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 likeyou,” 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 becareful.” 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.
