Her eyes immediately searched for Girgan, but they found her father first. He looked handsome in a newly tailored dark-blue suit, the emperor’s gold circlet on his head. The imperial throne had been temporarily moved into the ballroom, and Daval stood at the bottom of the gilded steps that led up to it, a long line of people waiting to greet him. Urstadt and Winter both stood close by him, and Cova was surprised to see both were in gowns. Urstadt without her iconic rose-gold armor was a rare sight to behold, indeed. And yet she looked deceitfully comfortable in a fawn-colored gown, which contrasted well with her dark skin. The captain smiled politely and nodded at everyone who came to greet the emperor. Urstadt was bound to have a weapon somewhere in that dress, and her armor could not be far away.
Winter was almost unrecognizable in a dark crimson gown. Cova felt an immediate sense of pride as she saw that it was in the same style as her own; to have a tailor of Galce’s skill imitate her own work was beyond flattering. Cova appreciated the dark color of Winter’s gown, too; the two of them stood out among all of the pastels and muted colors of the other women’s dresses. Winter’s hair was down, too—the tiellan girl normally wore it braided tightly against her head, but now it cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, and Cova found herself envying its dark sheen.
She was jealous of more than that, too. Winter had been spending more time with Daval than Cova had lately, and while Cova did not particularly enjoy her father’s company anymore—especially since their conversation a few days ago—she nevertheless found herself jealous.
And yet, who better to spend time with her father than this psychotic weapon of a girl? The image of Luce’s body, bloody and upside down in the council chamber, still haunted Cova. She noticed the guests gave Winter a wide berth, too, even those who hadn’t been present at the Council meeting where Luce had met his death. It seemed to be on everyone’s mind.
She pushed those thoughts away. This was her father’s inaugural ball, and she had a duty to congratulate him. She was making her way to her father when the music began. Immediately, the attendees scattered to the edges of the ballroom, making space for the dancing.
“Welcome, lords and ladies, merchants and clergy!”
Daval had climbed the steps to the throne, and now stood by it, a wide smile on his face.
Cova snatched a glass from a servant’s tray and took a sip.
“Allow me to express my gratitude for your support,” Daval said. “The emperorship would mean nothing without that. And, by the grace of the gods, old and new, our empire will witness many incredible things in the coming years. We will accomplish much, for the good of Roden and her people!”
“For the good of Roden and her people!” the crowd shouted back. Cova shouted with them, raising her glass high into the air.
“It is my pleasure to announce the beginning of this evening’s festivities,” Daval continued. “Food, drink, dancing, and more. We are here to celebrate our great empire.”
Daval saw Cova in the crowd, his smile growing wider. “And to begin the evening, I will invite my daughter and her husband onto the dance floor. Some of you saw their dazzling performance at their engagement ball; as a present for my inauguration, I’d like a reprise!”
Cheers went up throughout the crowd, and Cova blushed. She looked around for her husband, and found him walking towards her. Girgan held out his arm, Cova took it.
“We’d better give the people what they want, hadn’t we?” Girgan asked.
Cova smiled. “Yes, we might as well.”
Girgan swung Cova’s arm above her head with a flourish, and Cova spun away from him, over and over again, as the crowd let out another great cheer.
Then, the musicians began the slow, wistful notes of a Rodenese waltz, and Girgan and Cova turned to face one another. Girgan raised his hand, and Cova moved towards him to take up position. They swayed once, twice, and then they moved with ease across the floor.
“You must admit, this isn’t so bad,” Cova whispered as they danced. They had grown comfortable enough with one another’s dance styles that they could all but let their bodies take over as they moved.
“If you mean dancing with you, then you’re right,” Girgan said. “I’ve certainly done worse things.”
Cova laughed. She would have elbowed him if they weren’t otherwise occupied. “I mean this,” she said, “the ball, the inauguration. My father.”
“Forgive me,” Girgan said, whispering now, “but I still have some reservations where your father is concerned. Have you forgotten Hirman Luce so quickly?”
“Hirman Luce was a traitor,” Cova said, but even as she said it she knew the situation was far more complicated. And the manner of Luce’s death… Cova shivered.
Which reminded her why she had been late.
“I went to the library, before the ball,” Cova said. “To examine some of the older works regarding the Ceno order. I’d hoped they might help me understand the changes I’ve seen in my father lately.”
They performed a series of spins, bodies locked together, and then came to a stop, stretching into a pose.
“Let me guess,” Girgan said, as they resumed movement once more, “they didn’t help much?”
“They didn’t help at all,” Cova said, “because they weren’t even there.”
“Someone else had them?”
“No,” Cova said quietly. “That was the strange thing—I asked the library keepers, and they said they had not seen anyone take those volumes in ages. But none of the volumes were there. Nothing about the Ceno order. Nothing about the Scorned Gods.”
“That… that sounds more than strange.”
“I know.”
“That sounds like someone removed them on purpose.”
They danced in silence. Cova lost herself in the music, in the movement. The song reached a crescendo, and then slowly started to fade. As it did, Girgan spun Cova away once more, and the crowd erupted in applause. They both bowed, and Cova took Girgan’s arm as they left the dancefloor. Daval spoke again from the throne, but Cova was not paying attention. People had gathered around her and her husband, congratulating them.
Later, when the admirers had drifted away, Girgan took Cova aside. “I need to go,” he said.
“What? The night has just begun, we haven’t even—”
“I think this is important, Cova,” Girgan said. “What you found in the library—or what you didn’t find—I need to verify it. I’ll be back shortly.”
Cova took a deep breath. She had looked forward to spending the evening with Girgan by her side, showing him off to the other nobles. “Go,” she said, with a sigh. “We’ve made an appearance together, at least, and I’ll be able to cover for your absence.”
“Thank you.” Girgan bent to kiss her.
“Be safe,” Cova said.
* * *
A few hours and a few more glasses of wine later, the inaugural ball finally began to wind down. Cova had been so wrapped up in chatting with the guests that she’d lost track of time. A part of her wondered why Girgan had not yet returned, but another part was not surprised. While Cova generally had a good time at balls and other social gatherings, they exhausted Girgan. He’d probably gone straight back to their room to rest.
Cova said her goodbyes. She had yet to pay her respects, so she made her way to her father. He had been a difficult man to corner tonight, though Cova was not sure she minded. She did not feel particularly inclined to have much of a conversation with him.
“Ah,” Daval said as Cova approached. He smiled at the guests surrounding him. “Excuse me, please. Allow me to greet my daughter, I haven’t spoken to her all night.” The guests politely bowed away, and Daval wrapped his arms around Cova.
“Congratulations, Father,” Cova said.
“Thank you, my dear.” He released her, and put his hands on her shoulders. “One day,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “you will have a moment just like this. It will be a great time for Roden.”
&nb
sp; Cova smiled. This was the father she knew, the man she remembered. “You’ve thrown a grand party, I must say.”
“Thank you again, but you know as well as I that I had nothing to do with this. I’ve got a host of people who plan these things.” Daval looked over Cova’s shoulder. “Where is your husband?”
“Girgan retired early,” she said. “You know how he gets at parties.”
Daval laughed. “I didn’t know that, actually. But I suppose I’ve got all the time in the world to learn about him, don’t I?”
“I suppose you do, Father.”
“Well, I congratulate you both. You performed wonderfully this evening. You’re radiant when you dance, my dear. I love to see it.”
“Thank you.”
“And give Girgan my compliments as well. He deserves them.”
“Of course, Father.” Cova yawned. “I’m afraid the hour grows late for me, and I’m going to find my way to bed.”
“Good night,” Daval said. “Sweet dreams.”
“Good night, Father.”
* * *
Making her way back to her bedroom was not as easy as she’d thought it would be. She was still new to the immensity of the imperial palace, its hallways were sometimes confusing, and it appeared she had had more to drink than she realized.
Eventually, she found the doorway to her bedroom. She pulled the large oak door open, slipped inside, and closed it behind her.
When Cova saw a single candle was lit on the desk in their bedroom, illuminating a small part of the large room, she smiled. Girgan had kept a light on for her; he knew how much she hated fumbling her way around.
Cova reached behind her, unlacing her dress, as she walked slowly towards the candlelight. A single square of paper rested on the desk next to the candle. At first Cova thought it was another draft of her proposal, but as she slipped out of her gown and into her shift, she realized it was not her handwriting.
My dearest Cova, the paper read at the top.
Curious, Cova picked it up in one hand, the candle in the other. Girgan had left her a note. Perhaps she would have to wake him up and… thank him. She was sure he wouldn’t mind. He never did.
These past months have been the happiest of my life, the note continued.
Cova smiled, walking slowly towards the bed. The past few months had not been terrible for her, either. She couldn’t have hoped for a better match in a husband.
But I am afraid that happiness can’t last.
A seed of fear sprouted in Cova’s heart, clawing its way out.
I have not been honest with you, Cova, and for that I am sorry. The truth is, I have not been honest with anyone in Roden since I have returned from Khale. And I suppose there is no other way to tell you this other than in this letter. I am a spy.
There is a long story behind why, and how, but it began at the Citadel. I was tasked with feeding Triah information from Roden. When I found myself married to you, living in the palace, it seemed too good to be true. Too easy. But the more I got to know you, the more I came to love you, and the more torn my heart became.
I am a betrayer, Cova. I have betrayed your trust, and I have betrayed the trust of my empire. I have fabricated lies to implicate people of importance—you know of what I speak. Please disregard anything I said along those lines. They were lies, lies I now feel sick to my stomach that I ever whispered, especially to you.
Please forgive me, my dear Cova. I now have realized that, at least in this life, I will never find happiness. I pray to all the gods that you still might.
Yours always,
Girgan
Cova, hands shaking, wiped at the tears streaming down her face.
“Girgan?” she asked. “What is this?”
She looked up, holding the candle up to the bed, and jumped out of her skin when she saw a pale white figure floating in midair before her.
Cova stepped back, muffling her scream, and her eyes refocused. The figure was not levitating. It was swinging, ever so slightly, back and forth. Hanging from the canopy framework of their four-poster bed.
“No,” Cova whispered.
Then she leapt into action. She set the candle on the floor and rushed towards the desk, throwing open the drawer. There. The knife. She ran back and leapt onto the bed, holding the swinging body with one arm as she reached the knife upwards with the other.
No, no, no, no, no.
The candle on the floor only gave faint flickering light, and it took Cova a moment to find the rope, and another moment to saw through it. She was unprepared for the sheer weight of the body as it fell, taking her with it. Cova fell back onto the bed, and heard a sickening crunch as the body folded over the footboard.
That was when Cova finally screamed.
She screamed and screamed, and couldn’t stop screaming.
Girgan’s face was red and swollen, his lips purple. This can’t be him, she thought, but she knew the folly of it. This was her husband, and her husband was dead.
The door crashed open, and bright light suddenly filled the room. Cova squinted at the torches. Voices asked her what happened.
“My husband,” was all Cova could say, cradling the body in her arms.
My husband is a spy, Cova thought.
My husband was a spy.
Immediately she felt sick to her stomach. She dropped the body in disgust, standing and moving quickly away. People carrying torches approached her, but she shied away from them. She had to get out of the room. She brushed past as people called for the doctor, and ran through the wide corridors of the imperial palace.
She ran and ran until she got to the emperor’s chambers. She needed her father. Her sprint slowed as she approached the ornate door, and just as Cova was about to start pounding on it, she stopped herself.
My husband is a spy, Cova thought.
A moment of doubt cracked through her horror.
Slowly, she backed away from her father’s door. She realized she was shaking her head. It wasn’t her father she needed to speak to.
She ran in the other direction, away from her father, towards a different bedroom in the palace living quarters. Towards the only person left who might be able to help her.
44
Harmoth estate
“YOU SURE YOU WANT to do this, nomad?”
Knot couldn’t blame Astrid for being suspicious. The cotir had helped them a great deal, but they still were Nazaniin. They could never be fully trusted. And the fact that they had been conspicuously absent during the massacre at the Harmoth estate did not help his view of them. But they were back now, at least, and Knot knew he couldn’t risk losing himself. Waking up in the forest, not remembering who he was, seeing the shadowy figure…
He would die before he let that happen again.
The Tinskan cotir stood in the library with Knot, Astrid, and Cinzia. Wyle indicated that Knot should lie on the chaise longue. While Knot knew that the procedure Wyle proposed was necessary, he didn’t like the idea of lying back and letting it happen.
“It shouldn’t take too long,” Wyle said. “I might be able to get it done in less than an hour. You said they implanted nine sifts in you?”
Knot nodded. “That’s what they told me. You find any more in there, let me know.”
Wyle smirked. “I certainly will. Are you ready?”
Cinzia squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to do this.” Her eyes met his, and he knew what they told him. You don’t have to put your life in their hands. But Knot had made his decision.
“Jane said it herself,” Knot said. “She won’t always be able to heal me. Got to do something.” He sat down on the chaise longue. “Let’s get it over with. Ain’t no sense in wasting more time.”
“Then lie back,” Wyle said.
Knot did as he was asked, looking up at the ceiling. A mural depicted a scene from Cantic history—Knot recognized Canta herself at the center, but her surroundings were unfamiliar. In the corner, a dark shape forming in shadow, seeming to writhe
and twist even in the stasis of the mural.
Odd, Knot thought. He hadn’t noticed that particular detail before.
“I wish I could say this wouldn’t hurt,” Wyle said, placing his hands on either side of Knot’s head. “But I’ve never done it before, so I have no idea.”
Knot was about to respond, when a sudden pressure began building in his head, soft at first but quickly becoming stronger, like he was being pushed deeper and deeper under water. As the pressure became an expansive pain, Knot screamed.
* * *
Cinzia rushed to Knot’s side. “Stop!” she shouted over his screams, looking up at Wyle. “You’re hurting him!”
But Wyle, eyes closed, hands on either side of Knot’s head, ignored her. And then Knot’s scream stopped, and he lay still. At first Cinzia feared Wyle had killed him, but a quick check told her Knot’s heart still beat. The strain was gone from his face, and his breathing was shallow and easy. It was as if he were sleeping.
“Pain is often a necessary part of acumency,” Cymbre said quietly. “He pushed through it quickly. That’s a good sign.”
“Tell me again about the procedure,” Cinzia asked, glaring up at Wyle, surprised at the tears that burned in her eyes.
“He will not be able to answer you,” Cymbre said. “Wyle has delved into the Void to search for Knot’s sifts. He can neither see nor hear us.”
Cinzia clenched her jaw. She felt so helpless. She could not help but think of Kovac as she looked down at Knot. She had been powerless to stop what had happened to her Goddessguard. And, because of that powerlessness, she had been forced to kill him.
Cymbre recognized her pain. “I’m not an expert in acumency, but I can at least try to answer any questions you have.”
Cinzia nodded, closing her eyes. She could feel more tears welling up, but she refused to let them fall. She did not want to appear weak. “Tell me what he is doing,” she whispered. She nodded towards Wyle. “You said he is delving Knot. That is what he did to the Odenites?”
Cymbre sighed. “‘Delve’ may not be the most accurate term. When an acumen delves someone, it is an attempt to discern their thoughts. Wyle is going beyond that, although he is not deciphering Knot, either.”
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