up front. I’ll have it all completed in four months.”
“Can you not do it any faster?”
“Eight new gowns, and four are in silks with full embroidery.” Lady Cauthorn ticked off on her fingers. “You’ll be lucky if it’s done in three.”
Maelia’s mouth dropped open. “What do you need all of that for, Cyrene?”
Cyrene didn’t want to tell Maelia her reasoning just yet—that she was doing it in part because of the King and in part because she wanted practical riding gear in case she was able to travel. Neither was something she could impart on someone she had only recently met.
“I know you can do it faster. I want them for court. I need to make an impression,” Cyrene said. “Six weeks.”
“Cyrene,” Maelia hissed.
Lady Cauthorn shook her head. “Only for you, girl. Just don’t forget that favor.”
Cyrene swallowed and nodded. She hadn’t forgotten, but the look on Lady Cauthorn’s face made her pause. How much will I regret the promise of these favors?
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Good. Then, six weeks will be feasible for all, except for the ball gown. It will have to suffice for that to come after.”
“I understand. Thank you.”
She heard Lady Cauthorn mutter some unsavory comments as she and Maelia exited the house, but Cyrene ignored them. She had gotten what she wanted after all.
Cyrene and Maelia walked back to Broad Street and then approached the entrance to the Laelish Market. An inner and outer circle of multicolored booths was compactly pressed together, and patrons busied themselves in the densely populated location. Objects of various sizes, shapes, and functions rested on tables, sat in carts, and dangled from overhangs that blocked the sun. The royal banner hung from a tall flagpole at the center of the market. The smell of freshly caught fish hit their nostrils along with the sweat of the horde surrounding them. Summer was already beating down, and the heat radiating off the Fallen Desert carried through the city.
They picked their way through the crowds, stopping at nearly every shop along the way. All the while, Cyrene searched for Basille Selby, the merchant Elea had claimed sold her the mysterious book.
Cyrene walked by a couple discussing the merits of various types of tea leaves when someone brushed against her shoulder. She turned quickly to make sure no one had tried to pickpocket her, but she didn’t see anyone suspicious. She checked her bag, and everything was still there. As she started walking again, someone whispered something to her, but she couldn’t quite decipher it. She pivoted but found no one close enough to her.
What in the Creator’s name?
Pushing past a group of Carharan merchants waving jewelry at her, she heard the whisper one more time. Like an idiot, she did a full circle in the middle of the market.
Nothing.
Something about this felt…wrong. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and her pulse quickened. She suddenly didn’t feel safe being out in the market with Maelia while a murderer was on the loose. Maybe it wasn’t safe outside of court after all.
“Maelia”—Cyrene caught her arm when she came out of the next tent—“I feel like…someone is following me.”
Maelia’s eyes widened to saucers. “Do you want to go?”
Cyrene looked around at the crowd one more time, but she still didn’t see anyone. “I just need to look at one more tent.”
“All right. I’ll wait for you in this one then.”
Cyrene nodded and then checked out one of the last canopies in a hurry.
“Excuse me,” she anxiously called out.
A rather bulky man with scars on his almost leathery tan hands and arms was seated in a chair. He had streaks of gray touching his temples, but his eyes were ever vigilant.
“Hello. Sorry to disturb you, but I was looking for Basille Selby. Do you know him?”
“Was it ta ya?” he drawled in his thick Eleysian accent.
“Master Selby recently sold me a book, and I had a few questions about it.”
“He won’t take returns if tha’s wha’ you’re af’er.”
“No, no, I don’t want to return the book. I wish to speak with him.”
“He ain’ here. He went ta Levin. Said da pickin’s good,” the man said.
“Do you know when he will return?”
He shrugged. “Coupa weeks. He say he be back when he be back.”
“Wonderful,” Cyrene murmured dryly. “Thank you for your assistance.”
As she left, she tried to be relieved that she hadn’t come back empty-handed. She was determined to return to meet Basille Selby as soon as she could, and hopefully, she would receive some answers about this damn book.
“Find anything?” Maelia asked when Cyrene reappeared.
“Not a thing. Ready to go?”
With excited eyes, Maelia glanced around the market once more, soaking it in, and then she nodded.
The girls retrieved their horses and then trotted back onto the castle grounds.
As soon as Cyrene handed over the reins to a stable hand, a guard appeared before them.
“Affiliate Cyrene?”
“Yes,” she said, stepping forward.
“King Edric requests to speak with you.”
“What is this in regard to?” she asked. Anxiety hit her in the stomach.
“High Order Zorian’s murder,” he said. “Please follow me.”
Cyrene saw that Maelia’s shocked features mirrored her own. The guard had confirmed what they had heard earlier today.
Murder.