“We’ll need a story. A good one.” Seraphim paused. “Luckily, it’ll take a while to get where we’re going. Think you can come up with a plan by then?”
I nodded, already considering a few possibilities. A royal decree from the king, perhaps? It wouldn’t be a complete lie—and tales with a nugget of truth were easiest to spin.
“But let’s stay focused on today.” Seraphim brushed a strand of fiery hair from her face. “Serifos’ dungeons are tightly guarded. How would our newest recruit suggest getting in and out?”
“Forge a transfer,” I said. “Stage ourselves as guards intending to move him. Get in, get out, prisoner in tow.”
“Who are we impersonating?”
“Someone that one of us resembles.” I tapped my chin, trying to think of a lord in the military. Ainwir had avoided them.
Percy rubbed the back of his neck. “I. . . have an idea”
Seraphim snorted into her wine, and Eleos’ eyes lit up. “Ah.”
“A relative?” I guessed. “Perfect. You can impersonate them. May I?” I gestured to Seraphim’s journal.
Opening the book to a blank page, Seraphim slid it across the table. Grabbing a quill, I jotted down a list of everything she’d need. Dyes, scrolls, disguises.
Pausing, I glanced up. A mind-reading psyche could make a useful sentry, searching the guards for growing suspicions. Seraphim could stay outside with the caravan, in case we needed rescue.
“Come with me.” I tore my page out and beckoned to Percy. “Tell me what this officer looks like.”
“Not like me,” Percy replied, looking to Seraphim for approval.
“We leave tomorrow,” she ordered. “Be quick.”
Pressing my back against the door, I pushed it open. Percy walked past me, much less of an eyesore than when we’d first met, though he couldn’t lookmorelike an eccentric traveling minstrel.
A shirt embroidered with multiple bright colors lay open to his belt, and a matching patchwork of colors ringed his waist and trailed down to his knees. Puffed sleeves swept past my face as he bowed in gratitude.
The outpost bustled with activity, none of it hostile. Guards undoubtedly pursued us, but word had not reached this hamlet yet. The sun rose in a cloudless sky, drying the puddles from an overnight rainfall.
“So,” I said, walking alongside him. “How did a bard get caught up with all this?”
“Didn’t Eleos say?” Percy adjusted his hat. “I was in the cell beside them.”
“You never said what for.”
He flushed. “Bards, we. . . don’t always have a lot of coin. I came up short when paying for an inn and then got into an altercation with the bartender.”
“You fist fought a bartender?”
“He started it.” Percy cleared his throat. “Seraphim learned I had magic and asked me to join. She paid well.”
I tapped the torn page against my wrist, remembering the night we’d met. Thewailing. Some horrible banshee scream had driven the crowd and guards away, clearing their path.
“You’re a muse,” I said. “I never understood how your magic works.”
“That’s because it’s so different between us all. Some use painting as a medium, and some dance. I play music, but it’s not my medium. And I doubt you’d guess what form it takes.”
“You’re right. I’m not the artistic type.” I walked sideways, studying him intently. “You know what they say: only those who lived extraordinary lives receive the gift of magic. So what’s your story?”
I asked the question with an inquisitive smile, but quickly regretted my levity. Percy’s face paled, and his cheerful expression vanished.
He was touched by the Empty. Any who were discovered to be tainted faced death, for fear they’d spread the void.
Percy answered quietly. “I sang requiems for funerals. Not a conventional career for a minstrel. Maybe that’s why.”
