It wasn’t long after he’d settled into the shadows between shrubbery that he heard multiple footsteps crunching on the gravel path in the garden. Tensed and hand aching for his dagger, he waited for them to pass. Two Royal Guards marched past, closely followed by Empress Eveline in her opera gown, alongside the Avatheos, followed by a half a dozen Midnight Guards.
“We weren’t expecting your visit, your divinity. Had I known, I would have better prepared,” Empress Eveline said.
“The signs are ominous tonight, and I knew it couldn’t wait,” the Avatheos replied, his sonorous voice echoing through the still garden.
“What did you see?” she asked.
“The Golden Blade is at risk of corruption...” His voice faded as they moved away toward the tower.
Silence stretched out, and they moved out of earshot. He noted how the normally composed Empress Eveline fidgeted, twisting her hands together and gazing anywhere but at the Avatheos. Though it was dangerous, he moved out of his hiding spot to follow at a distance to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“As I told you before, I have seen no changes in the sword. We cannot be certain the wielder has been born.” Her voice rose in opposition of her usual calm and collected demeanor.
A guard at the back of the line turned around, and Erich leapt behind a tree to avoid being seen and missed a portion of their conversation. They kept walking, and he waited for a few heartbeats before following again.
“... If we are to stop the rise of darkness, they must have the sword. Have the sword brought to the temple tomorrow night; I would like to examine it myself before the Sun Ceremony,” the Avatheos said.
Trinity’s blessings. They’d given him a gift. A transport would be easier to steal from than breaking into a fortified tower alone. Erich retreated before he was caught spying, thanking the stars and any goddess who was listening for his good fortune. One more day, and then he’d be free of this wretched city.
When he was certain he wouldn’t be spotted, Erich stepped out onto the path and headed back for the theater. The second act had likely already begun, but at least he’d managed to gather information without arousing suspicion.
Then, as Erich mounted the stairs heading back to the second floor, an ear-piercing scream brought him to a halt.
The theater seemed to hold its collective breath before chaos erupted. Behind him, doors flooded open, and a panicked crowd flooded out. Logic told him to run and save himself, but inside, the dragon roared, nostrils flaring, scenting blood on the air and his thoughts fixated on Liane and an all-encompassing desire to protect.
15
The second act started, but Liane kept feeling her attention wander. There’d never be another chance to see Isabella play Cyra in the Goddess’ Veil, and yet she kept glancing over her shoulder, waiting for Erich to return. Where’d he go that took him so long? Should she have followed him rather than watched the play? Her gut told her she could trust him, but her brain had some lingering doubts.
They’d been seen together by the entire court, and that was enough to get the rumor wheel rolling. Now all she had to do was focus on her investigation, but the whole time she’d been trying to watch the opera, she’d felt his gaze burning her up, and she didn’t hate it. Even though their arrangement was merely a means to an end, she found herself enjoying his company and grateful for his interventions.
She shook her head; she returned her attention to the opera. Isabella, playing the role of Cyra, sang to her sister, the Nameless Goddess, a mournful refrain begging her to turn away from the darkness that polluted her heart. As the tempo increased, their song turned to a battle as the sisters flung words at one another like knives. The pace continued to rise, reaching a heart-pounding conclusion as the curtain fell before the last act.
Silence stretched out as the orchestral accompaniment faded away, and for one fraught moment, they were all plunged into darkness. As the tension of the moment rose, drums beat steady like a beating heart, building back up as the curtains opened, revealing the final act when Cyra banished her sister beyond the veil to save the world from destruction. She’d seen this play enough times to have memorized it all by heart, but Isabella’s performance was different, poignant, visceral, and raw. If only her thoughts weren’t filled with Erich, she could better appreciate it.
The spotlight illuminated the stage, but it wasn’t as she remembered. The backdrop of a rising sun was the same, but instead of finding Cyra preparing for battle, she lay on the ground, atop a puddle of spreading fake blood. Beneath the beat of drums, confused murmurs rippled through the audience. Standing up, Liane leaned over the edge of the balcony to get a better look. Isabella was lying very still, even as the first notes of her song began. Was this some new artistic interpretation to show Cyra’s grief over having to banish her sister?
From the left wing, the actress playing the Nameless Goddess stepped out cautiously; she, too, was not singing. Her foot stepped in the fake blood, and she screamed, stumbling backward.
“Dear Goddess. She’s dead!” the Nameless Goddess screamed.
“The moon shall rise and bring death to the sun worshippers!” shouted a voice from above the stage, echoing across the theater.
Liane searched the rafters and saw a shadowy figure leaping from beam to beam before scuttling down a setting backdrop and out of sight. Shock left her still and numb as it too seemed to have caught the entire audience off guard.
Then with a collective gasp, horror erupted in the audience. The conductor screamed from the orchestra pit. Fear rippled through the crowd like a rock thrown into a still pond. They turned at once and, like a wave, rushed for the door, trampling over each other in their panic.
On instinct, Liane looked at Heinrich. He was calm and seemingly unsurprised by the attack. This had been his plan. She looked where she’d last seen the killer. The guards would never catch him, not with a crowd of people rushing out of the theater. She contemplated jumping down and chasing him herself, but she’d likely break both her legs in the attempt.
“Liane, don’t even think about it,” Aristea warned, grabbing onto her arm. She pulled her away from the ledge and didn’t let go.
The curtain partition rustled, and guards grunted. Mathias placed himself between the entry and them while Liane drew her dagger from the holster at her thigh.
“Why do you have a dagger?” Aristea asked.
“Is that what you’re worried about right now?” Liane asked her.
Sidling up next to Mathias, they both held their breath. Whoever had killed Isabella could have done it to spark panic, and this might be the start of Heinrich’s coup. Liane glanced back at him once more, and he stared back at her placidly. Mathias pulled back the curtain and then lunged forward, only to stop short when he spotted Erich struggling against their guards.
