Page 29

He’d lain awake all night thinking about the soldiers’ news.

Imagining Alecsander of B’rei Mira making Xerxes his next target.

During breakfast he hadn’t been able to speak a word as the councilmen talked and talked and talked , coming up with lame speculations and pathetic strategies that would never work to hunt down the B’rei Mira spies.

Xerxes didn’t eat; even the sight of jam had turned his stomach.

Instead, he’d watched the councilmen, separating the newest members and wondering how difficult it might be for a B’rei Mira spy to pose as a Per-Siana councilman.

He did the same thing with every servant who carried out hot breakfast items. And then again, as he headed out of the palace to the training field.

Every single subject he passed looked to have the makings of a spy. He’d go mad at this rate.

Folke stood at attention across the field. The training grounds were just inside the outer palace wall and surrounded by lush flower gardens, pomegranate shrubs, and almond trees—the most beautiful place for any soldier to sharpen his skill. It was where Xerxes had learned to fight.

“We’ll be doing extra training in the days ahead. I want every single one of you able to defend yourself against our enemies,” Xerxes said. “We’ll train from dawn to dusk if we must.”

“But, Your Majesty, what about the dance tomorrow night?” a bystanding organizer piped up, and Xerxes closed his eyes.

These wretched Heartstealer trials. They would be the end of him.

“Cancel it,” he stated.

He hadn’t noticed other organizers were even there, hovering by the footbath of the Turquoise Peri Pond of Blessing, until they all started gasping.

“We can’t! The kingdom would be in an uproar! They live for news about the Heartstealer trials!” he said. “Please, Your Majesty, these events are all your people have to look forward to!”

Xerxes opened his mouth to protest and scold the organizer for objecting.

But he realized how difficult it was going to be to contain the gossip about the four soldiers from the border.

The Intelligentsia would already be overworked trying to conceal the truth and rewrite the story so the citizens didn’t panic.

Truly, as much as he hated it— dancing —it was an event that would be a promise to the people that everything was normal in the palace. Even if it wasn’t.

Xerxes rolled his eyes and walked to the edge of the field.

He shook off his coat of nobility and tossed it to a servant, then he locked eyes with a Folke and pulled his sword from its sheath.

He felt like pummelling a few guards this afternoon.

“If anyone goes easy on me,” he warned, “I’ll get angry.

And none of you want to see what happens when I get angry. ”

Xerxes was slick with sweat three hours later, his silk shirt ruined. His sleep-deprived body begged him to stop, but he refused.

It had been a while since he swung a sword. His extensive combat training had ended when he turned fifteen. He was surprised to discover how much of it was still second nature to him.

Folke guards rolled into the grass in exhaustion when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Xerxes should have punished them, but instead he sighed and turned away to take a long drink of water, giving them a moment’s rest. As he drank, his gaze fell upon a slender silhouette scaling down the palace wall into the garden.

He wiped a drip of water from his lip, his eyes narrowing on the dark-haired maiden.

“I’ll be back,” he said as he handed his water glass to the nearest servant.

Xerxes marched past the pond and into the orchard, ducking around shrubs until he was close enough to hear her heavy breathing over the wind.

He waited at the foot of the palace, watching her make every careful move, watching her leap the last few feet, watching her boots find the ground. Watching her turn around.

She nearly screamed. Her hand flew over her mouth and all that came out was a high-pitched shriek.

“Estheryn,” Xerxes said. “How many times have I warned you not to try to escape? Hmm?” He raised a brow at her, too tired and sore to show much expression.

Instead of panicking, dropping to her knees, and begging for mercy with repentance—which was what any normal person would do—Estheryn’s face broke into a sheepish smile . Something flipped in Xerxes’s chest when he saw it. “Don’t do that,” he instructed.

“What?” Estheryn asked. Still smiling.

Xerxes glared at her mouth. He tore his gaze off a second later and glanced toward the nearest tree. The sky. Anything.

He cleared his throat. “I heard you’re causing trouble. There’s a rumour in the Mother City that you…” Xerxes bit his tongue. He wasn’t sure he could spit out such an absurd claim. “… healed that beggar.”

“Ah. Yes, that man was healed.” She nodded and Xerxes’s gaze fired back to her. “But not by me, King. I’m not that powerful on my own.”

“She’s alone out here, did you notice?”

“Now would be an excellent time to kill her.”

“Then who was it?” Xerxes asked. He didn’t mean to take a step closer, to reveal desperation in his voice, but that’s what happened. He also became aware of how soaked with sweat his shirt was, how his face might have glistened. How he must have smelled.

“It was a god,” she said, seeming not to notice.

A god.

Xerxes tilted his head. Estheryn Electus had the favour of a god? A god who could cure illnesses?

“Which one? Iris?” he guessed. “Helios? Boreas?”

The funny smile on her face vanished. “I can’t tell you that,” she said.

“Why not?” Xerxes took another step in by accident.

They were nearly against each other now, and a light flutter moved through his stomach when she shifted her footing and almost brushed against him.

He took the opportunity to search her face for clues.

This maiden heard his voices, she made them go quiet.

Whatever power was at her fingertips… He needed it.

She didn’t explain anything. “Do you trust me, King?” she asked, and Xerxes made a face.

“No, of course not.”

She cast him a look. “Fine. I don’t trust you either.”

His mouth curled into an absurd smile. He bit down on his lips and shooed it away. “I could have you interrogated,” he pointed out. “I could learn all your secrets that way.”

Estheryn’s cheeks paled. Even though he meant it as a joke, she didn’t laugh.

In fact, her reaction was so strong that Xerxes realized something he hadn’t picked up on before in any of his encounters with her.

He eyed her blanched cheeks, a twitch of her lashes.

The Heartstealer he chose to be here. The young woman almost exactly his age who had a terrible father, yet who apparently had the favour of one of the seven Celestial Divinities.

He took a slow step back. To leave, maybe. Or to give her space?

“Don’t wander the gardens for too long,” he advised. “I’ll come hunting for you if you do.”

Neither of them laughed, but she gave him a tight smile that looked forced. Xerxes glanced up toward her chamber window, searching for her guards. He saw her guardswoman climbing over the sill, high above.

At least Estheryn wouldn’t be alone.

“Let’s dance tomorrow,” Xerxes said, bringing his attention back down. “We’ll talk then.”

Estheryn didn’t object with her mouth, but a crease of worry formed between her brows.

Worry that he was showing her favouritism, maybe. That he’d shown her favouritism since the Introduction Ceremony where he spoke to her and none of the other maidens. Worry that his favour would only make her more of a target, when she was already an obstacle in many people’s way.

Xerxes wondered if she thought he hadn’t noticed what his attention did to her.

How absurd; he always saw everything that happened in the palace.

In the beginning, he hadn’t cared if she was a target of the Intelligentsia—he’d hoped she would be.

He’d wanted them to become irritated by her presence.

But now, Xerxes supposed he wanted other things more.

“I’ll be sharing a dance with each of the maidens,” he clarified. He didn’t mention he’d just decided that in this moment. Or that the thought of actually participating in a Heartstealer event repulsed him more than she’d ever be able to imagine.

But she breathed a small sigh of relief, and that was worth it. At least, it was worth it at present. It wouldn’t be worth it at the dance tomorrow.

“Of course,” she nodded and smiled a little.

Xerxes stole one last glance up the wall where the guardswoman was halfway to the bottom. Another second or two and she’d be by Estheryn’s side.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Xerxes said. He turned and headed back through the garden, a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue he dared not ask. He pushed through the bushes, catching his damp shirt on a twig.

When he reached the training field, he saw the Folke were back at it. Many of them fashioned swelling bruises or fresh, dripping cuts. But they fought, regardless. Xerxes watched them without really seeing them.

Instead, he saw Estheryn’s face when he made that joke about interrogating her for her secrets. He’d found the maiden interesting since the beginning, but he’d never looked at her long enough to realize the most interesting thing of all.

Estheryn Electus was hiding something. Something big enough to make her fear him, even though she had the power to still his voices and give sight to a beggar in the street. What did someone like that have to be afraid of?

He planned to find out what it was.

Cool evening wind rippled over his warm flesh. Dusk was sweeping in. He’d grow hungry soon and would need to visit the basement. But even his precious pears wouldn’t be enough of a remedy for the things he was facing today.

Xerxes felt a war coming. It was in the air, like a prophecy woven within the magic. And though there were many things to worry about, what he feared the most was what might happen if his voices were still in control of him when the war came.