Chapter 11
Meeting death at the hands of a handsome nobleman couldn’t be the worst way to go. Lowering myself into the gondola’s seat, I scanned the crowd desperately, hoping to spot one of my lunatic companions—ideally one of the two who could fight.
The nobleman sat opposite me and motioned for the boatman to take us away. With a sweep of his paddle, the boat departed the walkway and drifted toward the center of the channel. I stared longingly at the library as we sailed away from it.
The nobleman brushed a lock of red hair behind his ear. “Forgive the rude introduction. You’re a clever sort. I doubted I could get you alone with anything less than threats.”
I studied him intently, deciding kindness was more likely to see me through this encounter alive. “You thought correctly,” I confirmed. “I don’t typically trust strangers, especially not those high above my station.”
“Yet you trusted one before. In this very city.”
My mouth warbled. Did he mean Ainwir?
Folding his hands, the nobleman crossed one leg over the other. “I hear you’ve had a change in profession recently.”
“How would you know what my profession was?” I asked guardedly.
“Because they say you’re quite good at it. Laverna recommends you to many of her clients.” He tilted his head. “But this? This requires a warrior, and my dear, I don’t get the impression you are one.”
“Armies need more than soldiers,” I chirped, eyes flicking around.
Our boat rowed beneath a wide bridge, dust drifting over our heads as boots and hooves tracked across it. Where were we headed? I couldn’t tell yet.
“Why is it your concern, anyhow?” I asked. “Most would be thrilled to learn of our goal.”
“No, they would not.” He corrected harshly. “They would be horrified. They would do everything in their power to stop you. Do you know why?”
I licked my lips. “They wouldn’t-”
“You have too much faith in man.” He interrupted.
“Your mission implies an end. It makes them consider what they’ve never given heed to.
They come face-to-face with the inevitable.
And what an end, it would be.” He leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper.
“Snuffed out. And for what? For nothing.”
I knew he was right. The Archon had hidden us from the clergy for a reason. Seeking a solution implied no goddess would be coming. No salvation. No hope.
Voice gentling, the masked man sat back. “Tell me. How much do you know about Seraphim?”
“Enough,” I answered. “But I won’t tell you anything, if that’s what you’re after.”
He tutted. “Already, you show such loyalty to her. Haven’t you learned your lesson about trusting people?”
I swallowed, straining to hide my expression. He did know Ainwir.
“Did Seraphim tell you the story of her exile, at least?”
“No.” I spat. “People don’t owe me their stories any more than I owe them mine.”
“Oh, but I think you deserve this.” He smiled wryly, and I found myself wondering what he looked like beneath the mask.
“The good lord of Cynthus sired three children: twin daughters and a son. Though they wore the same face, the girls couldn’t be more different. One became Seraphim, the other Themis.”
Curse my lack of knowledge about lordly affairs. I knew next to nothing about Lady Themis, not even that she’d been Seraphim’s twin. Women did not inherit the throne. Gossip did not care about them.
“Seraphim believed the only way to stop the Empty was to enter it.” He explained. “Themis was far more pious and forbade her from exploring blasphemy. Behind her family’s back, Seraphim carried on experiments only to arrive at a horrifying truth.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What kind of experiments?”
“How would you learn the means required to enter the Empty?” He shrugged. “You send people in until one comes back alive.”
I bit my lip. The Seraphim I knew wouldn’t do that, would she? “And what was the truth?”
“That nobody returned alive.” The masked nobleman’s eyes darkened. “Lady Themis caught wind of her sister’s heinous crimes and exposed the truth. Desperate to cover it up, the rest of the family elected to banish her into the Empty. A fitting end.”
But her brother had saved her, helped her escape to Duath Nun instead. I could ask Seraphim about this later—I had no reason to trust this man when I couldn’t read his expressions.
“Interesting,” I said. “I’d rather learn who you are and why you care.”
“Seraphim does not know if the Acheron River will ferry you safely into the heart of the Empty. Are you willing to be her next sacrifice?”
“Yes,” I said, surprising myself with how quickly the answer came. “I’ll die either way. I don’t really care which finds me first.”
He laughed bitterly. “You have no idea what you’re getting into, do you, Elpis?”
I blinked at him. “What did you call me?”
“Perhaps you do not care about your fate.” He shook his head. “But I do.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“But I should.” He paused. The boat drifted by the slums built along the waterline, the buildings erected on the higher level rising into the sky like guarding walls. “Have you ever wondered why Ainwir appeared in the woods that day?”
No. I hadn’t. And I didn’t care now. “How do you know him?” I demanded.
“Come with me and I’ll tell you everything you wish to know. You’ll be safe under my care—both from the Guild and harm.”
I grimaced behind my mask. Ainwir had taught me to always know my enemy.
But this man’s voice was not familiar, and I could not see his face, nor judge his age.
Plenty of people in the Merchant Isles had shades of red hair.
He might not even be noble—gods knew how many times I’d dressed nicely and pretended to be one.
The only clue I had was his eyes. Sage-green. But it was just a color—a color that hundreds, if not thousands, of people shared.
Gods, I knew nothing about Eleos. Why had I started trusting these people? For all I knew, this could be his brother. His father. A distant cousin.
I lifted my gaze from the boat’s floor, praying this man wasn’t a psyche. He watched me calmly, unreadable behind his mask.
“Tell me your name,” I said. “And I might consider it.”
Waving a hand, the nobleman directed the boatman to stop. The gondola moored on a familiar street, one that Ainwir and I had often walked years ago.
The nobleman stepped out of the gondola and offered me a hand. I begrudgingly accepted, stepping from the boat onto solid ground.
“This isn’t the safest area for you.” He said. “Especially not these days.”
The Guild had countless eyes and ears in this part, and I didn’t want any of them to catch wind of me. Glancing around, I quickly spotted a textiles shop nearby; its back door would lead me onto an alley I could follow back to the library.
“Thank you for the conversation,” I said rigidly. “I would say it was a pleasure to meet you, but you never offered your name.”
Exhaling, he ran a hand through his hair. “I suspected you would try to run. It’s really going to make things more difficult for both of us.”
“You might’ve considered inviting me to dinner first.”
“Did we not discuss what such a course would have yielded? You know better than to trust a man who smiles and offers you aid.” His eyes crinkled. “You really are a great deal like Ainwir. Looking at you feels like looking at him.”
I moved to respond, but his tone of voice caught me off guard. Affection. Fondness. He did not speak of Ainwir as a hated foe, but a friend.
‘Never trust a man who smiles and offers you aid.’ Ainwir had warned. ‘Trust instead the man who bears his teeth and carries a knife. Only one is being honest.’
“I can protect you, Aethra.” He said, eyeing me intensely through his mask. “If you stay with Seraphim, you will not survive.”
“So you’ve claimed, but I don’t trust you either.”
“Did I not reveal to you the truth?” He asked. “You didn’t want to be part of this reckless mission. You became what you are out of necessity. I can offer you the solace you long for.”
Had a nobleman arrived at my door a few months ago and offered to pay my debts, I would have leapt at the opportunity. His charming conman act would have worked on anyone else.
But I was a con woman myself.
“I’d say thanks for the ride,” I spat. “But it wasn’t exactly pleasant. Fair sailing.” Turning on my heel, I strode away.
The smell of iron surged through the air as red thorns whipped around me, encircling my upper body and waist, their razor-sharp tips digging into the fabric of my dress and skin. I stumbled as they drew me back to him, spinning me around to face him.
These thorns were made of blood. He was a chthonic mage. The god of art and luck clearly did not favor me.
The nobleman grabbed my chin and tilted my face up. “I bear no intentions to harm you.” He said evenly. “But I cannot let you return to her.”
Biting my lip, I weighed my options. Follow this man to who-knows-where, or risk death to escape.
I didn’t give my situation the thought it deserved. Something in me snapped, and I moved.
Grabbing the vines wrapped around my chest, I tore them away from me. Thorns dug into my hands, drawing blood. Pain ripped through me as I threw myself backward, trying to escape my bonds.
The nobleman’s eyes flared, and he quickly scrambled to release me from his spell. The vines fell away, and I spun on my heel and sprinted for dear life. Glancing behind me, I saw him staring at my blood in horror. He hadn’t expected me to harm myself to escape.
“Wait!” He called
Red vines grew from the blood coating my dress, whipping toward my ankle to trip me up.
But they wavered at the last moment, as though afraid to touch my skin.
Taking advantage of his hesitance, I slammed into the textile shop’s door, fumbled with the knob, and threw myself inside.
The vines sprouting from my body caught in the door and exploded into a shower of scarlet rain.