Page 19
Notos, give me strength.
If the god is privy to my thoughts at all, he apparently holds no concern for the plight of a fugitive spy. I’ve sent up countless prayers, yet all have gone unanswered. Perhaps it’s time I start sending them elsewhere—to Zephyrus, god of the West and Spring Wind, or Eurus, of the East and Autumn Wind.
Honestly, I’d pray to anyone if it meant I wasn’t stuck here.
I had thought Maxim was joking about the master of servants, but if Dimos clears his throat one more time, I swear I’ll shove a rag down it and call it cleaning.
The thought carries me through another swing of the brush, the bristles scraping against cold marble in punishing arcs. My knees ache against the floor, but it’s nothing compared with the sting of Dimos’s sharp, nasally voice echoing down the corridor.
“Efficient, silent, unseen. Think of yourselves as shadows, dear girls, not distractions.”
I bite down on the retort clawing its way up my throat as I dip the brush back into the murky gray water. It’s the same mantra he’s drilled into us every morning for the past week.
It’s ironic that even though my only goal is to disappear within this palace, I feel more like I’m fading away than like a trained spy. Reduced to an invisible girl in golden halls, eroding one layer of grime at a time.
It’s not the work or even Dimos’s endless tirades that threaten to break me. It’s the silence. I haven’t heard a whisper of Aella’s disappearance. I’d been hoping for some kind of update from Myna by now, but instead, she’s disappeared back into the shadows without a word.
I sit back on my heels, letting out a slow breath as my arms fall limp at my sides.
“Don’t let Dimos see you slacking,” a voice whispers from my left.
I glance over to find Espris, her fiery hair catching the light as she teases me. A fire nymphai and a notorious gossip within the palace, she happens to be one of the two servants I share a room with, which has worked in my favor—she seems to know everything about everyone and is more than willing to share.
The other, Thena, has been less than desirable company.
“Please tell me it’s not always this busy,” I murmur, dragging the brush across the floor again.
“Fortunately not, and things should settle once the champion selections are over.”
I pause, glancing up as a pair of servants scurry past, their heads bowed beneath woven garlands of wild roses and banners in the colors of the sun and sea.
With everything that has happened, I’d forgotten the Empyrieos Games are scheduled for the next quarter, marking another four years passed since the God War ended centuries ago, but not before the final battle shattered the realm. The Anemoi’s wrath and power split the Empyrieos into four kingdoms, each divided by sea and bound to season. And yet, our people choose to celebrate that devastation with four days of spectacle and chaos.
Next month, each kingdom will hold a series of trials to select two champions to compete on behalf of their home in the Games. To be one of those chosen is framed as the highest honor, a chance for glory and renown, but the truth is much darker. The arena is a death trap, and the champions are often desperate souls willing to risk their lives for the slim hope of rewriting their fates. And while the champions perform and spill blood on the sands, the nobles host political games of their own, trading alliances and betrayal like currency.
The people here are blissfully unaware. They have no clue that their princess has vanished, no knowledge of exactly how the devastating Royal Trials unfolded in the Eastern Kingdom, and no comprehension of the looming threat hanging over us all.
“It’s exciting, though, isn’t it?”
Espris’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I bite back a derisive laugh.
“Very.” It’s a lie, but the champions’ selections have come at a very convenient time. With the preparations required, there’s been an influx of new servants at the palace, so I’ve become another unfamiliar face among many.
A shadow passes over me. A rush of air follows, and my bucket goes flying.
Grimy water seeps into the hem of my skirts as it spills across the floor, and I turn to face the culprit.
Prince Kallias.
Avoiding him is easier said than done when my job is to scrub the very floors he graces with his presence each day. He retreats without a word, the deep sapphire of his tunic clinging to his broad shoulders and flowing down to his narrow hips. A circlet of gilded laurel leaves crowns his rich mahogany hair, glowing under the chandelier lights above.
He strides away, a collection of nobles trailing behind him.
My fingers tighten around the brush, and I turn my face away to hide the flush on my cheeks, all too aware of Espris’s watchful eye. The last thing I need is her spinning this into something worth whispering about. She’s not one of the Aviary’s birds—at least, I don’t think she is—but I still need to watch myself around her.
It’s difficult not to view everyone with suspicion, especially knowing the Aviary. They’re bound to have someone planted here. The charm Aella carved for me should hold; it’s altered my appearance enough that only someone who is familiar with me would see through the disguise. It might have been more ideal to change the age I appear as well, but that would demand a much greater sacrifice to the goiteía.
“Incoming,” Espris whispers.
