Chapter Eighteen
He recognized the knock on his door. He turned away from it, pulling the quilt up to his shoulders and resolving to ignore it, before abruptly changing his mind. He flung the covers off and yanked on a robe to open the door.
Poyut held a tray of food and an expression of concern. “The kitchen said you didn’t eat dinner or supper.”
“I wasn’t hungry,” he said coldly.
“You should eat something, Ethyr. At least a little.”
“I didn’t realize serving food was part of your job.”
“I wanted to check on you. And I didn’t think a servant telling you to eat would be effective.”
“What makes you think you telling me is any better?”
Poyut paused. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, something’s wrong!” Ethyr had wanted to bring it up calmly, but hearing the question made it burst out of him with all the confusion and betrayal and anger he felt. “Why didn’t you tell me it was my choice and not just a vote! And why did you lie about Yorith choosing you to be my guard?!”
She only blinked at the outburst, but the questions furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about?”
“The servant girl! You helped her and Lyrian kicked you out of the cavalry but then Yorith hired you. Is it true?”
Her face fell. “How do you know about that?”
“So it is true.”
She sighed, shifting the tray, before deciding to place it on the ground to the side of the doorway.
“Yes, I stopped a child from getting her hand sliced off, and got kicked out of the guard for it. I thought my life was over, but then Yorith approached me. He thought I had done the right thing, but he didn’t say more than that.
I assumed it wasn’t the reason—or at least not the only one—for his choice, but I certainly wasn’t going to question it. ”
“But why did you help a thief? She stole from a sick person!”
“I’m not saying what she did was right, but she was barely fourteen, Ethyr. She didn’t deserve permanent disfigurement for it. You didn’t do anything stupid when you were fourteen, careless of the consequences?”
Ethyr simmered down a little, but still muttered, “I wouldn’t have stolen like that.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t think it was that important. Frankly, I just wanted to put it behind me.” Poyut rested her hands on her hips. “So is it still something you want to be mad about?”
He pressed his lips together, not sure what to think. “Then why did you say you didn’t know Lyrian?”
“Because I don’t.”
“But he’s the one who promoted and dismissed you.”
“He made the decisions, that doesn’t mean he came to tell me directly.”
“But—but you said you were impartial between him and Yorith. How can you be impartial to someone who almost ruined your life?”
Poyut threw her hands up with a sigh. “I don’t know what to tell you, Ethyr. I don’t hold a grudge against him for it. Not for that. I didn’t do my job, and he was doing his. I can’t fault him for that.”
“Oh…” Ethyr clasped his hands together, looking down at them. “The advisor,” he remembered, turning on Poyut again. “You didn’t tell me I was able to choose the person. Why would you lie about that?”
“That’s what Klara told me.” Poyut frowned. “Who told you you could choose?”
He crossed his arms and looked to the side, trying not to pout because he knew she wouldn’t like it. “Lyrian.”
“Lyrian?” she repeated harshly. “When did you talk to him?”
“This morning. Didn’t the guards tell you?”
“No,” she said, then darker, “No. They didn’t.” She looked down at the tray. “Please eat something, that’s all I’m asking. We can talk about everything else later.”
Ethyr bit his lip, watching Poyut walk down the hall.
He didn’t know who to trust anymore. Everyone here knew exactly what to say to any resistance without a second of thought.
He’d never been very good at lying, or knowing when someone was lying to him.
But that was just it—he wasn’t sure any of them were.
He was starting to realize that lying wasn’t necessary to manipulate others.
How could all these people live like this?
He brought the tray into his room and ate a few spoonfuls of soup before leaving it to get back into bed. It was hard to have an appetite.
His eyes opened to darkness. He flung himself upright.
“Who’s there?!”
The words echoed in an empty room. He searched the moon-shadowed corners, but no figures were lurking in the dark. The door was closed. He almost lay back down when a silhouette caught his eye. Someone was on the balcony.
He threw himself so violently from the bed that he got caught in the covers and almost fell on his face.
He stumbled in the clinging fabric, turning to see if the person had advanced on him in the muss, but they hadn’t moved.
They leaned leisurely against the railing as though they were in their own quarters and not trespassing at all.
“If I scream, guards will be here in seconds!” he called across the room.
The person turned their face and the movement drew Ethyr’s attention to the braid shifting across their tunic. They turned back to the sky.
“Kiaro?” Ethyr hesitated. The god did not move. He inched closer to the balcony, following Kiaro’s gaze to the full moon. Dark clouds drifted by, occasionally obscuring it.
“For a long time, the moon was the only light I could feel against my skin.” He spoke so softly Ethyr almost didn’t hear the words, though hearing didn’t provide any comprehension.
He forced himself to take a step out onto the balcony. “What are you doing here?”
Kiaro lifted his elbows from the railing, planting his palms there instead. He still didn’t look at Ethyr, staring at the banister as though it might have the answer.
“Are you going to kill me?”
Kiaro’s head rose, then turned sharply to look at him, and Ethyr felt the force of his eyes like a shove. He stepped back.
“What?” Kiaro whispered, barely above a breath.
Ethyr swallowed. “For killing Yorith.”
Kiaro stared at him like he’d uncovered his deepest personal secret. Then his lips pressed together and his eyes hardened. “No,” he said, turning away. “Do you have any idea the number of High Priests that have come and gone in our lifetimes? Another dead is nothing to us.”
“But he didn’t just die,” Ethyr whispered. “He was murdered.”
“He’s dead either way.”
The flippant way he spoke of it, like it was something inconsequential to be shrugged off, gave Ethyr a tightness in his chest and shoulders.
When Kiaro said nothing else, nor offered an explanation for his presence, Ethyr crept up beside him.
The guards below were gone now. Poyut seemingly trusted him enough not to run away again.
Kiaro’s silky voice eased into the silence like a fog. “I never intended for this to happen.”
Ethyr glanced up, surprised. In the moonlight, Kiaro’s features looked as marble as the railing he leaned on. “What do you mean?”
The question seemed to trouble the god. He frowned at the banister, eyes tracing the carved embellishments along the sides. He didn’t reply for a long few seconds. “I thought the only way you’d believe was if you heard for yourself… but you misunderstood.”
“Heard what for myself?” Ethyr’s confusion dawned to racing realization. “Were you the one in my room that night? You led me to Yorith’s study?” Kiaro didn’t reply. “Was Yorith in on it too?”
Kiaro shook his head. “Your judgment of Yorith was biased from the beginning. But I should have trusted you enough to make your own decisions.”
Ethyr couldn’t help his scoff. “If you did, you’d be the only one.”
“Yorith knew if you were allowed to make your own, they’d be easily manipulated.”
Ethyr bit his lips together to stop the indignant response on his tongue, staring hard at the shadowed garden below.
“I should have known meddling would only cause more problems,” Kiaro continued softly.
Ethyr’s offense weakened with the quiet agony in Kiaro’s voice. Why did it seem like every time he was with Kiaro, the god was a completely different person? Cold, then warm; mischievous, then melancholic…
“I wish I knew who you really were,” he whispered.
Kiaro’s eyes on him were soft. “Trust me, you don’t. But there’s no point pushing everyone away. Loneliness is worse than humility.”
“What would you know about that?”
Kiaro’s flicker of a sad smile stole Ethyr’s breath. The looming figure of the god vanished, replaced by a magpie perched on the railing. He glanced one last time at Ethyr before spreading his wings and diving off the balcony.
Ethyr slouched, resting his forehead on his arms and closing his eyes. He was no less confused, and he still had no idea who he could trust, if anyone.
Ethyr braced himself before stepping into the study. The empty desk confused him for a moment before he caught sight of Klara sitting in one of the plush seats by the fire.
Klara looked up from reading a letter and set it aside.
“Your Divinity,” she said, before realizing her insult belatedly and hurrying to stand. She dipped her head. “Is something the matter?”
“I assume Poyut told you I’ll be attending council tomorrow.”
“Ah… yes. Of course.” Klara kept her gaze lowered. Ethyr cocked his head, watching her closely.
“Why did you lie? If I could choose the advisor, wouldn’t I have found out eventually?”
“I did not lie, Your Divinity. I’ve never been to a meeting, I’ve only heard second-hand from Y…” She pressed her lips tight together and closed her eyes. It took her a few seconds to continue, voice delicate and wavering. “If I was mistaken about any details, I apologize.”
Ethyr chewed at his lip, glancing around the study. Nothing had been changed or moved at all, looking exactly as Yorith had kept it. The fire was lit to combat the shade and chill of morning, but neither its light nor warmth reached the desk.
“Why not bring the desk closer to the fire?” he suggested.
Klara blinked, either confused or maybe offended that he was offering such advice. “It is too risky to have all those important papers near flame,” she explained.