I forge a smile as I struggle to suppress a shiver, recalling the last time someone predicted my future.
Nothing good, my sweet anemone. Nothing good.
Calliope’s words haunt me. The woman’s ability to bury herself within the deepest recesses of my mind is uncanny.
“Is playing at being oracles something you do often?”
Eleni shrugs, rubbing at the corner of her kohl-lined eye. “Master Leto thinks it adds to the mystery of the troupe.”
I cast my gaze around the tent, taking in the scented smoke as it dances under the twinkling lights strung from the canopy before looking back to where Eleni and Pan watch me. My eyes meet Pan’s with a narrowed stare, and he smiles back impishly. “Do you know what the trials are?”
“Princess,” he exclaims with theatrical flair, one hand clutching his chest as if wounded. Even Eleni’s jaw drops in surprise. “Are you trying tocheat?”
“That depends,” I reply, raising an eyebrow at him. “Were you trying to drop hints?”
“Little pearls of wisdom? Those I can share with no one noticing,” Pan says with a sly grin, leaning in as if sharing a secret. Then his smile shifts, taking on a sharper, darker edge. “But anything more, and I might just end up as chimera fodder.”
As I reflect on everything I’ve heard him say so far, searching forhidden meaning, a growing sense of urgency sharpens my focus. Every sentence, every pause, feels loaded with significance, as though Pan is daring me to catch the clues hidden in plain sight. If Pan considers what he’s already shared to be a pearl of wisdom, then perhaps I need to look closer at what he’s told me so far. What have I overlooked? What truths are hidden beneath layers of metaphor and misdirection? On the night of the opening ceremony, Master Leto’s story wasn’t exactly about the founding of the Empyrieos, as I initially thought—it was about the Anemoi’s desperate escape from an unknown adversary, a shadowy threat that seemed to pursue them relentlessly. Their first trial, their very first test of survival, was Sphinx and her riddle—a challenge that eerily echoed our own encounter. The unnerving similarities didn’t stop there; even the circumstances around the captive creature mirrored our own, as though history itself was circling back, forcing us to relive its most harrowing moments.
If the Royal Trials mirrored the challenges from the tale, could the next test involve navigating a labyrinth?
“There you are,” Pan murmurs, his gaze flickering between my eyes as if deciphering my thoughts. Straightening, he speaks more clearly, his voice warm and inviting. “Is there anything else we can do to help you, darling? A reading, perhaps?”
I survey the tent, once again taking in the soft glow of the lights, the cozy array of scattered throws and cushions, and the two nymphai reclining among them. I won’t press him for more.
“I think I’ll pass on the fortune for tonight,” I say. “I wanted to speak with you about something else.”
Pan perks up, his eyes lighting with interest. “What did you have in mind?”
“I find myself in need of your troupe’s best musician.”
I brush a lock of hair from my face as we leave the troupe’s sanctuary behind, the sounds of laughter and music fading into the distance as we make our way back through the servants’ quarters. The chilled air of thelower palace corridors prickles my skin as we approach the staircase to the main court, a sharp reminder of how far removed this place is from the warm, vibrant haven we just left.
“I can’t wait to see what you have planned,” Nyssa says, her tone light as her hand skims the stone wall.
I arch a brow at her. “You mean you’re not going to ask?”
Nyssa smirks, casting me a sidelong glance. “Over the years, I’ve learned that it’s far more enjoyable to step back and let you surprise me.”
I return her grin, but before I can reply, my pace slows at the base of the stairwell. The sound of footsteps descending from above draws my attention.
Clutching Nyssa’s hand, I tug her back down the hall into one of the shadowed doorways that line the walls. Even though it’s probably a servant returning to their room, it would still be strange for a trial competitor and her handmaiden to be loitering down here. We hold our breath as the muffled voices of the men draw closer, each passing second tightening the knot of anticipation in my chest.
But as the men come into view, my heart thrums like a drum, its rhythm loud and relentless.
Even in this dimly lit part of the palace, a soft glow from the auras above illuminate the prince’s unmistakable deep auburn hair. His head bows in focus as he exchanges terse whispers with the hooded figure at his side. I bite my lip to hold in the sigh of relief that wants to escape me as they take a sharp turn in the opposite direction and stride purposefully toward a hall that seemingly leads to a dead end.
A faint sound escapes Nyssa, pulling my attention. I wince as I realize she’s backed into a spider’s web. Silken threads cling to her hair, draping it like a fragile, shimmering veil.
Nyssa is terrified of spiders.
I squeeze her hand, a plea for her to stay strong. Her eyes meet mine, and she offers a small, resolute nod. Once I’m certain she’s steady and won’t succumb to panic, I risk a quick glance around the edge of the doorway. My gaze skims past the still-distracted prince before settling on the figure beside him.
Cloaked in a dark, hooded robe, the man’s face is entirely obscuredby shadow. They’re close enough that I can make out the sound of his voice. It’s unfamiliar. A deep, raspy hiss, like the man has been screaming for too long and shredded his vocal cords.
I frown, aware I’m taking a considerable risk, but I can’t help continuing to stare, straining to glimpse his features beneath the shadowy hood. But Nyssa’s hand squeezes mine, and I pull back, pressing myself against the wall.
Their voices grow fainter, as though they’re now walking farther away from us. Nyssa and I share a confused glance before I risk another look.
