Page 24

I glance over to find Espris lounging on one of the long benches. Her amber eyes spark with mischief, and I can already tell she’s been waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

“Some of us actually do our work, you know,” I quip, moving closer and sliding onto the bench across from her.

Espris snickers, propping her chin on her hand. “And here I thought you were avoiding us. Thena was starting to think you didn’t like her.”

I look toward the girl beside Espris. Judging by the irritated expression on her tanned face and the slight narrowing of her hazel eyes, she’d rather be anywhere but here.

“I don’t care if she likes me,” Thena mutters, tucking a mousy brown curl behind her ear. “I care if she pulls her weight.”

“I’m excellent at pulling my weight,” I reply.

Thena doesn’t respond, but her grip on her spoon tightens, her knuckles whitening.

Espris grins, clearly enjoying the tension. “Don’t mind her,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “She’s been in a mood all week. Probably because Dimos keeps breathing down her neck.”

“Dimos breathes down everyone’s neck,” I point out. “It’s practically his job.”

That earns a grin from Espris, and even Thena’s scowl softens. Encouraged, I press on. “Speaking of which, what’s his deal with the royal gallery?”

“By Notos, did you get assigned there?”

I look up to see a wiry boy with clay-colored hair, half a spoonful of stew falling back into his bowl. He gapes at me, but his question makes me pause.

“To the royal gallery?”

The boy nods eagerly.

“She spilled dirty water all over the entrance hall,” Espris chimes in.

I point my spoon at her. “You said it was a test.”

An older woman at the far end of the table clears her throat. “Master Dimos has treated it like that for years. His way of sorting the flowers from the weeds. Just look at what happened to poor Maurice.”

The boy’s eyes go wide. “What happened?”

“He got the sack,” Espris says, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “But that’s because he got caught peeking inside the king’s quarters.”

“Only Petroula and Marios have the tokens to access them,” the older woman says.

I frown, my eyes darting between their faces. “Which doors lead to those?”

“The central doors. The ones on the left lead to Prince Kallias’s chambers,” Espris says, a dreamy expression taking over her face at the mention of the prince.

I try very hard not to wrinkle my nose.

Unease crawls up the nape of my neck, as if someone’s watching me, but when I glance around the room, no one’s looking my way. Still, the feeling lingers, crawling up my spine like a warning. I shove a spoonful of stew in my mouth, choosing not to press further, and the others lose interest as their chatter turns toward the upcoming champion selections for the Games. I throw in casual comments here and there.

But my mind keeps returning to the king’s chamber.

A lot can be hidden behind closed doors. Especially when it leads to a place forbidden to all but a few. The pieces slot alongside the conversation I overheard in the gallery.

If someone doesn’t want you near it, they’re hiding something.

I tighten my grip on the spoon as I try to bury the thought—an adage from one of my former masters at the Aviary. I’m not here to spy. I’m not here to dig into the palace’s secrets.

Despite my best efforts, it lingers, unwilling to be suppressed.

Chapter 9