“Performance?” I ask, drawing her to a stop so I can face her. I force my body to remain relaxed, though her words stir anxiety deep in my gut. With my arm in hers, she would notice if I tensed up, and I can’t risk raising suspicion so early in the game.
“Yes.” She nods, her sharp eyes wandering over my face. “I haven’t seen anyone look Keres in the eye for so long before.”
Worry sparks, flaming the anxiety to a roar. I bite my lip as I replay my actions in my head, examining each moment to see if I did anything that could be taken as an insult. “Did I offend him?”
“On the contrary, I think you have thoroughly captured his attention.” Titaia flashes me a reassuring smile and tugs me forward. “Now come along. I’m sure you’re tired from your long journey across the sea.”
It’s not until she says it that a wave of exhaustion rolls over me. The excitement of the past couple of weeks drains from me, leaving my limbs heavy with fatigue. All I long for now is a night of uninterrupted sleep, free from the relentless sway of a ship or the unyielding seat of a carriage beneath me.
With a small sigh of relief, I let her lead us on.
The board has been set, the players are in motion, and now all the pieces just need to fall into place.
The palace is as beautifulwithin as it is from without. A masterpiece of stark white marble, towering pillars, and intricately carved frescoes that breathe life into ancient myths and legends. But when we arrive at the courtyard hosting the trials’ opening ceremony the following evening, it’s as if we’ve entered an entirely different world.
Colored lanterns adorn the marble columns and hang from the boughs of wisteria trees, creating a beautiful spectrum of light that shines against the velveteen night sky. Circus tents are scattered throughout the open space, adorned with flags of every color imaginable.
Music and laughter fill the air as the people of the court flock to each tent, eager to explore the mysteries inside, their eyes sparkling in anticipation of the wonders that await them. Servers weave through the crowd, carrying platters of sweet cakes with spun-sugar decorations and trays filled with steaming goblets.
In the courtyard’s center, a tall structure stands, its frame draped with cascading silks. Along these vibrant lengths, performers clad in minimal attire move with mesmerizing precision, their bodies twisting and bending in an elegant aerial dance. The fabric wraps and unwinds around their lithe forms, creating a captivating display of strength and fluidity.
TheThíasos tou Theíou.
The most renowned performance troupe across all the kingdoms of the Empyrieos—and it’s no wonder why. The sight before me isspellbinding. Magnificent, just like their namesake—Troupe of the Divine—suggests.
Rumors circulated among the courtiers about their attendance throughout the Royal Trials earlier in the day, and I’m thrilled to see those whispers were true.
“Dear gods,” Nyssa breathes beside me as one of the aerial dancers—a willowy nymphai with long, silvery hair and delicate features—tumbles gracefully through the air, her fall arrested at the last moment by the silk ribbons just above the swirling courtiers below. “When I die, I want my soul to come back as a piece of silk.”
“I don’t think that’s how reincarnation would work,” I murmur, biting back a smile.
Some tycheroi cling to the belief that they’ll get another chance—that if enough magic lingers in their soul at death, they’ll be reborn. Others claim we return to the Anemoi, wherever they may have gone, while the nymphai insist they dissolve back into the elements. I’m not sure I believe in any of it, but if the stories hold any truth, I highly doubt silk is an option.
“It’s important to have dreams in life, Aella.”
I glance at Myna, standing on Nyssa’s other side, my eyebrows no doubt disappearing into my hairline. It’s just the three of us in attendance tonight; the rest of our Flight was sent to the servants’ quarters after we settled into our rooms, already hard at work searching for the weapon.
“You grew up with herandLark?” Myna asks, curiosity threading through her tone.
“Not exactly,” I reply, keeping my voice low. “But I’ve known them long enough.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says, solemn and sincere.
“I’ll have you know,” Nyssa interjects, her voice rising in mock offense, “we’re excellent company.”
“Excellent,” I repeat, struggling to suppress the grin threatening to break across my face.
Myna’s answering smile falters, flickering like a candle on the verge of going out, as her eyes shift past me. Her expression tightens,becoming careful and restrained, before she dips into a subtle curtsy. Nyssa mirrors her movements with the same precision. Sensing the shift, I compose myself, mask my curiosity with a polite smile, and turn to face the approaching figure. “Lady Titaia,” I say, my smile blooming into one much more genuine.
“Oh, please, Princess,” she replies with a mischievous smile. “I’m as much a lady as I am a milkmaid. Titaia is fine.”
“Only if you return the favor.”
“We’ll see.” Her eyes shimmer as she turns toward the others. “And who do we have here?”
“My handmaidens, Sarra and Lyna,” I say, gesturing to Nyssa and Myna as I introduce them with the names they’ve chosen for our ruse. The process was already convoluted—receiving our Aviary names only to adopt another set. Yet, having handmaidens named after birds would have drawn far more attention than we desire.
Titaia greets them with a smile before she loops my arm through hers and walks me into the fray, Nyssa and Myna trailing behind at a respectful distance. “I was hoping I would find you,” she says. “How are you settling into the palace?”
