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BELORME

Citizens of Per-Siana milled about in the city below, pulling out their coin purses to make trades, stepping into the vast collection of temples lining the roads to pray and offer tribute, and gossiping with their neighbours as they strolled in pairs.

Belorme watched them from the balcony off the Intelligentsia’s Room of Knowledge.

He watched how they chased their desires, went about their little hobbies, and made every choice of their day based on their fears.

The fear of going hungry. The fear of growing ill.

The fear of being harmed. The fear of losing their family.

Belorme had once thought that way. He’d spent most of his life serving a king who swung fear around like a sword—right up until the day he died.

Day in and day out, those dwelling in the palace had served the late King with every ounce of their devotion.

King Draco had been a king chosen and blessed by the Celestial Divinities, a king who all believed would be a ruthless conqueror in his years and expand the borders of Per-Siana.

A king the people believed would take back the sacred desert lands stolen by B’rei Mira a hundred years ago.

There were prophecies about it. Even the Intelligentsia had been convinced.

But the late King was rash. The King made one terrible mistake in the last years of his reign that had cost him the legendary life the kingdom had anticipated.

Belorme could still taste the tension in the air from that day.

He could still feel the sweat on his flesh from nerves even now, as if he was back standing before the whole council, placed there by King Draco.

He could still hear the King’s condescending words, “What have you done, Belorme? How could you be so foolish?”

Foolish?

Belorme had served the King faithfully at his side, had even raised his son.

He’d been family, and still, the King dragged him out in public and made a scene, blaming Belorme for mixing the wrong remedy for Xerxes’s morning medicine.

Many of the magic brews and medicines had been switched around during the annual cleaning, and Xerxes’s medicine had been merged with a dreadful potion.

And when magic is mixed with medicine, only terrible things happen.

Terrible things like… an innocent young prince transforming into something beastly.

But Belorme hadn’t mixed the young Prince’s medicine. Belorme hadn’t even been in the medicine cabinet that day. It was Damon—Belorme’s new apprentice at the time—who had made the medicine that morning.

Despite Belorme’s claims of innocence, the King had never believed him. And what a terrible thing—to speak the truth and not be believed.

That was the former King’s single greatest mistake.

It was also the reason Damon owed Belorme his life.

Belorme wasn’t responsible for the King’s untimely death afterward, but he hadn’t done anything to stop it either. Even the medicines Belorme had made for the King’s sickness were fake—water and blossom paste. A concoction good for nothing more than watering the gardens outside.

The King’s funeral had been a grand spectacle.

Xerxes had cried for days. And Belorme, who had once spoken softly to the boy and taught him how to read, did not say a word to him.

Even when Xerxes tugged his sleeve and begged Belorme for a bedtime story to ease his pain, Belorme had ignored the boy and told him to go read a book by himself.

Xerxes had, after all, been far more loved by the King than Belorme. Something Belorme had learned the hard way. It was difficult to feel sympathy for the weeping boy after that.

Belorme flicked a crumb off the balcony ledge as he thought about these things.

He watched the crumb sail down the side of the palace and disappear into the courtyards below.

From where he stood, he could see into the glass rooms of the palace, he could watch the staff going about their chores.

He could spy. He could collect all sorts of knowledge from up here.

And knowledge, after all, was power. And power equalled control.

And only control could keep Belorme from ever having to suffer at Xerxes’s hands the way he’d suffered at his father’s.

“We hate the late King,” the voices chimed together.

“We hate Xerxes.”

“Chancellor.”

When Damon’s low tone filled the balcony, Belorme realized he was gripping the rail with bleached knuckles. He loosened his grip and peeled his fingers off.

“The Intelligentsia are meeting soon to discuss the Heartstealers issue. As you can imagine, everyone’s a little on edge.”

A little on edge. Belorme grunted. Everyone was more than ‘a little’ on edge. Ever since Xerxes’s additional maiden had made the King laugh.

He’d laughed .

How horrifying. Belorme had not seen Xerxes laugh since he was a tiny boy giggling through pranks he’d pull on unsuspecting noblemen in the palace. And now, Xerxes had threatened to come after Belorme if the Intelligentsia had the maiden killed.

What a mess this was.

“I want you to go apologize to that maiden,” Belorme said to Damon.

“What?”

“The one you raised your sword against,” he clarified. “The one starting all the rumours among the nobles.”

Damon was quiet, but Belorme imagined he was seething. “Why?” the sage asked in a dark voice.

“Because you’re young, attractive, and the perfect candidate to make the King jealous.

And there are more refined methods than killing to get what we want,” Belorme stated.

“I want you to get on Estheryn Electus’s good side.

I want you to talk to her sweetly. And if you can, I want you to put her in a compromising position,” Belorme said.

He turned around to face the sage. Only one of Damon’s near-black eyes showed through the slit of his hood.

“I want to catch her in the act of betraying the King.”

Damon’s shoulders relaxed, the anger fizzling from his gaze. “Being sweet will take too long,” he said. “I can move things along faster if I’m pushy.” There wasn’t a spark of doubt in Damon’s appearance. The unreserved confidence almost put a shiver in Belorme’s spine as he nodded.

“Yes, befriending her does seem like a waste of time,” he said.

“Kill her immediately! We want her dead!”

“She’s dangerous!”

Belorme folded his arms and paced around the balcony.

“I’ll arrange something scandalous,” he decided.

“Be ready. And Damon…” The young sage raised a brow in question.

“I’ve been watching the Adriel priests in the city—They’re getting bold.

Grab one of them when you have time and bring him here in secret. I’d like to interrogate a priest.”

Damon nodded. “Of course.” After a shallow bow, he returned to the Room of Knowledge, his cloak sweeping around with him.

Belorme turned back toward the Mother City. And to his voices, he said, “Consider it done. What shall I do for the gods next?”