Chapter 2
The greatest heist the Merchant’s Isles had ever seen would occur tonight—assuming I succeeded. More likely, town criers across the continent would spin the tale of the idiot woman who tried to steal that which could not be stolen.
A mere three days. That’s how long Laverna had given me to prepare. I’d blinked and the days had disappeared; the Sundering Ceremony was upon me.
Fitting the mask of flowers over my eyes, I smoothed down my opal gown and stepped into Sundering Square. Once, years ago, I’d attended this grand ceremony with Ainwir, awed by the beautiful ladies and their splendorous masks.
Drunken merriment clashed in an unintelligible rush of voices. Masks of every design, from animals to gilded gold, concealed the people’s faces. Togas of finest silk and those of tattered tartan swathed their bodies, dividing those with wealth from those with nothing.
Lanterns glowed on the water channels flanking the long stretch of pavement. Past the rows of ancient marble buildings, peaked with bronze roofs, the channels converged into a lake that bordered the temple.
I made myself small as I slipped through the crowd, avoiding attention. Grabbing a glass of wine from a passing harlequin’s tray, I sipped idly on the bitter drink while my eyes feasted on the main event.
An enormous boat bobbed on the lake’s calm waters, more stage than vessel. Flat and wide, it would never be seaworthy. It was a theater. Atop its stage, the sermon would be held, and the re-enactment of the Maiden Brizo and the creation of her Bloodstone would be performed.
Any other night, I would have enjoyed the show. But I needed to get aboard the grand vessel and leave without being seen.
Two wooden bridges connected the boat to the square, but both were in plain view. Even a shadow could not slip across unseen. Once the show began, the crowds would flock to the lake’s edge—hundreds of eyes would be watching.
Across the glowing lake, a stone pathway connected the back of the theater ship to the temple looming over the city, its windows bright spots of gold. The Maiden’s Bloodstone was stored in a vault beneath it, emerging only once a year for the festival of the Sundering.
A heavy troop of guards would escort the Bloodstone to the ship. And once the ceremony concluded, they would return it to its vault. That left but one tiny window for me to steal it.
Leaning on the stone banister guarding drunken attendants from falling into the lake, I reconsidered my plan. I was a fool for thinking this heist was possible.
Laverna probably just wanted to get me killed in the grandest way she could imagine.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A soft voice met my ears as a masked man joined me at the lake’s edge. “Though I don’t imagine it’s seaworthy.”
I quickly scanned the stranger—shoulder-length brown hair, a simple white toga with a scarf, and a mask of owl feathers. A scholar, or maybe a priest?
Harmless, either way.
Shifting to face him, I smiled sweetly and spoke with an elegant, noble accent. “Is this your first time attending the Sundering ceremony?”
“Yes. I’ve never before had the pleasure.” He admitted.
I glanced over his shoulder, watching a procession of women in sea-colored robes approach the bridges and kneel in silent prayer. My opening was drawing near.
“I hope you brought a suitor,” I said idly. “There’s a dance after the rite.”
A sly smile crossed his lips. “Not this time.”
“Shame.” I passed him, bowing my head. “Merry sailing.”
“Ah, one moment,” he said, studying me intently. “I didn’t catch your name.”
I curtsied. “Lady Terpsichore,” I offered my fake alias, and walked away.
“Merry sailing, my lady.” He called after me.
A ring of guards protected the maidens and nobles from the riffraff. Standing a few paces away, the crowds jostled past me as I gathered my thoughts and prepared my lie.
Pulling an envelope from my satchel, I approached the guards: men with heavy helms covering all but their eyes and mouths, and red tabards flapping in the breeze.
Finding the youngest of the lot, I studied my nails. “When do we board?” I asked dryly.
The young guard looked me up and down. “In two chimes of the bell, madam. . .?”
“Terpsichore,” I said, hoping the lady remained at home, as Cecelia claimed.
“Ah.” He raised his chin, recognizing the name. “I heard you and your father wouldn’t be attending.”
Shit. Improvising, I pressed a finger to my lips. “I didn’t want to miss this. Don’t tell anyone?” Smiling sweetly, I tilted my head.
Thankfully, he smiled back. “Of course. Do you still have your invitation?”
“Right here.” I handed him the envelope, heart pounding.
Would he notice it was a forgery? I watched him break the seal and unroll the letter, keeping my breathing steady. His eyes flicked over the words meant to be written by the Archon and hastily returned it to me.
“Enjoy yourself,” he said. “The others should be arriving soon. You can wait here.”
“Thank you,” I said, bowing my head and walking past him.
Relieved, I tried to relax. Pretending you belonged fooled most people.
The nobles who sat on the king’s council were permitted to board the ship with the priests, allowing them to witness the ceremony up close.
Hopefully, the mask concealed my face enough to fool those who’d met Lord Terpsichore’s daughter.
A gaudily dressed man in a brilliant purple doublet approached the guards in the company of a flaming-haired woman. With their faces concealed by masks, I couldn’t see a hint of their features. The man quickly conversed with the guards, while the red-haired woman in black regarded me.
Whether she smiled or scrutinized, I couldn’t tell.
The gaudy man bowed to the guards playfully and returned to his date’s side. The fox engraved on his mask regarded the priest by the waters I’d spoken with earlier.
The owl-masked man and the gaudy purple lord exchanged glances, before turning toward me. Why did they stare? Pretending not to notice, I looked away, instead watching a pair of lords dressed in glittering gold join our little group.
Another chime rang across the waters, and a hush quickly fell across the square. Bowing their heads, the maidens began their procession across the walkways, and the young guard gestured for me to walk ahead of him.
Holding my head high, I drank in the theater boat’s every detail, its soaring mast and high banisters
There. A troop of guards in heavy black armor emerged from the temple, surrounding a broad man who carried the great bust of the Maiden.
The goddess Brizo, in all her marble glory. Flowing hair spilled like water across her back, and her bare breasts were covered by cupped hands. Glowing beneath the lanterns, a brilliant blood-red stone was embedded in her palms.
Carrying the entire bust out of here would be impossible. Thankfully, all I needed was that stone.
A cluster of priests in pale blue togas and the maidens in sea-tinted robes knelt at the back of the ship. Dancers streamed onboard behind them; women in masks tipped with enormous feathers gathered around the railing, their male partners shrouded behind long, ornamental beaks.
The group of nobles stood center-stage. Following the crowd, a bead of sweat ran down my temple as the enormous man set the bust down gently on its altar.
The High Priest approached the edge of the boat, arms cast wide, as if inviting the crowd on the lake’s other side. He would give a brief speech, then festivities would commence. The day was for living, not sharing sermons about the afterlife.
Pale blue scarf trailing in the wind like a sea current, the High Priest began his brief recitation of the verses.
“Daughter of the sea, Brizo, our savior, I pray for your continued protection. For your hand steers the ships of the ocean on their flying course, and shields our land from encroaching wars. Upon your vessel, did we escape the endless sea.”
Looking down, I scanned the gaggle of performers. A troupe of musicians quietly set up in the back corner, wearing robes the color of the boat.
When the dancers spun in front of the idol, perhaps. . .
The noblewoman with fiery red hair leaned toward me. “Quiet year. There used to be more coin poured into these festivals.”
Startled, I turned to the woman beside me. A phoenix mask concealed her face, save for eyes of faded blue. She stood nearly a foot taller than I, clad in a handsome charcoal gown.
Who was this? I studied the red braid tumbling down her back, but no names came to mind. Neither did I recognize the fox-masked lord with her.
“They did.” I agreed. “The royal coffers must’ve taken a hit this year.”
“Maybe.” The woman agreed. “Need a partner?”
“I’m not much of a dancer.” I denied. “I just wanted to watch the show up close.”
“Suit yourself.” The woman said coyly, turning away.
“Fear not the tide of sorrow,” The Grand Priest continued, “For in life we find our salvation, the cacophony of voices, the beads of sweat borne from dance.”
This concluded the short speech. The dancers stepped up, preparing to begin the play. Shadows plunged the courtyard into darkness as the lanterns were doused, forcing all eyes upon the theater ship.
Something moved in the shadows across the waters. Leaning forward, I could see people running around near the walkways leading to the ship, but. . .
“May Brizo’s light grace us this night!” The Grand Priest stepped back, and the dancers began, knitting hands with their partners, their thick skirts swirling around the stage like a whirlwind.
Lunging forward, I seized my only chance: rip the Bloodstone from its socket while all eyes were on the dancers.
But someone else seized it first.
A man yelped nearby. I spun around to see the gaudy purple noble plunge a knife into a guard’s thigh, knocking him to his knees.
Fire erupted everywhere; heat struck my face like a sharp slap. Stumbling, I backed away from a circle of fire growing around the bust, trapping me inside its blazing cage.