Page 46

Essentially

I riset sleeps hard all night, awakening only when Anis mé Ario enters long after the sun has risen. She draws back the thin sheets and says, “Princess,” then helps a groggy Iriset into a diaphanous silk robe with so much skirt she might as well be fully dressed.

As Iriset bathes and relieves herself, Anis softly explains that Her Glory has sent her to attend Singix because of Singix’s request to be surrounded by mirané in the hours leading to her wedding.

Her Ceres attendants are being treated to a vacation of sorts, and only the ambassador complained.

Is there anything Singix would have Anis say to him in particular?

Iriset says in carefully accented mirané that Erxan should join her for a morning walk. She can’t avoid him forever, after all, and better to know right away if her craftmask and disguise will pass his inspection.

Anis dresses her in what Iriset points out—hoping she gets the underclothes correct, but as Iriset acts as if she knows what she’s doing, Anis has no reason to question her.

The handmaiden’s face is painted in bright lines of gold, white, and sky blue across her cheeks and temples, and when Iriset realizes the slight mussing under her eyes is evidence that Anis hastily mopped up tears, she turns away as if to conceal her own grief.

In truth, it’s wonderment. Had yet another person liked her enough in so short a time to miss her?

She puts her folded hands against her mouth and waves Anis away to collect herself.

It doesn’t matter. Her last old life is as over as surely as the one before it ended.

While brushing Iriset’s hair, Anis says, “Princess, Sidoné asked me to let you know the meeting you requested is being arranged for later this morning. Please—please give the Little Cat the condolences of all the handmaidens.”

Iriset stares at Anis, breathing through her mouth in gentle shock. “I—I shall.” But she says no more, at risk of putting anything undeserving into Singix’s mouth.

The handmaiden covers her eyes respectfully, and then the ambassador arrives, worried and sweating. He clasps Iriset’s hands and speaks in rapid Ceres.

In her careful mirané, hushed to at least partially disguise her voice, Iriset says, “I would like to honor Iriset mé Isidor by speaking only in mirané, Uncle.” The endearment she says in Ceres, knowing her pronunciation is good.

Erxan squeezes his eyes closed for a moment. When he opens them, they’re watery. “Ah, Princess,” he says, obliging her in mirané. “I am so upset at the loss of our little artist.”

“It was awful,” Iriset whispers, hugging herself for effect.

He touches her elbows gently. “There, child, you’ll be well.

We won’t allow anyone to hurt you. Though…

” He lowers his voice. “They’re saying the poison was meant for her, because of her father.

That you were the target is merely thin rumor.

I was apprised of the truth. Those responsible for the investigation needed to freely inquire after motivations and any knowledge I might have. ”

Iriset nods. She blows a shaky breath. He has no reason to suspect anything. “They spoke with me for a very long time yesterday. I am frightened. But I will do my duty.”

“We shall walk to the Star Steeple Garden and show these miran you are fit, and bold.” He offers his wrist to her for escort. First, she gestures for Anis’s help with her long cape.

As they walk along the seashell paths of the garden, Iriset remains quiet, and merely pretends delicacy if she needs to avoid any topic.

She moves slowly, as if aching from the weight of duty.

The culture of Ceres is her best ally in this deception, for its royal women are allowed to prioritize self-care and hide strong emotions from men.

To claim they’re very well and calm, but also withdraw.

(A mirané woman would be expected to rage and vow revenge, to be bold and decisive in her emotions, active in pursuit of justice, and to struggle with Silence. It’s exactly how Amaranth is behaving.)

During their constitutional, Erxan pauses twice to ask if she needs to return to her rooms, or to reconsider being tended to by her own servants.

Iriset explains haltingly that she wishes to ready herself for her wedding in all the mirané ways.

The ritual is tomorrow at noon, and today at midday she must begin the long process of physical and spiritual preparation.

Iriset was briefed on what to expect, as Singix’s appointed translator and companion: ritual baths, vows to Silence, fasting, and purification.

None of that should affect her delicate architecture, but the design egg…

Even thinking of it recalls vivid sense memories of whispering a lecture to Singix Es Sun, seducing her a word at a time.

And worse, Iriset doesn’t know actual details of the process of making it, or to what extent it might affect her crawling design or the layered craftmask.

When they’ve wandered a long enough path to be seen by plenty of miran and palace attendants, Iriset asks Erxan to escort her back to her rooms so that she can have a bite to eat before her appointment.

“I asked to speak with Iriset’s father, in her honor,” Iriset explains.

“Ah, Princess!” Erxan’s voice alone does well to convey how appalled he is. “He is a criminal.”

“I must, Uncle.” Iriset reaches for Erxan’s hand with both of her own though she’s never seen Singix initiate physical contact with any man.

“Ah, child, you are too good. It is what your demon of beauty would do.” He squeezes her hands and instead brings her to his own rooms, where there is food and drink aplenty.

They share a bowl of tea and a cold fruit soup and a fish roasted in yellow leaves.

All of it light and delicate, perfect for someone about to head into a day of taxing ritual.

There is a knock on the ambassador’s door, and Sidoné’s voice calls through that they’re ready for Singix.

She reaches for Erxan’s hands again, almost giddy with nerves at seeing her father like this, and relieved the ambassador has not called her out.

Touching his fingers, she bows her face and says, “I will meet you again as a wife, and forever grateful.” It’s easy for her to feel a soft affection for him, her first true friend in the palace, who liked her—Iriset—who spoke with her smartly of art and philosophy, as if her thoughts mattered.

Who reminded her of her father. And she’s lying to him, so awfully.

Erxan says, in Ceres, “All virtues build your crown.”

Iriset glances up at him with a sad smile, only to find Erxan frowning deeply at her hands.

A cold shudder of ecstatic force washes down her sternum, hitting her navel like a diamond. “Erxan?” she whispers.

His frown deepens, twisting the tips of the ghost writing on his forehead. “Princess, your great-grandmother’s…” His eyes widen.

Staring at her left hand, she can’t possibly discern what’s wrong. But it has to be something with the silvery ghost-writing sigils. “I…” she begins, then swallows on a dry tongue.

“This isn’t… you…” Erxan’s hands tighten miserably around hers and he looks up, lost and afraid, but there is a spark of ecstatic that rushes from him to her like a blaze of wildfire.

Anger.

“No,” she says quickly, grasping him back, leaning up on her knees. “Erxan, you don’t understand—”

His mouth opens and he sucks in a breath for a cry. Iriset dives forward, pushing her hands at his mouth, shaking her head. “No,” she says, in a burst of force. “Quiet!”

They fall back together. She lands half on top of him, clutching his mouth, desperate. What is she going to do? “Erxan, you have to understand,” she hisses. “Please! Don’t make me—”

He bucks wildly, shaking her off, and rolls, yells inarticulately.

Iriset reaches out, pushes her palms to the layers of cloth over his chest. Shoves hard ecstatic force and a tear of rising—like suddenly loosening a knot, familiar and easy—and Erxan’s face bursts pink, his jaw seizes.

She feels it as his inner design spikes in a hard, frozen moment, and his heart stops.

He collapses back to the floor with a thud. Iriset grabs at him, choking out a cry of very real distress.

“Princess? Ambassador?” someone calls from outside, muffled by the door. “Is everything all right?”

She stares at Erxan’s curled lips, his bloodshot eyes.

She killed him.

Iriset’s throat aches as if she’s thrown up. Her inner design bursts and roils, and she presses her fists together against her belly. She must control it, or her design fluctuations will disrupt the work she’s done, expose her, ruin everything—

“Princess?”

She breathes. Tries to align herself. To push away every thought and fleeting emotion about what just happened.

Ecstatic, her dominant force. Popping, spiky, effervescent.

Flow, Singix’s dominant force. Give and take, breathing.

Falling, Amaranth’s. Her father’s. Gravity, attraction.

Rising… Lyric’s. Heat, yearning.

Ecstatic, flow, falling, rising. A rhythm and a current.

Erxan is still dead, but Iriset feels calmer—distanced. Dissociation is sometimes a gift. Iriset calls, “Help me.”

The door opens, and Seal guards enter in formation with Sidoné, all with their blades free.

“He collapsed,” Iriset whispers, standing on slightly shaking legs.

One Seal guard rushes out, the other kneels at Erxan’s side. Sidoné comes directly to Iriset, demanding, “What did you eat?”

Shaking her head slowly, Iriset says, “Erxan ate the peach preserves and soda bread. I did not.”

For a moment, Sidoné only works her mouth as if attempting to shape all kinds of words. She grasps Iriset’s elbow. Frowns. Her gaze slides to the Seal guard and she shakes her head. “Go tell Amaranth what happened. She’s in the Hall of Shades. Be discreet. Take a Seal guard with you.”

“But my father is—”

“No, not anymore.”

“But—”

Sidoné is on her feet and in Iriset’s face. Coldly, she says, “No.”