Chapter 27
Dressing like a noble and dressing to be beautiful were vastly different things. New trends rose and fell each year, and anyone who failed to keep up was shunned. Considering recent events, I hadn’t been paying lordly fashion much mind.
Lord Phaedrus described his sister Themis as a chameleon.
Everything she displayed on the outside matched those around her, concealing the truth within.
A truth even Themis had long forgotten. He’d given me a quick summary of everything she’d worn in recent weeks, and I’d managed to piece together what Cynthus nobility favored these days.
Eyes twitching, mouth set in a grimace, I tied the last braid and carefully wound it around the bun resting atop my head. Exhaling, I dropped my hands and admired the hairdo.
Oh, it was awful.
Turning away, I grabbed the dress lying across the bed sheets and pulled it on: a simple red toga with a gold leaf belt and matching armbands. Grabbing the receptacle of powder I’d been lent, I returned to the mirror to complete the look.
A soft knock echoed on my door, and I called for them to enter. Expecting the maid, I nearly dropped the container in surprise when I saw Eleos standing behind me in the mirror. Whirling around, I looked him over.
Percy had already finished his task. With his hair oiled back, spectacles set on his nose, and encased in a frumpy brown robe, Eleos looked the very definition of ‘mundane.’
“Oh,” I said. “You look. . .”
“I can’t see with these on.” He pulled off the spectacles and folded them. “Thankfully, I don’t need to read anything.” Tapping my door closed, he leaned against the wall beside the vanity. “Are you ready?”
“I think so,” I said, leaning forward to apply the golden makeup to my eyes. “Hopefully, the lords will be more willing to listen than the clergy.”
“I have hope. We’re only offering to send a messenger. They can foist blame onto her.”
“True.” I winced. This color didn’t flatter me. “It’s hard to believe we’re mere days from sailing for Duath Nun.”
“I can’t wait,” Eleos said dreamily. “To see a country that’s been isolated for centuries? There might be flora and fauna there we could only dream of.”
The excitement in his eyes was so cute—just one of the reasons I’d fallen for him. Snapping the container of makeup closed, I turned to him. “Eleos. When the meeting’s over, can we talk?”
He sighed. “I’ve been thinking, and. . . you deserve the truth. All of it.”
“I promise you, I won’t hate you once I know. If anything, I’ll feel the opposite.”
“I. . . I know I’m not that man anymore. But that doesn’t mean I deserve your forgiveness.” He tilted his head. “That color doesn’t suit you.”
“I know.” I frowned at my reflection. “It’s terrible, isn’t it?”
He laughed quietly. “I’ll see you downstairs, Lady Aethra.”
Flipping his fake spectacles back on, he walked out the door. Relieved we were on track towards reconciliation, I spun before the mirror to ensure everything was in place, and followed him outside.
Quiet blanketed the manor. Everyone was downstairs preparing. I paused in the hall, stopping to look at a family portrait.
Seraphim looked like a young teenager here, positioned next to her twin.
They wore starkly opposing expressions: Themis sat rigidly, holding an elegant smile, while Seraphim grinned toothily.
Phaedrus stood with a hand on their seat, a few years older.
He looked less like a lord and more like a fiery-haired troublemaker, wearing an imperceptible half-smirk.
Their parents seemed grander than life, clad in opulent jewelry and layered cloaks. What had Seraphim been like back then, a young noble heiress destined for marriage to another lord?
“You look horrible.” Seth’s voice dragged my attention from the portrait.
He leaned on the wall beside me, tugging on the collar of his stylish black coat. Percy loitered a few paces away, playing tug-of-war with Whisper, a frayed old rope clenched in the dog’s jaw.
“This is what’s considered fashionable.” I said, smoothing my gown.
“It doesn’t look like you,” Seth pushed off the wall. “Are you sure you want us to wait upstairs? I’ll be too far away to help if something goes wrong.”
“The nobles aren’t going to attack us.”
“But their guards might. What if one recognizes you?”
“You’ll hear the commotion and my frantic screams.”
Seth chuckled. “I’m starting to see the benefit to your cowardice. Makes it easier to protect you.”
“Is that a compliment?” I raised an eyebrow. “I need to get going. Go hide.”
Furrowing his brow, Seth opened his mouth to protest again, but Percy snuck up on him and grabbed his arm.
“Don’t worry, Aethra,” Percy winked, “I’ll make sure our assassin behaves.”
Seth stumbled as Percy yanked him. “Good luck. And be careful.” He called.
Watching until they vanished up a stairwell, I hurried downstairs and found my way to the meeting chamber. A circular table, much like the one in Therapne’s temple, centered a grand room covered in beautiful paintings of the sea and Cynthus’ port.
My eyes followed the wall of art, eventually landing on the woman standing at the head of the table.
Elegant as a goddess, her thick red hair plunged down her back in a neat plait, a splash of color against her white gown.
Heavy makeup painted her face, shadows and golden light dancing around her eyes like artwork in itself.
I gasped. “Seraphim?”
Raising an arm, Seraphim scowled at herself. “He did an amazing job. Look.” She wagged her arm at me. “You can’t even tell there’s black ink under it.”
Approaching her, I marveled at the concealer. Not one hint of ink peeked through. “You look. . .” I tried to find the words. “Remarkably like your sister.”
“Strange, isn’t it?” She grinned. “I can mimic my sister with ease, but I could use some direction.”
“Themis is pious, right?”
“And obedient. She’s never let one toe slip out of line. Never.”
I ran a thumb across my chin, thinking. “Say the Archon spoke to your husband about his worries. The state of Duath Nun needs to be assessed—whether it’s gone, or thriving.”
“And if it’s thriving. . . " Seraphim nodded. “I can work with that.”
Lord Phaedrus entered with Eleos. Folding his hands on the back of his seat, the lord glanced between us and nodded, satisfied. “Good. You don’t look a thing like your wanted posters, now. Ah, but have you made yourselves comfortable? We’ll be here for hours.”
“I’m ready,” I said.
“Very well,” He said. “Time to set the stage, and summon the actors.”
* * *
Four border lords protected the strait separating the Merchant Isles from Duath Nun. The Lethe was a death trap: no ordinary ships could weather its tumultuous seas. Each lord held one of five keys that anchored the only vessel capable of crossing the strait intact.
The lords themselves were nothing impressive to behold. The oldest of the lot, Lycus, was a gray-haired man who’d spent time in the army before his father passed. Broad and weathered, he seemed the only soul paying the situation the gravity it was due.
The youngest, Kasos, imbued within me an urge to punch him across the mouth. The brat reclined in his chair, more interested in examining his nails than participating. Every time someone addressed him, he made a halfhearted joke and urged them to lay the silly matter to rest.
A middle-aged woman sat directly across from us, sour-faced with a taut bun. I couldn’t blame Lady Maera for her severity: women who inherited their father’s seats were no more respected by their peers than a lowly peasant.
The fourth, Crios, reminded me of Ainwir: sharp, well-dressed, with a hooked nose that imbued him with a unique presence. Though not handsome naturally, he outshone the pretty boy beside him with his neatly trimmed beard, styled dark hair, and elegant black cape.
We’d been talking in circles for an hour now. Red Bluff’s situation had shaken them, but it had not been the trump card we hoped for. While they argued amongst themselves, I glanced at Eleos, who sat behind me, recording notes, eyes flicking up to occasionally read the lord’s thoughts.
Lord Phaedrus ran a hand across his brow, his clipped tone barely concealing his annoyance. “So, you’d have us do nothing?”
Lord Kasos shrugged. “It’s not our responsibility. If the situation is dire enough, the church will send word.”
“The church will wait until it’s too late.” Phaedrus snapped. “Just as they were too late to save Red Bluff outpost.”
“Who cares about Red Bluff?” Kasos sneered. “It was a tiny ranching village. Another road can connect Therapne to Serifos.”
“You might be safe in your city now, but if all the outposts fall, we don’t have the resources to survive for long,” Phaedrus said, jaw grinding. “We must reach out for aid.”
“You’re looking in the wrong place. Duath nun isn’t protected by the Maiden. What salvation could it offer?”
Lady Maera looked sharply at the young man. “Scripture states all lands are watched over by the Maiden.”
“Precisely,” Phaedrus said. “What if the final city is in Duath Nun? If we don’t reach out, well, none of us will be there.”
“True enough.” Lord Crios had a deep, velvety voice. “But no one has crossed the Lethe in a century. Should we not await the crown’s word?”
“And we circle back to the beginning.” Phaedrus sighed. “The matter of time seems to be lost on you.”
“I agree.” Lord Lycus sat forward. “Fifteen meetings like this one have been called in the past century, yet no ship ever departed for Duath Nun. To await consent from the crown and church, we’d wait until our dying day.”
At least one lord was on our side. Seraphim stepped forward, speaking in a light, elegant voice that sounded nothing like her. “The consequences would be on none of you. I would lead this envoy. If the crown disapproves, they can take it out on me.”
Eleos’ voice whispered in my mind. “Maera and Crios aren’t worried about consequences; they think there’s not enough cause.”