by Rose Reid
Lyom seems to consider this for a moment and at first I allow myself to hope that Lyom plans to let me join but ultimately chooses to go it on his own and I am left in a village hotel with little to do other than twiddle my thumbs. It’s a larger inn than the ones I am used to staying at. In fact, I would not be surprised if half of Erod has taken up residency here.
It reminds me of the Keep. Music playing in the halls, light dancing in every corridor, and the hushed whispers of fifty guests when we first enter, looking at us confusedly. Many of them look as though they are planning on going to the masquerade ball. I see one woman dressed in a pale yellow dress with feathers on her arms, another in a slimmer gown, arms painted with green scales. Yes, definitely headed to the record keeper’s masquerade ball.
Jamas deposits me in my room a few minutes after we arrive. Carnahan and Moher are the two in charge of guarding me, standing watch in the hallway. I can hear them chatting back and forth, occasionally chortling at a trite joke the other has made.
I pace back and forth in the middle of my room, the whole time listening to the boisterous chatter of inn guests down the halls and the words of Carnahan and Moher outside my door in the hallway.
When night falls about thirty minutes later, I hear a knock on the door to my room. I glance up from where I am sitting on the floor, my back to the wall. Jamas pushes the door in and steps up into the threshold.
“The innkeepers have prepared a meal for us.” Jamas tells me.
I halfway ignore him despite the gnawing in my stomach. “Has Lyom returned?”
Jamas scowls. “No, Aerietta. Are you going to eat or not?”
I push myself to my feet and follow him out of the room, glancing at Carnahan as I pass him, since he is the more likely of the two to attempt to trip me down the stairs or something.
The dining room is full of strangers and I am without a disguise, practically naked because of my lack of a mask or cloak or something. I don’t think I have ever been in a room with so many people dressed as myself. It makes my skin crawl.
I instantly feel awkward eating around so many people. It isn’t that they are staring at me with hateful or knowing looks but I just do not feel comfortable. The meal feels almost like a social gathering — the smiles, the laughter. Strangely enough, it reminds me of the Aerie.
I leave before everyone has eaten, returning to the quarters Lyom leased for me, passing Moher and Carnahan, my new shadows, along the way. Knots begin to wind their way into my stomach when I return to my room. I consider what Lyom is doing at this very moment — perhaps he has already been invited into the party, since he is the Swordmaster, and is speaking with the record keeper. What will Anik tell him? If he suspects I am Princess Cress, will he not tell his own king’s Swordmaster?
It takes me less than thirty seconds to concoct a plan, and even less than that to escape through my second-story window and drop down onto the unguarded streets below. The few people that are still drunkenly bumbling about barely notice me. I slip through the darkness and make my way up the pathway to Laeves’ estate.
The wind bites at me as I run towards the estate, stopping when I am within sight of the two guards that stand outside the doors, watching everyone that enters. They will not allow me inside. It would be easy enough for me to get in through one of the second-floor windows but it would not help me once inside.
I frown in thought, watching the young ladies that stroll in past the guards, winking at them slyly. The guards barely lift an eyebrow at them, other than to approvingly assess them.
I need a gown. I feel sick even thinking it. When I’d planned to infiltrate Anik tere’s party back at the inn, I had imagined myself scaling the walls of the building, prying a window open, and slipping through like nothing more than a mere breeze. Never did it cross my mind that I could be back in a dress.
I groan inwardly and look for a way to get a dress. All seamstresses will be closed at this hour. I could slip in and steal one from the racks but that would require returning to the heart of Erod, and Jamas has likely already discovered my absence and is searching the streets for me. Finding one in a nearby home will not do, either. No, I will have to steal a dress right off someone’s body.
I dart through the darkness, slipping up to the house like a shadow and hiding in the tall trees in the center of the circle drive. I watch as carriage after carriage arrives, women all getting out, and I gauge their sizes as they step out of their coaches. So far, I have found several with forms too large and even more with forms too small and short but none that looks like it would fit.
Ten minutes pass, then fifteen, and I grow more and more anxious. Anik could be inside revealing all my secrets to Lyom, and Lyom could be out here in a moment to kill me. The way I see it, I have two options. One, I can wait here until I find a proper dress and risk Lyom already knowing my lineage or I can run now and hope that the Swordmaster does not catch up to me. I am on the border of Adaai, after all. I could be gone in the Menca Denu by hour’s end, never to be seen or heard from again.
One last assignment, a horribly exasperating voice in my mind reminds me. One more assignment, then you are free. If I run, I throw the king’s offer out the window, yet if I stay, I risk being executed by the Swordmaster.
Just as I am contemplating this, another carriage pulls up and a young woman, tall and athletic, steps out of her coach wearing a silk, blue dress. Before I have a chance to think better of it, I leap out of the trees and snatch the woman, clasping my hand over her mouth before she can scream. I drag her into the trees and whip out my belt, pulling it tight around her neck. The woman tries to scream but I stifle it with my hand, hating the weak whimper that escapes her. She shouldn’t have to deal with this.
She struggles to get away from my grasp but I keep her still until her flailing arms stop. Unconscious.
Feeling shame at the pit of my stomach for leaving the woman in only her undergarments, I put the dress on myself, hiding my clothes in the bushes. I curse myself for not choosing a woman with a more practical dress but beggars can’t be choosers. I am forced to leave the dagger Lyom forgot to take from me behind in my pile of clothes and steal the shoes from the woman’s feet. I glance over my shoulder to be sure the long sleeves and full back of the dress adequately cover my Jezdah before whisking my hair into a swirl behind my head and pinning it with several of the woman’s pins. As the last piece of my disguise, I take the silver mask from the woman’s face and pull it over my hair, clasping it in my blond waves. I breathe in a long, steady breath.
This is nothing, Aerietta. I remind myself. Just like any other assignment. You have planned this. Your assassins are waiting for you at the Aerie. You’ll be rewarded for finding Anik Tere. Now get it done.
Stepping out of the shadows when the next coach arrives, I move around the coach, as if I have just stepped out, and make my way to the stairs. The guards at the top barely give me a second look, despite my clean face, devoid of expensive powders. I smile at them, lift the ruffles of my ice blue skirts, and enter the estate.
Music and dancing abound within the mansion, men and woman clapping joyously. The clicking of heels on marble floors rings throughout the ballroom, along with the laughter of a deranged man and the splash and clatter of a dropped chalice filled with wine. I allow myself ten seconds to assess the room, to smell the aroma of buttered bread and costly perfumes mixing together in the air. Unfamiliar voices speak in unfamiliar terms all around me but the faces are not all unfamiliar.
I see Noa Vaid, Blancathey’s record keeper, nearby, conversing with a young woman that could easily be twenty years younger. Next to him is Atash Kutar, Solvitoft’s record keeper, speaking with another record keeper whose name I cannot recall. All around the room I see people I recognize, all of whom wear masks, but they are easy to tell apart. I recognize them by their walks, their laughter, their personalities. It is easy when you have made it your mission to memorize every person on the Cruel King’s favored list.
&nbs
p; My head begins to spin from all the music and I am half afraid I’ll stumble in the woman’s high heels. How long has it been since I’ve been in shoes like these?
I don’t see Lyom anywhere so I begin to walk through the room, making my way to the refreshments table, where there is a refreshing gap in the horde of bodies. When one of the women nearby smiles at me, I attempt to offer an equally friendly grin but I’m not sure how well I do.
The chandelier sways as if someone has recently swung on it, which I would not be surprised by, and nearby a couple tumbles into a powder room. Charming. I forgot how decorous Erod was. How is the honorable Lyom Livingstone managing in this vile place? I can imagine him sneering as he walks past a pair displaying excessive physical attraction.
Another goblet hits the marble floor somewhere nearby. How is Anik Tere managing here? Like Lyom, he is not one for taverns or rambunctious parties. Certainly he can get himself into trouble, but it is more of the old fashioned trouble. I would know; I have been in plenty of trouble with him in the past.
Someone bumps into me from behind and I step out of their way, turning to glare at them. The woman just giggles and sashays past me, flitting her hand in the air like a bird’s wing as she calls to another suitor. I am about to move from my position when I spot another familiar face among the crowd.
Instantly I feel better and worse at the same time. I quickly pick up my skirts and hurry across the room to where the familiar character stands, conversing with two young women our age. I’m barely thinking about it, hardly even realizing what I’m doing until I’m halfway across the floor to him. When he looks up and spots me, his eyes widen and he nearly drops his glass of wine, contributing to the growing puddles on the floor.
Not sure if he has an alias in Erod, I refrain from calling him out but I needn’t. Torrin immediately sets his chalice down and walks over to me, scooping me up in his arms and twirling me around like some his long lost sister. I can’t fight the laugh that bubbles up and I do attempt to push away from him.
“Etta!” Torrin says in a stage whisper upon setting me down. “Heaven’s sake, where —” Torrin stops himself, looking around. He quickly grabs me by the hand and pulls me towards an empty hallway. I am hesitant to follow him, knowing I need to find Anik Tere, but perhaps Torrin has valuable information. After all, he is still within the Cannon.
Torrin stops and turns around, glancing over my shoulder before speaking again, this time a little louder than before. “Where have you been? I heard you were killed alongside King Cress.”
I shake my head almost somberly. “I wasn’t.”
Torrin smirks. “It does seem rather foolish now.”
“And where have you been?” I question.
“Here.” answers Torrin. “In Evrallon, of course, not just Erod. I have been trying to regroup with my sect.”
I frown in confusion. “Where is Gileon?”
“Dead.” Torrin replies without a hint of emotion in his voice. Gileon was hardly his choice of sect leader. “He was in Lydovier meeting with King Cress when Evrallon invaded.” Torrin gives me a more serious look. “Have you heard from Quay?”
I know why he asks. The Cannon is likely a mess now, if it is even still operational. Without King Cress and Quay, who is there to lead the Cannon?
I shake my head. “He has not contacted me.”
Torrin sighs. “Which leads me to believe he is dead.”
“Perhaps.” I agree. “What has become of the Cannon?”
Torrin shakes his head. “Nothing. The Cannon still exists, we are just dwindling. After Cicero proclaimed you dead, we all assumed the Cannon was lost.”
“Cicero works for King Dryden.” I hiss venomously.
Torrin laughs triumphantly, clapping his hands together and taking a step back. “I knew it. I told you, did I not? I told Quay they were bad news. And what has become of Sebastien?”
“Dead.” I answer sharply.
Torrin arches a brow. “Your doing?”
I incline my head. “Of course.”
“And Dominik? Laderic?”
I frown. “Also traitors. I am looking for Dominik now. You wouldn’t have seen him?”
Torrin shakes his head. “Unfortunately not, otherwise I would have asked him about you.” Torrin rakes a hand into his blondish-brown hair. “There is something you should know, though.”
I blink at him, waiting for him to continue. After a second of silence, I say, “Yes?”
“Helleanor is dead.”
My heart sinks a little.
Helleanor, one the only females in the Cannon, and also one of my good friends. We were once in a sect together, before I became my own sect along with Dominik, Laderic, Cicero, and Sebastien. She was relocated into Gileon’s sect and Torrin and she banded close together. Though it was never admitted, I had always believed they had formed a less-than-platonic relationship. Though I did not condone it by any means.
I chew on the inside of my mouth. “How?”
Torrin carries on easily, which makes me feel slightly better. He is taking her death in stride. “That’s the weird part. I was there, Etta, but they did not want Helleanor or me — they wanted you.”
My jaw clenches. My enemies preying on other assassins because they cannot find me. How very typical.
“Who were they?” I inquire, making a silent promise that I will track down whoever killed Helleanor and make them suffer.
“I’m not sure.” Torrin replies, dousing hopes of revenge. “They seemed … different, I suppose. They fought well, and were both extremely strong. They acted like …” Torrin shakes his head. “… like Afterlighters. I know it sounds crazy but can they all really be extinct?”
The thought of Afterlighters still being on the loose isn’t a comforting one so I choose not to answer him. “Well, keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Aye, Captain.” Torrin grins. “What will you do now?”
“I’m still in search of Dominik and Laderic.” I reply. “I need to find Anik Tere tonight, though. You haven’t seen him, have you?”
Torrin nods. “He’s here. I last saw him with a governor at the chocolate fountain.” he explains. “But watch out; I’ve seen more than one palace guard tonight. Including the demonic-looking Swordmaster to the Cruel King. Be on your toes.”
Little does Torrin know I am traveling with him.
“I will.” I answer. “In case things with Anik get ugly, I would suggest you leave.”
“Leave?” Torrin chuckles. “The party’s only just beginning. Besides, perhaps you’ll require my assistance.” Torrin winks and reaches forward, lifting the shorter layer of my light teal gown, running his thumb over the ivory embroidery. “These dress styles are known to be cumbersome.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, please. You’d think by now you’d have learned that I can fight in anything, dear Torrin.”
Torrin just laughs again and shrugs his shoulders. “You know I never learn.” He passes me, walking back towards the party, quickly disappearing into the crowd like the assassin Quay trained him to be. I find myself almost proud of him and how he has turned out. He has been with the Cannon for seven years, only thirteen when he came — the young ones make the best assassins. How far he has come.
I gather myself, lift my skirts, and walk back into the ballroom, avoiding dancing couples and drunken men, my eyes searching for Anik Tere. I close my eyes and try to listen for his voice, waiting to hear his easy laughter or him making a casual joke at someone else’s expense. Anik Tere is one of the few record keepers that has a sense of dignity about him — he is more suited for the throne than King Dryden, though I suppose really anyone is.
I don’t hear Anik. I open my eyes and make my way to the refreshment table, glancing down at my collarbone to be sure my Jezdah is not showing. This would be among the worst times for my Jezdah to reveal itself.
I pour myself a glass of water and drink it as elegantly as I can manage.
“I’m assuming the dress is
stolen.”
I freeze momentarily, hesitating before lowering the glass. I turn to see Lyom standing beside me, his expression a mask of frustration. He wears a beautifully tailored suit with a vest that looks as though it was spun of pure silver. His bright blue eyes only appear more luminous under the glow of candlelight, dark waves of hair contrasting against the silver of his mask. Here he does not look like the demon Evrallon makes him out to be — here he looks like an avenging angel. But who said demons had to look frightening? If Lucifer looked like the Devil, perhaps the angels never would have followed him.
“You’ve assumed correctly. Might I assume you haven’t found Anik yet?”
Lyom frowns. “Jamas didn’t let you out.”
“No.” I agree.
“Then how did you escape your quarters?”
I wave a hand flippantly. “It was actually rather easy. I’ll show you sometime, if you’d like.”
Lyom’s scowl only deepens. “You must return to the inn immediately.”
I tsk. “So you can question Anik on your own? Not likely.”
Lyom sighs dramatically when he sees me pour champagne into my chalice. “You’d better not be drunk already.”
“Absolutely not.” I answer. I offer him the chalice. “Would you like some, Mr. Livingstone?”
Lyom flashes me a fake smile. “Not at the moment.”
I feign a gasp then whisper under my breath. “The Swordmaster drinks?”
“When he feels like it.” Lyom retorts.
I fan my face dramatically. “Oh, how very irresponsible of him. Doesn’t he know that drinking drowns the senses?”
“He does. Which is why he drinks.”
“Why, what a stunning gown!”
I spin, recognizing the voice, then smile enthusiastically. Anik Tere’s admiring expression falters and turns into something like excitement when he sees me.
“Why, Sabel! What a pleasure. Good heavens, you’re just passing through?” asks Anik with a charming smile.
Anik is an older man with silver hair. He is tall and lanky without an ounce of fat on him. His charming smile could win over any young woman — almost any.
