While flying here from Achotia, Xendus shut me out of his mind—clearly still punishing me for crimes of betrayal I didn’t commit. If anyone else knew that Saxon was going to confess, no one told me. I fail to see how being imprisoned is going to help any one of them. Or help to discredit Othrix.
I follow Rosomon as far as I’m able, taking note of the door she’s dragged through, far around the side of the temple building.
Finding a shadowy corner, I change my clothing to don finery in keeping with my royal status. The others underestimate the power of my position, but I plan to use my title to every advantage. I am second in command in the Light.
Dressed, I test the door they took Rosomon through. It’s locked, and my dull thudding on its marble surface brings no one.
I walk the circumference of the temple building, hoping to learn its secrets and discover all its exits. Clearly Saxon’s plan to invalidate Othrix and dethrone my father has failed. Everything’s now up to me.
Hearing voices near the far side of the circular temple building, I stop. Ahead and below, two men are talking outside a door. In a small pit, barely big enough to accommodate them, the two men rest against a retaining wall and pass a flask between them.
The door opens, and another man’s head and shoulders appear. The first two men straighten off the wall, and the one holding the flask hides it behind his back.
“There you are, lazy bastards,” the man barks. “Get back to work. The big show is tomorrow.”
“Our team is finished,” says the taller of the two men.
“Did you double check every rope and pulley? Is every mirror polished? Are the smoke machines set?”
“It’s all done,” the taller workman replies. “Every trick in the klericks’ book is set to go.”
“Watch your tone,” says the boss through the door, “or you’ll find yourself on that stage tomorrow, dragged before Othrix yourself.”
“Yes, sir,” the man says. But the moment the door closes, both of them make rude gestures toward the door.
“Dragged before Othrix, my ass.” The man takes a long draft of whatever’s in his flask. “Why does he think he can scare us, when we’ve seen all the fakery?”
The thicker man takes the flask. “Thrixing idiot.” He lifts the flask to his lips, then frowns, tipping it upside down. “Hey.” He shoves the other man. “You drained the last drop.”
I see my opening. Quickly grabbing a full flask of wine from my saddle bag, I walk over to the railing above them. “Hey there,” I call out. “Fancy some company? I could use some help finishing this.” I shake the flask and their eyes light up.
“Shall I come down and join you?” I see my opportunity to get into the building without being arrested. “Or you could climb up here.” The one man, in particular, has far too much girth to pull himself up and over the railing.
The men exchange a look and then gesture for me to climb down.
Securing my saddle bags over my shoulders, I swing over the iron railing, slide my hands to the rails’ bottom, then drop the remaining ten or twelve handspans and land. The pit is cramped, but there’s more room than I first thought.
I take a small swig from my flask and then pass it to the man who spoke to the boss.
“Much obliged,” he says. He grabs the flask and takes a large swig, and his nose wrinkles as he hands it back to me. “What the holy thrix is that?”
“The finest fortified wine from Khotor, from the royal family’s own cellars. Don’t you like it?”
His sour expression changes when I tell him it’s from the King’s stash. And it’s obvious he’s now taken note of my clothing. “It’s good. Just…different.”
I hand the flask to the girthier man. He takes a tentative sip, then a longer one. This fortified wine is very strong and should help me shake some information from my new friends.
“I’m Ty,” I say, as I take the flask back. I pretend to take a drink and then hand it to the first man.
“Ovren,” he says, then takes a long drink.
“Ham,” says the other man. “Hamlin if you want to get fancy.”
“Speaking of fancy,” adds Ovren. “Did you steal them clothes from the man who owns this flask?”
I tip my head toward him. “You’re very clever, Ovren.”
“That I am.” He takes another swig of the strong wine.
