by K. A. Linde
“I would have come to see you, but they wouldn’t let me out of their sights.”
“I know.” Rhea’s boots squelched as she fidgeted. “But we promised to share Presenting letters with each other, and I thought you would have some idea what mine meant.”
Cyrene’s smile grew. She had thought the same thing about Rhea.
The only problem was, Aralyn had said Cyrene was not to tell anyone about the letter—save other Affiliates, members of the High Order, and royalty.
Cyrene bit her lip in consternation. “Did your Advisor tell you not to talk about it?”
Rhea eyed her with mirrored trepidation on her face and then shrugged. “Are we going to start listening to other people now?”
“Of course not.” Cyrene retrieved her paper from her gown and exchanged it for Rhea’s.
Cyrene read Rhea’s Presenting letter, and her eyebrows knit together. Rhea’s letter made no more sense than Cyrene’s own letter with talk of helping those who cannot be helped, submitting to a lost cause, and keeping determination in the face of her greatest fear.
The blank look on Rhea’s face was enough to convince Cyrene that neither of them knew what to make of these cards.
“How do we sort out this gibberish?” Rhea handed Cyrene back her letter, likely having already memorized the lines.
“Study, travel—”
“No, Cyrene. How do we sort this out without each other?” Her voice quavered. She cast her eyes out across the lawn.
“I don’t know, Rhea.” Cyrene’s heart hammered in her chest. “Wha-what happened? I mean, in your Presenting?”
The normal soft lines of Rhea’s oval face hardened. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides. “Nothing out of the ordinary. We went through the ceremony as planned, like we had rehearsed for hours on end. I don’t know how I could have done better. What was yours like?”
Cyrene sighed at the question. “I went off script and…flirted with the King.”
“You did what?” Rhea asked in disbelief.
“I know. I thought I would become Third Class, Rhea. I don’t know why he picked me,” she said, splaying her hands flat in front of her.
“Well, I do,” Rhea said. “You’re brilliant and beautiful and a loyal friend. You deserve it, Cyrene.”
She flushed at the compliment. “Did the King tell you why you were becoming a Second…erm, being put into Second Class?”
“No,” she said, her voice clipped. “They most certainly did not. I tried to ask them, but they kept up with ceremonial talk about the Oath of Acceptance and the Selecting process. Either way, by the end of the week, I’ll be off to Albion, working for my new Receiver Master Caro Barca.”
“Why does that name sound familiar?”
“He’s an inventor, supposedly a genius.” She dismissively waved her hands. “He studies militaristic development and strategy and is working on some new weaponry plans. He sounds like a raving lunatic in the scant literature I could acquire about him. However, I couldn’t find much, and King Edric hardly elaborated.” Her shoulders slumped.
“Didn’t we read about Master Barca?” Cyrene asked.
“I don’t remember the name.”
“Are you sure? Didn’t he invent Bursts?” Cyrene was pretty sure that was where she remembered him. One of their tutors had been fascinated that something that could produce bright colors in the sky just by lighting a fuse. The inventor had never given up his secret.
Rhea’s eyes illuminated in the fading light. “Cyrene, you’re right! How could I have forgotten? I don’t understand Bursts, but I am certain that Master Barca was the inventor.” She threw up her hands in derision and started muttering to herself. After a moment, she turned back to Cyrene, looking aghast. “By the Creator, I am going to be meddling in magic!”
Cyrene burst into laughter at her friend’s outrageous statement. “Now, you are talking about fables, Rhea Analyse! You’ll certainly gain much knowledge in your work with Master Barca, but magic? Magic doesn’t exist! I’m sure Bursts have a perfectly logical explanation that you’ll have to tell me about as soon as I am allowed to travel to Albion.”
“As soon as you are allowed?”
“I’ll not wait one day. You’re my best friend, Rhea.”
After a moment, Rhea brushed the circular pin on Cyrene’s dress. “So, you’re really an Affiliate then? You have the luckiest family in the city.”
Cyrene received the retort like a slap in the face. She wanted to be an Affiliate more than anything else so that she could travel and find adventure, but she had always envisioned that with her best friend at her side.
“You’ll outshine them all, Cyrene,” Rhea said. There was no malice in her voice.
Rhea smiled faintly and then began to dictate a course of action regarding their Presenting letters. Cyrene listened to Rhea’s plan, desperately wanting to believe in it even with its uncertainties.
“Promise me you’ll find time to do the research,” Rhea said as if reading Cyrene’s pessimistic thoughts.
“I promise.”
“Good. I promise, too. No matter what.”
Someone called Cyrene’s name from inside the house.
Rhea’s gaze darted nervously to the open front door, and she grabbed her cloak off of the hook it had been drying on. “I have to go.”
“I love you, Rhea.”
“I love you, too.”
“I’ll see you soon,” she promised.
Rhea nodded and then rushed off the front porch, around the corner, and out of Cyrene’s line of vision. The rain finally halted with Rhea’s departure, but Cyrene didn’t move. Even when she had gone on holiday with her parents to the countryside, she had never been without Rhea for longer than a few weeks. Most of the time, Rhea had come with her.
“There you are!” her mother gasped. “I had no idea why this door was standing ajar.”
“My apologies.” Cyrene scurried inside.
“We’re to leave soon. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Mother. Let me say good-bye to Elea.”
“I’m so proud of you,” her mother said, positively glowing with excitement for her daughter. She planted a kiss on Cyrene’s cheek.
Cyrene smiled faintly at her as she left to retrieve her husband. Elea rounded the corner from the kitchen, entering the hallway.
“I’m…I’m sorry.” Elea bit her bottom lip. “About Rhea. We’re all sorry about Rhea.”
Cyrene released a heavy breath. Although she knew it was not their fault and that her family was sorry for what had happened, they were not the one losing their best friend in a span of an afternoon…just a daughter and a sister.
“I know.”
“Mother simply wants what is best for you.”
“And didn’t I get it?” She flicked the gold pin on her chest.
Elea grabbed her sister’s hand. “Don’t deny that this is what you wanted. There was always a chance that one of you wouldn’t make the First Class, and it was almost inevitable that you both wouldn’t have been made Affiliates.”
“I know, and I can’t change it. I’m just…”
“Angry and sad,” Elea finished for her. She wiped a lone tear from Cyrene’s eye. “You and Rhea are my best friends, too, and now, both of you are leaving.”
Cyrene grappled with Elea’s comments. She had no idea how to respond. “I didn’t mean for you…I wouldn’t want—I can’t make anything right, Elea.”
“You would if you could.”
Cyrene pulled Elea into a hug.
“Take care of Mother and Father for me?” Cyrene asked.
“Of course. I wish I could attend the ball though,” Elea said. “But I suppose I shouldn’t even want to stand in the same room as you when you are wearing this. No one else would look at me.”
Cyrene laughed. “You’ll be an Affiliate next year, and they’ll throw a whole ball in your honor! I’m sure no one will look at me twice by then.”
“That’ll be the day,” E
lea said disbelievingly. “Anyway, I have something for you.”
“You didn’t need to get me anything.”
Elea removed a small book from her purse and handed it to Cyrene. “It’s your birthday. I bought it from an Eleysian peddler in the Laelish Market when I went with Mother and Father to pick out your slippers.”
Cyrene’s hand slid down the cracked leather spine where minute black letters had been artfully written in a language she didn’t recognize. She scrunched her eyebrows together as she attempted to decipher the scrawled words. “Is this Vitali writing?” Her eyes wide, she glanced up at her sister.
“You got it in the first guess. Big surprise.” She bounced on her toes.
“Who travels with Vitali translations? Doma books were burned for heresy after the First Dremylon War.” Cyrene flipped the book to the front. The only thing clearly legible was a symbol with a stick-straight line parallel to the binding and two additional lines painted at an upward angle. It resembled a tree missing branches on the left side.
“I don’t know, but the man was so strange. He kept saying such odd things, like this book was for the Children of the Dawn and the Heir of the Light. Have you even heard of such things?”
Cyrene shook her head as she traced the symbol. It looked familiar, but she wasn’t sure where she had seen it. “It’s so beautiful. I can’t believe he had this sitting out.”
Elea sighed forlornly. “I wish there was more to it than the binding, but all the pages are blank inside. I thought it was worth it for the Doma binding at least. I know how you love history.”
“I do.” Cyrene opened the book to the first page and scrunched her eyebrows together. “You said that it’s blank?”
“It is. See?” Elea pointed her finger to the page.
“What are you talking about?” Cyrene turned to the next page and the next. Iridescent glossy ink covered every single one of them.
Elea’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “I thought you’d be pleased even if the book was empty.”
“You can’t see that?” She jabbed her finger onto one of the pages.
“Cyrene, are you all right? Nothing is there.”
How could Elea not see the words? They were there. All of them were there, shifting from gold, yellow, orange, red, purple, blue, green, and back to gold. The handwriting was superbly fierce with sharp edges and large looping swirls. Cyrene had never seen anything quite like it, but she felt as if she should know what the words said.
“Cyrene?” Elea questioned, her voice soothing.
Their father stuck his head into the hallway. “Darling, your mother is waiting in the carriage.”
“I’ll be along, Father,” Cyrene said, waving him off.
He nodded and ducked out of the hallway.
Cyrene sharply closed the book, suddenly feeling possessive of the small thing. At the same time, she was frightened of its meaning. If Elea couldn’t see the writing, then something must be wrong. Cyrene had no idea what to make of it. How can I see the words and Elea cannot?
“You’re the best sister. Can you make sure this is sent with the rest of my things?”
“Of course I will.” Elea hesitantly took the book from Cyrene and tucked it under her arm.
Cyrene bent down and kissed both of Elea’s cheeks. “I’ll see you as soon as I can.”
“Good luck.”
Cyrene left in a daze, her thoughts lost on this strange book and her grief. The best she could hope for was that her duties as an Affiliate would leave her little time to think about the new development and would mask the sadness of leaving everyone she loved behind.
“By the Creator,” Cyrene whispered.
She stared through the massive double doors that opened to the ballroom where her ascension as an Affiliate would take place. The room had curved ceilings and stained-glass windows in beautiful blues and greens. Black marble, imported all the way from across Emporia at the base of the Barren Mountains, tiled the vast floor. A six-foot-high fireplace roared to life at the far end of the room. Multiple black wrought iron chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, illuminating the room with large wax candles.
A string quartet with their quick-paced melodies guided couples across the open dance floor. Dozens of Affiliates and High Order were in attendance, and gold pins glimmered from gowns of nearly every passing woman.
A shiver ran down her. She pushed back the thought of what Rhea’s reaction might have been. It wouldn’t help Cyrene this evening.
She took a breath and then walked into the room. She had only made it a few steps before someone drunkenly careened into her. She yelped on impact and stumbled forward, reaching out for the nearest person to keep her from toppling to the ground. A faint tear sounded as she seized the sleeve of a man in front of her.
Turning, he snatched her out of midair, twirled her in place, and held her in his arms. Cyrene’s cheeks were flushed in horror.
“Are you all right?” he asked¸ slowly placing her back on her feet.
“Yes…yes, I’m fine.” Her head swiveled from side to side, trying to search out the person who had run into her. What kind of mule headed idiot barreled into someone like that? There he was. She watched a disheveled man with dark hair drunkenly lurch through the crowd.
“Affiliate?” The gentleman reached out for her hand.
“Yes. Sorry.” She glanced at the man for the first time.
Her world tilted as her eyes met blue-gray orbs shining with concern. He had the same strong jawline, the same broad-shouldered stature, the same eyes. She would have recognized the similarities between the man standing before her and the King any day.
“Uh…I mean…”
A knowing smirk crossed his face. “I don’t believe we have been formally introduced.” He reached for her hand and softly kissed it. “I am Crown Prince Kael Dremylon.”
Crown Prince.
The formal title felt like ice throughout her bones. How could I have been so stupid as to tear the Prince’s garment?
She dropped a hasty curtsy. “Your Highness, my apologies for tearing your garment. I am Cyrene Strohm…Affiliate Cyrene Strohm.”
“Ah, the newest member of court, I see,” he said with a laugh in his voice she didn’t understand. “You may rise, Affiliate Cyrene. The ball is in your honor tonight, is it not?”
“Yes, that it is, uh…Your Highness.”
Prince Kael raised her chin. She could smell his heady musky scent, and she felt a small zap of electricity pass between them. She swallowed hard but didn’t look away.
This close, she could tell the differences between him and King Edric. The King was roughly shaven with high-chiseled cheekbones, cropped short hair, and strong, hard features. Prince Kael was more beautiful than handsome with a smoothness that showed he was a youth of only eighteen. But it was the smug smirk on his mouth, the arrogant set of his shoulders, and the daring, almost brazen look in his eyes that truly set him apart from his brother. He looked much more like his mother, Queen Adelaida—the Creator bless her soul.
There was an underlying deviousness she found herself attracted to despite herself.
“Kael will suffice, if you please.”
“Of course, Your High—Kael.” She couldn’t believe she was addressing a member of the royal family by his given name. “I am terribly sorry about your dress garments. Do allow me to replace them.”
“Nonsense. All I’ll require from you, Affiliate Cyrene, is the first dance.” He formally bent forward, offering her his hand.
Cyrene’s head swam with delight. The Prince was asking her for the first dance of the evening. The honor was typically reserved for a queen or consort. At the very least, royalty would bestow their graces on men and women of their high circle. But he had picked her!
She lightly placed her hand in his own, and he wheeled her toward the dance floor. The quick jig ended and flowed into the smoother melody of “Haenah de’Lorlah,” one of her favorites. The movements slow and deliberate, the intimate da
nce was meant to appear as if the couple was floating effortlessly above the surface.
Prince Kael was by far the best dancer she had ever partnered with. Leading her around the room with ease, he made the steps seem as if they were actually floating. It shouldn’t have surprised her, given he was royalty, but having never experienced such an incredible match, she could hardly keep the shock and exultation from her face.
He swept her along, passing a blur of faces she neither recognized nor cared about in that moment. Thoughts of the exotic dress draped across her frame and the firm embrace of the Crown Prince of Byern were lost to her as she kept up with Prince Kael’s graceful footwork.
Their feet stilled on the black marble surface at the close of the song. With a flourish, Prince Kael bowed deeply, and Cyrene sank into a graceful curtsy.
As the emotions of the dance had taken over, her breathing had turned ragged. While the steps had not been difficult, she felt as if she had somehow poured more of herself into the movements. The feeling was exhausting yet exhilarating. She was on fire, and she needed water to even begin to douse the flames.
Cyrene broke from her reverie by the sound of faint applause. She tore her eyes from Prince Kael’s and realized that guests were openly staring at them.
“Cyrene, you are an intoxicating dancer.” Prince Kael drew her away from the crowd.
“Thank you,” she breathed unsteadily. “You are quite good yourself.” She hid the true weight of her statement behind hooded eyes and a coy smile.
“Allow me to get you a refreshment.”
He reached for two goblets of wine, and she gratefully took the glass out of his hand and took a sip. She didn’t drink often, but the wine was extremely high quality, and she could hardly resist.
Cyrene noticed when Prince Kael’s attention was diverted. Following his gaze, she jumped slightly in surprise, nearly slopping the wine out of her glass.
King Edric.
Cyrene fell into a deep curtsy. “Your Highness.”
“Affiliate Cyrene.” King Edric inclined his head as she rose. “Kael,” he brusquely acknowledged his brother, grasping his forearm. “You seem to be capturing all of Cyrene’s attention at her own ball.”
