by K. A. Linde
She slapped his hand away from her, but he just laughed.
That was answer enough. He’d had someone follow her in the market. She couldn’t believe it. No wonder she had felt like someone was watching her. Someone had been watching me!
Before she could say anything else, he retreated to the investigation room where the King and Queen still remained. Cyrene shook her head in disbelief at her afternoon. She just hoped that, after today, she could put this whole messy business behind her.
Rain fell in sheets on the High Order and Affiliates congregated in front of the gravesite outside of the castle grounds. Cyrene had the hood of her cloak held high as she shivered in the downpour. Maelia stood at her side in the crowd. She was even paler than normal and kept clutching at her cloak.
King Edric had announced the night before the funeral that the killer had not been located and anyone with news of Zorian’s death should step forward. She wondered what had become of Ahlvie—if they were still holding him or if he had been let go.
As a holy official intoned sacred language over Zorian’s body, her mind kept slipping back to the night of her warrior ceremony. She hated second-guessing herself. Ahlvie had been in a poor state, but she didn’t want to think that someone she had trusted could have done this.
A brush at her elbow made her jump, pulling her out of her thoughts. She turned to find that no one occupied the empty space, and she narrowed her eyes in confusion.
Cyrene took a step closer to Maelia and tried to tune back into the ceremony.
“The Creator shine down on…”
Another brush made her heart stutter. No one was moving around her. It was as if the person flowed through the water-streaked shadows.
“Don’t fight.”
She shivered and inclined her head to the left where the voice had come from. It had been just a faint whisper, but the voice made her skin crawl. Taking a deep breath, she waited a heartbeat before looking to see if there was anyone nearby. Nothing moved, but it felt she could feel eyes on her from a distance.
She shook her head, realizing she was just chasing ghosts. With all the talk of death swirling around Zorian’s untimely demise, she was simply scaring herself. It was probably the person Kael had sent to follow her in the Laelish Market. That was the reason she felt like she had eyes on her, and the whisper had been a figment of her imagination.
How could I possibly hear a whisper over the sound of the rain beating down on me?
She took another step to her right anyway until her cloak was brushing against Maelia, so she could feel the safety and security of another body near hers.
Cyrene spent the remainder of the ceremony with her head bowed, speaking to the Creator to bring Zorian peace and ignoring the tingling feeling on the back of her neck.
At the end of the service, the crowd dispersed down the path over the mountainside, heading toward the castle.
Someone grasped her cloak, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Easy, Affiliate,” a voice said softly. “A little tense?”
She breathed out in relief that she hadn’t made up someone touching her. “Ahlvie.”
“At your service.”
“I am a bit jumpy. I did just come from a funeral.”
His hood was covering most of his face, but she could see him nodding in understanding. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“I know you told them that you didn’t think I did it.”
“I simply told them what I believed was the truth.”
“Not many others would have done that. So…thank you.”
He stormed off then, and she was left to wonder about him. Did I just make another friend? Is he a friend I’ll come to regret having?
With all the commotion around High Order Zorian’s death, Cyrene had had little time to work on her Affiliate studies. So, she fell headlong into Affiliate Lorne’s papers while still attending to court duties, feast days, and appointments with the Queen. After another week of slaving over the agricultural materials, Cyrene pushed the papers away from her in frustration. There was still so much to do, but her brain was turning to mush.
Walking into her bedroom, she loosened the floorboard that hid her Presenting letter and the book Elea had given to her on her birthday. She grasped the sheaf of paper and reread the note. Aralyn had said Cyrene could speak to other Affiliates about the letter if need be. Maybe it was time to pay her a visit.
Cyrene strode out of her room and then navigated the Vines until she found her sister’s room. She rapped on the door twice and waited. After several minutes, Aralyn opened the door. Her brown hair fell forward in front of her face as she stared at a book.
“Can I help you?” she mumbled.
“Aralyn, it’s Cyrene,” she said, trying to attract her sister’s attention.
“Oh, yes, Cyrene. Come in. Was I expecting you?” Not even looking up at Cyrene, Aralyn just left the door open and retreated back inside.
“All right,” Cyrene grumbled, following her, “you weren’t expecting me, but I wanted to pay you a visit.”
“Lovely.”
“Aralyn”—Cyrene waved her hand in the air—“can I have five minutes here?”
Aralyn sighed and then glanced up at Cyrene. “Sure. What is it?”
Cyrene withdrew the Presenting paper and handed it to her sister. “I was wondering if you could help me with this. It’s my Presenting letter.”
“Let me take a look.” Aralyn opened the paper and read through the contents. She bit out a harsh laugh. “This is gibberish, Cyrene. Don’t waste your time on it.”
“What?” Cyrene gasped. “You were the one who told me it was important.”
Aralyn handed back the paper. “It was part of a script I was given. I found nothing of use in my letter. You should focus on your Affiliate duties.”
“So, you won’t help?”
“There’s nothing to help, Cyrene. If you must investigate this, go dig through the library, but you’re wasting your time.”
“Fine,” Cyrene snapped.
She stuffed the paper back into her bag and stormed from the room. She couldn’t believe that Aralyn had just laughed at her after telling her how important it was in her Presenting. Cyrene knew there was something to these letters.
Cyrene left the Vines in search of the library. She had been inside the archives at the center of the castle several times, but she’d only looked at the agricultural volumes.
Her head swam with ideas as she walked in through the enormous circular doorframe. Filling the room, hundreds of rows several stories high were full of books stacked as far as the eye could see. It smelled like old leather, musty paper, and aging ink. She breathed in the aroma and then decided to start looking through Presenting materials.
After an hour of wasted time, she got more creative and looked up riddles and their interpretations, deciphering meaning from the text. The whole time, she wondered if Rhea had decrypted anything about her Presenting letter while she’d been in Albion. Cyrene had received no word from her friend, but she hadn’t sent any word either.
At least the King was preparing himself for the procession traveling to Albion, which meant she would get to see her best friend again soon. Hopefully, I’ll find some answers by then.
“Not finding them now,” she grumbled to herself as she slammed another massive volume back onto the shelf.
With a sigh, she left the stacks and went in search of an Affiliate. Perhaps someone could point her in the right direction.
She walked up to the first woman she found and smiled at the familiar face. “Affiliate Leslin,” she said in greeting to the woman behind the massive desk.
Leslin had been with Aralyn the night of Cyrene’s Presenting ball.
“Ah, Cyrene.” Leslin smiled up over her work. Her hair was frazzled, and she had an ink spot across the bridge of her nose and another on her dress. “Hello. How can I help you?”
“I am doing some research on Pres
enting letters and their interpretations. Do you happen to know where I could start? Or maybe, do you know who writes them, so I can speak with him or her?”
Leslin smiled pleasantly. “All the Presenting letter information we have is in aisle seventy-six, section three thousand forty. We always have new Affiliates and High Order coming in and asking questions about them. As for who writes them, it is an Elder of the First Class who was once a High Order or Affiliate. However, no audience is permitted with the Elder. Would you like me to look over your letter to help you with it?”
The letter in her bag was like a brick weighing her down. She didn’t feel right showing it to Leslin after Aralyn had just laughed at her. “No, thank you. I’ll keep looking.”
“Let me know if you change your mind. I’m going to be on holiday for a short time to visit my daughter in the countryside, so I won’t be in the castle for a bit.”
Leslin’s eyes narrowed considerably, and her otherwise pleasant faced turned sour. “I’m in desperate need of a holiday, what with a murderer walking in our midst.”
Cyrene turned to see what she was talking about and saw Ahlvie striding into the library. She pursed her lips at Leslin’s reaction. Ahlvie hadn’t been convicted of anything. King Edric had let him go, but Leslin was judging Ahlvie based on an accusation.
He nodded his head at Cyrene when he noticed her and then looked at Leslin. His smile turned mischievous, and his youth showed through. He might have even been handsome, if he didn’t look like he was going to cause trouble.
“Hi ya, Leslie!”
“It’s Affiliate Leslin, High Order Ahlvie. There is an n attached, as I have told you the last hundred times you set foot in my library. What do you want?”
“Oh, Leslin. Right,” he said as if he hadn’t already known. “Just swinging by to get some more books.”
“What did you do with the other ones you borrowed?” she demanded.
“I read them,” he said, giving her a blank look.
Cyrene stifled a laugh behind her hand. Ahlvie flashed Leslin another grin, but Leslin just scowled at him. Cyrene saw this going poorly.
“Are you ever going to bring them back?” Leslin asked.
“I suppose—at least the ones that I didn’t lose.” He shrugged nonchalantly.
“Lose?” she cried. “Those books are invaluable. You…you…you man! It’s not enough to act like a drunken fool in my library and then murder a High Order. Now, you lose books?”
Ahlvie scrunched his eyebrows together. He looked bemused, but there was also a touch of anger at the accusation that he had been cleared of. “I never murdered anyone. It was only an investigation,” he reminded her. “And, hey, I’m not drunk now!”
Leslin pointed her finger to the door. “Get out of my library.”
“What? It doesn’t belong to you. I’m here on High Order business.”
“Get out!” She stood and hit her hand on the desk. “And don’t come back until you bring back the books you lost, or else do not return at all.”
Cyrene’s eyes widened at Leslin’s outburst.
Ahlvie ran his hand back through his hair. “Is this all because I called you Leslie?” His eyes twinkled.
“Out!”
Ahlvie shrugged and started walking backward. “Fine. I’m out of here. Crazy old loon.”
Leslin sank into her chair once more and covered her head with her hands.
“Are you all right?” Cyrene asked.
She thought that Leslin had been harsh with Ahlvie, but perhaps she was just on edge from the murder. Ahlvie hadn’t helped anything by needling her.
“Yes. I simply need that holiday,” she said.
Cyrene nodded at Leslin as if she understood, but her eyes were fixed on Ahlvie’s retreating form. For once, she felt a twinge of pity for the man everyone dismissed as a drunk.
“Feast days are so much less overwhelming than a Presenting ball,” Cyrene said.
A few hours after her encounter with Ahlvie and Leslin in the library, Cyrene’s hand was wrapped around a goblet full of wine. The black marble ballroom was lit with a thousand candles floating in chandeliers above the room. Affiliates and High Order were dancing to the sounds of the string quartet while Cyrene and Maelia stood apart from the group near the enormous fireplace.
“I danced with no one my entire Presenting ball,” Maelia told her with a bitter laugh.
“You still dance with no one,” Cyrene reminded her.
“You’re not much better. The last three balls, you’ve danced with no one but a few suitors and the King himself. How terrible to be in your position.” Maelia pressed her hand to her forehead as if she were going to faint.
Cyrene wanted to tell her that was only because she had been avoiding Prince Kael at every turn, but she had yet to tell Maelia of the events that had occurred. Cyrene wasn’t sure how much longer she could evade him.
The King was another matter though. He rarely danced more than once or twice with anyone, save his Queen and Consort, of whom he divided his time equally. Maelia seemed to think he always chose Cyrene for the longest dances because he favored her, but she wasn’t sure she believed that. She wasn’t sure she wanted to believe that.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I have no suitors, and I have received no extra attention from the King.”
Maelia giggled and then pointed across the dance floor. “As if plucked from the heavens at your request. Who knew you were lucky enough to receive a third dance tonight?”
Cyrene followed Maelia’s gaze to the King striding dutifully in their direction. His figure was draped in the finest black velvet shirt with bridged sleeves. His riding boots covered his snug-fitting black pants up to his knees. A forest-green cloak tumbled off one shoulder and reached nearly to the floor. It was held in place around the neck by a heavy chain of gold square links with the royal seal artfully designed into each piece.
He was handsome, frustrating, desirous, stubborn, and most of all, dangerous. His presence put her on edge. One moment, she would feel an electric pull toward him, completely forgetting his rank, and treat the King just like anyone else. The next, she would realize her mistakes, remember that he was the King, and have to quell her biting tongue. It was a never-ending battle to please.
“Affiliate Cyrene,” King Edric said with a charming smile, “I hope the feast day is to your liking.”
“My King,” she murmured, bobbing a curtsy. “It is most enjoyable as always. You do remember my good friend Affiliate Maelia, yes?”
“Yes, of course,” Edric said, making a poor show of acting like he remembered Maelia.
He had been introduced to her more than a handful of times, and still, he couldn’t seem to place her. Something about her made everyone pass over her, even in plain sight.
To her credit, Maelia dipped a curtsy, honoring the King’s station, as she pretended that she did not care that the King never noticed her. “Your Highness.”
Cyrene prepared herself for the oncoming invitation to dance. She had already danced with the King twice tonight, and she was sure this would draw more notice from Queen Kaliana.
“Would you do me the honor of taking a walk with me?” King Edric asked.
Cyrene’s mouth opened ever so slightly. A walk? That was so much more intimate than a dance as they would be away from the rest of court. She felt the King’s gaze on her as he waited for her response—as if she could reasonably turn him down, as if she would want to.
“I’d be delighted, Your Majesty.”
He extended his arm, and she touched her hand to the inside of his sleeve. Cyrene’s heart fluttered, and she was having difficulty keeping her breathing even. A request to walk and have a private audience with the King—unencumbered by the dance, the music, and other prying eyes and ears—made her giddy. Maybe Maelia was right. Maybe the King did favor Cyrene after all.
The King slowly maneuvered them off the marble floor and out onto the gray-and-black stone balcony overlooki
ng the inner courtyard. Byern climbing vines corkscrewed around the stone columns and up the handrail of the spiral staircase. Rows of fully grown apple trees lined the exterior of the castle. Bushes bursting with roses—white, yellow, orange, red, purple, blue, and even a minty green that nearly blended into the leaves—threaded along the pebbled pathway. In the large circular courtyard, a giant sculptured fountain stood as the centerpiece, its water flowing freely from the mouth of some stunning sea nymph.
“Do you enjoy the view?” King Edric asked.
“The rains have made the gardens bloom, and it warms my heart to see it so.”
“It is good to know that the gardener approves of the work.”
Cyrene laughed lightly. “I have not gardened in a month’s time. I fear I can no longer call myself a gardener.”
She remembered when she had told the King of her interest in gardening at the last feast day almost a week ago. After that dance, Queen Kaliana had added a list of plants to Cyrene’s assignment, forcing her to reread every page she had already dredged through for information. It had wasted two entire days.
“Perhaps I could change that,” he offered.
He directed her down the staircase and into the courtyard lit solely by the setting sun in the distance.
Her stomach churned at the thought of him offering assistance to any of her needs. It was like what she had read in her children’s books of the tales of Leifs and how one request would necessitate a much larger sacrifice. Her biggest sacrifice at the present moment was time. She wanted nothing more than to finish her work on agriculture and prove that she should get moved somewhere that involved traveling and adventure.
“On the contrary, My King, I am fully enthralled in my Affiliate duties, and I believe that gardening would only distract me from my work.”
“You cannot spare one afternoon to spend in my gardens?” His blue-gray eyes searched her face. “If you have half the green thumb you suggested, then it would be delightful to have you on the grounds.”
She swallowed. “I really have much work to accomplish before we go on the procession.”