amount of shade. They stayed the size of a human hand. But deep in the mountains they grew into bulls. Their chitinous click, click, click haunted the caverns. Like the scarab, Iren was kept small by the constant glare of Hiram Kinmegistus, Declan, and the Protectorate court.
She hid her talents from the light.
Always withdrew.
Always pretended.
Dainty Iren.
Delicate.
Domestic.
But she was free now. In the shadow of the great wide open, where she was just another homeless child roaming the streets.
Iren smiled as she crossed the bridge to the island of the Odeon. The guards had no idea. The guildmasters. Even Cadis. That she had been loosed onto the world. Its shade would be her food, until she could reach her mother.
She ascended the stairs and entered the Odeon.
She nodded to the doorman.
She smiled.
She made a click, click, click sound.
The Odeon was built for gatherings. Outside the common hall was a garden palisade. None of the usual balconies designated for nobles. No inner sancta where royals distinguished themselves, even from their lesser cousins.
Just long garden paths.
Open porticoes where everyone strolled in leisure.
What social creatures these Findains must have been.
Iren crossed the garden without looking up.
Past two picnics.
Past a poet’s recital.
Past three separate games of dice.
The castle of the Archon Basileus was the only other structure on the small island in the mouth of the harbor.
Cadis would be within.
Butting heads with Hypatia.
Sparring with Arcadie Kallis.
Flaunting herself for Jesper.
She was made for such constant melodrama.
She was a fish back into water.
So much social pressure.
So much business conducted over jokes and a handshake.
It was a wonder to Iren that Findain ever rose to power.
They ran a country as if it were a primary school, with cliques and guilds and secret societies. Whispers and singing and talent shows.
Everyone equal.
Another way of saying everyone vying for attention.
Unstructured rule by popularity.
Iren preferred a few magisters, a good debate, and efficient action. Iren entered the gathering hall in the basilica.
To her credit, Cadis was studying the ledgers of the central banks.
Hypatia Terzi lounged nearby, writing a letter.
Jesper stood over Cadis’s shoulder, explaining some of the names on the ledger. Unwritten explanations.
Jesper stopped when he saw Iren.
Cadis turned. It was concern on her face.
Something amiss.
Iren checked the exits: the entry and two doors, none guarded.
Three windows, all closed but breakable.
“Where were you?” said Jesper.
“Dancing,” said Iren. It came with a sharpened stare.
They all knew she didn’t dance.
Now they knew she didn’t answer to Jesper Terzi either.
Cadis stood from her seat. “Iren, it’s nothing.”
“What’s nothing?”
“Come away from the door.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Oh, stop coddling,” said Hypatia. “We know where you’ve been.”
Iren didn’t respond. If she had to, she could run. All she really needed was the brace on her left arm. It held her knives and thief’s kit. She could sleep in gullies with the homeless.
At night she could steal into the basilica for her travel pack. A land route to Corent would take two and a half months at this time of year. The plan formalized instantaneously.
“What were you doing at the docks?” said Jesper. He spoke like a boy trying to speak like a man.
Cadis touched his arm. She seemed concerned. She was wearing more powder than usual.
“Now, hold on,” said Cadis. “I trust Iren.”
Hypatia snorted from her seat. “Then you’re a fool.”
“She’s my sister,” said Cadis. Then to Iren, “We didn’t mean to ambush.”
Iren needed more information. What could they possibly know?
Iren felt blind. “I was at the docks.”
They must have been following her.
“What were you doing?” said Jesper.
“Hopscotch,” said Iren.
“Why don’t you answer the question?”
“Because I don’t answer to you.”
“Iren,” said Cadis. “We already know.”
“We?” said Iren.
“Did you think a ship captain of Findain would keep your little secret?” said Hypatia.
So much for finding an honest man.
Cadis looked at her with genuine ache and confusion.
“Just tell us,” said Cadis. “Please.”
Iren knew she was cornered. Both were. Cadis could hardly stand beside her and keep hold of her tenuous position. She would have to take a tactical loss.
“Fine,” said Iren. “I went to the docks and asked the captain to send a letter to my mother.”
That was enough. Cadis seemed relieved. “See?” she said, as if proving an argument she had made earlier.
“But what did you write?” said Hypatia.
“Daughterly things.”
“Spying, you mean.”
“We don’t know that,” said Cadis.
“Why else would you write in code?” said Hypatia. She held the letter aloft. It was Iren’s.
The captain must have run it over immediately. Hypatia’s underground network was more impressive than Iren had figured.
“We have our language.”
“A spy cipher.”
“So we like puzzles,” said Iren