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1
RHEA
I wasn’t always the thing staring back at me through the stained glass window. Calluses, chapped lips from too much time training outdoors, and not enough care to apply any balm to my skin. Eyes void of emotion. Empty. Cold.
I used to be a foolish village girl a lifetime ago.
It’s been three years since my past was well and truly wiped from the map. Three years of blood and bruises made me what I am now. And it all led to this moment. I can feel it. Sense it.
Doplov doesn’t look at me. In fact, he takes noticeable care to evade all eye contact, his gaze deliberately avoiding me from the moment he entered the room.
The lord of spies recruited me himself, in the wake of the devastation the king of Nyxar left of our northern provinces.
We come from similar backgrounds, he and I. His family was murdered too, years before mine. A story we share with countless people from the outer rim of Allea, land of the light. The king of night has spent the better part of the last two decades biting off chunks of our country bit by bit, claiming it for his dark kingdom.
Ilrek Doplov usually looks at me whenever he can. Many men do, even now, when I am but a shadow of the pretty eighteen-year-old who used to turn every head wherever she went.
My mother brushed my knee-length dark tresses with five hundred strokes and braided it each day. She would never have heard of my venturing out of doors without blush on my cheeks, rouge on my lips, and my eyes lined with kohl. I wore the prettiest things we could afford. It wasn’t much, but no one in my village could pay for true silk or velvet anyway. My cotton dresses were bright red or deep blue, trimmed with real fur from the small games my brothers brought back from their hunts. There were just a couple of families who could dress their daughters in better apparel, and they didn’t spare the expense.
I haven’t bothered with cosmetics since she died. Being beautiful has never been anything but a nuisance. It means men want me, and what men want, they usually feel entitled to.
Any other day, I’d be glad to avert Doplov’s gaze. He’s a good sort of man, and not uneasy on the eye, if one like colossal brutes with long blond braids and a trimmed beard to match. And most women do.
I wasn’t interested in any man in my village. Not the mayor’s son, vying for my hand, not the baker’s boy, though the girls were all whispering about his blue eyes and thick arms. I’m not interested in our leader now. The one thing I wanted from him, I got. He taught me how to defend myself, where to stick my blades between a man’s shoulder blades, how to mix poisons from inconspicuous plants, how to seduce. How to listen without being seen and be seen without being mistrusted. I am one of his little spies now. Several times, I’ve been sent over the border, to the land of eternal darkness, to retrieve information on the shadow king’s troops’ movements.And I’ve succeeded.
I can tell what he has in store today is nothing like dipping to the closest village over the fence and making idle conversation in the tavern. And his ignoring me is far from indifference. There’s something going on, and I’m involved, somehow.
Doplov called all of us currently based in the tower, even the lowliest of servants, even the older, weaker, and those who haven’t yet completed his arduous training.
At long last, the giant stands, clearing his throat. “We have been given a unique opportunity.”
I lift my chin. Whatever it is, it concerns me. I’m certain of it.
Sorsha leans in and whispers, “Who are they sending to their death this time?”
To my other side, Alrion snorts. “Not me. At least, not if he’s calling for volunteers.”
Doplov wouldn’t have called such a gathering for a regular sort of task. He would have summoned whoever he planned to send to his office and handed them the details with a grunt that vaguely sounded like good luck—no preamble, no kid gloves.
The one time he made it a gathering, barely a month after my arrival at the tower, it was because we’d intercepted an invitation meant for one of the wild lords, to the heart of the shade’s kingdom, Nyxar. He’d asked for a party of volunteers to pose as a duke’s son and his retinue. We never saw any of them again.
“In seven nights, the king of Nyxar is holding a revel in Skyfall, his dwelling.” Whispers travel through the room, ranging from excited to confused. Doplov barrels through. “Every hundred years, on the equinox, tradition dictates that His Highness open his doors to every noble family on the immortal shores. That includes citizens of Allea.”
A general gasp courses through the hall. I remain silent.
“The equinox is on Lammas this year. We have been preparing for this, in the event that the king sent invitations, and indeed, he has. This event is of singular interest to us, because hehasto attend it. For once, he won’t hide behind his armies, his warriors, his icy walls.” Doplov shakes his head. “We won’t see a better opportunity to get close to him for another hundred years. And what will be left of our land then?”
His question is entirely rhetorical. Nyxar and Allea used to be at peace, until some twenty years ago when the shade king had the newborn heir to our throne murdered. In those twenty years, he’s razed a tenth of our country. There will be nothing left by then.
“So, what? Someone has to flirt with the guy at that party, and then murder him?” Sorsha shakes her head. “It’s a suicide mission. Even if anyone managed it, they’d never get out of Nyxar.”
“It is,” Doplov replies.
Silence falls.
“Whoever goes, you’ll be entirely on your own, far behind enemy lines. You can plan an exit, like we would for any other mission, but make no mistake, there’s a high chance that you’ll be caught, tortured, and killed. Still, you might just manage to take the bastard down with you.”
Now, his piercing eyes fall on me. Not for long. He looks away fast, brushing the length of his beard. “It’s a chance like no other, but I’m not going to send anyone against their will. Volunteers only.”
