Her name was Cleopatra. She was a debutant from Telekhasmos, a place remote enough not to arouse suspicion, where her father was a court functionary. He sent her to the University for finishing before betrothal to a lesser Kathar aristocrat.

“Who, precisely?” Eris asked. “Does that not seem a relevant detail?”

They glided through the city’s streets in an enclosed litter. Four slaves in white tunics carried them by long red poles beyond windows at their sides. It was a strange sensation, to move in a vehicle that did not roll but rather walked in the smooth rhythm of their porters’ footsteps. Eris did not altogether understand the purpose of such a thing when horses existed. She enjoyed watching men struggle to carry her regardless as she lounged on a velvet seat, regarding a gloomy sky.

“We’ve gone over all this a dozen times,” Khelidon said. “You didn’t think it relevant before.”

“I am not accustomed to espionage, nor play acting. There has been much to consider.”

He sighed. “I don’t know. A hetairos.”

“Named?”

“Make something up. You’re a good liar.” He cringed as he misplaced weight on his leg and looked away from her, so that he didn’t see her look of mocked outrage.

“I cannot imagine where you received such an impression of me,” she said. “Yet all the same, I am not familiar with the families of this city.”

“Then we’re in luck, for neither is Cleopatra. Call him Kleones and say you’ve forgotten his family. Now…”

The story continued: within months of arriving at Katharos, this Cleopatra’s betrothed, ‘Kleones,’ fell ill and died. She was left stranded in her studies with an uncertain future. Yet before long at the University she met the young Khelidon, for, as a useless invalid cripple, he had nothing better to do with his spare time than study; and at once he was smitten by her beauty, and eager beyond eager to introduce her to Society—and save her from a fate of destitution. So came she to this wedding celebration at Khelidon’s side.

It was a story. With luck she would not need recite it to anyone. She thought it over again. Her mind over the previous days and weeks had been more focused on looking the part, rather than playing it. Only now in the right clothes and locked in a carriage with her lover’s brother was she thinking on its details closely.

“…you know I do not have a Telekhasman accent. Nor one of Katharos.”

This he gave some thought. “What is your accent?” he asked.

She stared at him. “It is Pyrthian,” she said with disgust.

He frowned. “Is it really?”

“Are you suggesting something?”

“Only that—sometimes—it sounds over-affected. Like your normal accent is Kathar and perhaps—”

“You had best hold your tongue there,” Eris interrupted him, fuming, “unless you would like to lose the function of your other leg.”

Khelidon glanced over his shoulder, out the window, past their two porters in front. They were past the city’s eastern gates now. Rolling plains and rocky hills and cultivated land shot out beyond the Oldwalls. Like most cities it was far safer without Katharos than within, except in times of siege. The smell in the air dissipated into freshness. The horizon glowed orange in the sunset and the small trees and shrubs and grass that stretched beside the wide Regal Avenue looked to Eris like something out of a dream as shadows descended. In all her life she had never passed through the towering columns and arches of the Eastern Gates. She knew the countryside beyond the Outer Fields was where many aristocrats made their homes, yet somehow she hardly understood that an entire kingdom existed under the Archon’s rule outside Katharos itself.

Her fury at the suggestion her accent was somehow put-on—it had been when she was young, but if she knew some other by now it was forgotten—faded swiftly at that sight.

Khelidon pointed toward a distant hilltop, where Eris saw the outline of a castle.

“Keep Korakos,” he said. “The town of Crowsbrook is at its base, half a mile farther east. It’s about another hour before we arrive.”

Eris felt strangulated in her tight dress. Her anticipation froze to dread. She did not want to go to this ball, or perform any madman’s scheme of looting Hierax’s vault. To attack the place outright, that she could manage. But an infiltration, wearing this dress, acting as a spy…

She needed to distract herself. “You and Rook were raised here? Beyond the walls?”

“Our family had a manor within the city, but we spent most of our time here,” Khelidon said. “And our estate.”

“Estate?”

“Yes, one of them, twenty miles or so down the peninsula—”

She could fathom this world even worse than the aether. The nagging sense of ill-belonging grew only stronger.

“Have you never left the city by land?” he asked.

She considered answering, but glared at him. “Our purpose here is not to make chat. Do not think ‘tis lost on me that your first plan after your brother’s arrival involved you and I posing together, alone, as a couple.”

He looked surprised. “Jason is married and Rook could hardly come himself.”

“How conveniently things work out in your favor. Enough of this. Be direct with me: what is it we seek from your uncle? Why should I not turn him to a toad when I first see him?”

“There will be guards, if you didn’t realize. The time will come for that sort of thing—but not now. As for what we seek…I’ve told you, I don’t know for certain. But I do know the secret passages of the Keep, and I know where to find Hierax’s vault.”

“How shall we breach it?”

“This spell you use to disguise your hair, and Rook’s. It can work anywhere on the body?”

“It can,” Eris said, “but the more is disguised, the less convincing the visage, for ‘tis a mere illusion.”

“All the same. If you disguise us as servants, we can move unimpeded, break in, get what we want, then leave. All we’ll need is a moment to ourselves.”

She thought this over. They had discussed her spells before in preparation but come to no concrete conclusions. With the exception of the Archon himself the lesser courts of dukes and counts and other gentlemen were poorly equipped to deal with magicians interfering in their affairs. They had no special arrangements with the Cult of the Aether for Cult Custodians, nor would they have their own magicians on hand to keep the premises secure (though there were always exceptions). That would make it easy for Eris to use her skillset to its full effect. In turn the punishment for a magician who interfered with the affairs of Kathar aristocrats was summary execution from temporal, ecclesiastical, and arcane authorities—yet this was no deterrent for one already wanted by all these three and more.

That was to say this would go very differently than their escape from Pyrthos. She would make certain of that.

“We shall see what is prudent once we arrive,” she said. “I will be able to do much. We may not need to stoop so low as disguises.”

The rest of the trip was spent in discussion of what Eris already knew. The layout of the Keep. The location of the vault. And what they hoped to find…that Khelidon refused to say, though whether he knew more than he said aloud Eris still was not certain. She still did not trust him for a moment.

At last the litter tilted upward as the long ascent to the Keep’s front gate began. The slaves panted and sweated in the humid air but never slowed. It was dark by the time they arrived on flat ground again, but torches lit walls around a bailey, through a large portcullis.

A dozen more carriages and litters were around them at once. Guards with spears and shields everywhere. Visitors gathered around a fountain within the walls, climbing from their vehicles, meeting servants and mingling. Then there was the Keep behind, a tall fortification up a set of stairs from which the walls extended, and from every crenulation hung the flag of a black crow within a field of blue fabric.

“Here we are,” Khelidon said. He opened the door and motioned for her to step outside. “Don’t trip.”

The guards wore helmets with featureless masks. For a moment Eris couldn’t remember from where she recognized them, but soon she thought back to Pyraz: his helmet made by the manaforge. These were just the same, although none she saw so far were enchanted. Each had a crow on his shield and banded metal armor.

The clamor of countless voices assaulted her. The ladies overpowered the gentlemen. She felt like she had received a concussion as she straightened her back, fixed her cloak, and gazed down at those around her.

Khelidon took her arm. “Smile,” he said, “or they’ll think you’re an elf.”

It did not take long before eyes turned her way. Khelidon tugged her toward the stairs; and she watched as others watched her, careful not to acknowledge any attention, and her frown twisted to an evil grin. The anxiety she had at the uncertainty of what such an event might hold melted. Suddenly she did not know why she had ever been nervous. She was Eris. She was stunning. This would be easy.

They entered the great hall.

A gilt chandelier lit the room. Sconces glowed along the walls. Everywhere were courtiers, women wearing dresses just like Eris’, their hair in braids, conversing with men in armor and doublets. Servants in tunics dancing past guests, and more still trailing in behind. Presiding over the festivities were richly dressed noblemen in booths hanging above the hall—boxes from which they could petition the Duke while in court. They looked down at Eris like starving owls from their perches, yet there was no way to swoop down upon her yet.

Eris recognized this room from Rook’s story. The great hall of Korakos. From one of those boxes he had watched the murders of his parents. She glanced to Khelidon, but he only smiled, his eyes straight ahead.

Seated on a raised throne at the far end of the room was a middle aged man in a fine robe. He looked bored.

“That’s Hierax,” Khelidon whispered. “Smile at him.”

A collection of gentlemen were arrayed before him, kneeling, paying respects, but when he saw Khelidon he waved them away—and beckoned the two of them over.

“Does he not hate you?” Eris whispered back.

“Me, maybe, but he doesn’t know you,” he said.

Hierax stood. He was surprisingly short, shorter than Eris, and his hair was grayed. He did not look like a fratricide. He did not look like much of anything, but maybe a merchant with too much money. She had expected him to be much older.

She and Khelidon came to a stop at the base of the throne. The conversations of the hall quieted to only disparate whisperings when the Duke stood.

“Our most dear cousin,” he pronounced. He did not sound enthused. He gestured to Khelidon, who bowed deeply. “It is excellent for us to see you again after so long parted. And this—”

Now all eyes fell on Eris. Devouring her. Assaulting her. She watched Khelidon’s bow and nearly scoffed—to think he paid homage to the man who killed his parents, even out of expediency. Rook would never do such a thing. Yet should she? What was she supposed to do? A curtsy? A bow? Kneel?

“We have not had the good pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Hierax concluded. Now Eris noticed a boy, perhaps sixteen, in a smaller throne adjacent. He stared at her.

She had no idea what to say. This was where they needed to be, was it not? Why waste time exposing the Duke when he could be slain? She could Disintegrate him easily enough. The guards could be held at bay with fire. Blink would allow her to escape. It would be easy to take Rook’s revenge now, but…

“Her name is Cleopatra Kallia, Your Grace. Of Telekhasmos,” Khelidon said. “She comes as my guest tonight.”

“Cleopatra Kallia,” Hierax repeated. “It is our honor and our delight to be introduced to you. No doubt Khelidon has brought to us one of the most striking beauties in all Koilados. Yet we cannot spend too long in admiration, for our Kirke will grow jealous.” This was the daughter to be wedded; Eris did not find the joke amusing, but toadies all around them laughed. “You have our leave, Khel. And Cleopatra.”

She tried to smile at him, but only frowned. Khelidon took her again by the arm and guided her toward a garden through an archway. There nobles caroused.

“You’re supposed to kneel before a duke,” he whispered.

“You did not kneel.”

“He’s my uncle, I bow. Don’t you know court etiquette?”

She stared at him. “I would sooner throw up on Hierax’s shoes than show him proper etiquette.”

He glanced around nervously. “You’ve attracted quite the spell of attention already. It’s lucky he was distracted by your looks, or he might have done something for your insolence.”

“Let him try,” she said.

“…let’s not mingle any more than we have to. I don’t want to stay here.”

“Yet I do,” Eris said. “This is our one opportunity to gather intelligence. I am not so eager to squander it.”

“That’s not why we’re here,” Khelidon whispered.

“Do you think—” she started, but just then a slave pushed past them, and a moment later applause erupted from the great hall. A great uproar, with shadows from the chandelier roiling across the walls. “You may skulk about the corridors as you will; I will not waste this chance.”

With that she slipped back into court.

The Duke was standing again. And there, at the center of the hall, was a woman in a long purple dress. Every eye was on her as she twirled about herself. Even Eris had to admit that in her tightfitting attire she had a magnificence physique: a fine hourglass figure, narrow shoulders, short but well-proportioned.

“Kirke,” Khelidon said. He followed after her.

Another twirl. Hierax cheered and so everyone else did, too, so that it was almost impossible to resist the energy, almost impossible not to join in herself. Of course she still didn’t—and luckily, too, for then Kirke turned her way, and only then did she see her face.

The girl, who was Eris’ age, had a fine figure. But her face was that of a bloated toad. Her chin was not so much double as non-existent, swallowed up by the fat of her neck. Her hair was wispy and receding. A naked, geriatric, thousand-pound man would have been less repulsive in that moment. Eris had never seen anyone so disgusting.

“They throw a ball for it?” she whispered.

“Kirke has never been the prettiest,” Khelidon agreed.

“Who is its victim? I would not wish even for Lukon to be its groom.”

Khelidon gave Eris a glare, as if not knowing the answer to this question made her worse than mentally incapacitated, and said, “They aren’t married yet. They can’t be seen together. He isn’t here. Off in Antipalos or someplace. Have you had your share?”

When Hierax sat a dance began. Eris knew it was foolish to dwell in this place, but she was fascinated by the ritual on display. By everything. She had imagined herself in courts like this so often, yet this was so little like what she had seen in her mind. The people were all too ugly. There wasn’t a handsome man in the whole place, aside from Khelidon, and he was still lame, and the women—Rook had been right. They were fat indeed.

No wonder she drew such attention. But then that was natural, wherever she went.

She had her eyes on the boy beside the Duke when a man in a toga swooped down open her. He was bald and hairless, which made his age difficult to discern.

“Khelidon!” he proclaimed. “It’s wonderful to see you again, my boy. You’re never around anymore. I—well, it’s lovely to see you. And…Cleopatra was it? By the dead kings, I can hardly believe you’re the guest of this scoundrel.” He hesitated. “I wondered—if I might bother you for a dance?”

“Yes, Cleopatra,” Khelidon said. “Do you know the courtly dances?”

“Of course I do, dear Khelidon,” she sneered back at him. “But I am with another man, am I not?”

“If it’s all right by him, of course,” the man said.

“It wouldn’t trouble me at all,” Khelidon said, his whole demeanor changing. “What do you say, Cleopatra/”

She regarded the man. “I say the gleam of that dome atop your head is liable to blind me in the candlelight. I should not like to trip and embarrass myself before the Duke.” She added, in case it wasn’t clear, “Be off.”

He stared at her for a moment, but a smile broke his expression. “You’d best tell your friend to be careful, Khelidon,” he said, “for if a woman doesn’t kill a man with her arrows on the first volley, he’s sure to fall in love with her before the second.”

He melted into a nearby crowd. Eris had no idea what he meant, but before she had the chance to retreat to the gardens, another man was upon her, asking for a dance like the other. She told him she would dance with him if he successfully swallowed a knife, which he seemingly went to go do.

“Aren’t you glad you stayed?” Khelidon said. “This is what these balls are like for ladies.”

“Not half so bad for me as for those bearing my rejections, I should imagine.”

“I don’t need to imagine for I’ve been in their places before. This way.”

She didn’t allow herself to be moved. Instead she turned and whispered, indicating toward the throne, “The boy beside the Duke. Is this Kirkos?”

Khelidon looked. “Yes, that’s him.”

She put her arms on him as if preparing for a dance. “He has not taken his eyes from me since I entered the room. Perhaps, as his cousin, you could tell him Cleopatra would do anything to dance with him?”

“That’s not why we’re here, Cleopatra. You’re drawing attention from all the wrong people.”

“You are nervous for a man standing in his own home. I should like to meet him. Now, shall you introduce us, or must I? I believe ‘tis forthcoming for a woman to propose a dance, though I will if I must.”

Khelidon smiled. “Your wish is my command.”

He broke off from her and did as she instructed. The boy’s eyes expanded to solar sizes when Khelidon told him who wished to dance with him, and he looked at her the way Rook looked at tarantulas when she gave him a smile. Kirkos stood, nodding, but departed out a back exit rather than coming to meet her.

“Where is he going?” she asked at Khelidon’s return.

“Do you think the dancing takes place in the great hall? The guests move into the ballroom after greeting the Duke.” He sighed. “Follow.

He led her through a silver archway and into a room of unimaginable splendor. A tall ceiling from which hung six chandeliers. Columns along the walls. Golden upholstery. The floor polished to a mirror sheen. They were within the heart of the keep. More guards.

Guests were still arriving. The enormous ballroom was only partially filled. Yet in the room’s center there stood the expectant Kirkos. Khelidon pointed his way.

“Have fun,” he said.

Eris stepped forward.

Kirkos was well-dressed but unassuming. Not so cursed as his sister, but not what any woman wanted. She was six inches taller than him. Still she smiled as he placed his hands on her waist. Now came the need for falsehoods.

“You honor me with your time, Your Grace,” she began. She did not know the dance, or any dance, but followed after his lead easily enough.

“You honor us with your very presence,” Kirkos managed. His eyes were locked on hers. “And by the gracious gift of a single dance.”

“A single dance,” she repeated. Khelidon’s doing. She needed to interrogate him quickly—yet cautiously. She tried her best to keep smiling, which was not flawless, while she thought. The dance began across the ballroom and theirs proceeded in silence. Where to begin…

“We do not have such balls in Telekhasmos,” she tried. “Does the Duke often hold these festivities?”

Kirkos’ mouth opened, but he stopped himself from speaking his first thought. “No,” he said eventually. “Not like we used to.”

A place to strike. “Why? The premises are so beautiful for these affairs.”

“The city is more dangerous than it used to be,” he managed, apprehensive about the subject at hand. “Do you know Khelidon well?”

“Quite well,” she said. But she smiled, and she lowered her head toward his. “Yet there is nothing between us.”

“You are not betrothed?”

“My betrothed was met with—an unfortunate illness. ‘Tis one reason why I agreed to come to this ball. And has your father not selected a wife for you already?”

“…he is nervous about such things, since—but we really shouldn’t talk about—are you attending the Tournament?” he changed the subject without any deftness.

“Indeed, if I am still in the city, Khelidon has invited me as his guest. I have heard he has a challenger competing in his place who is likely to win the entire tournament.”

This seemed to irritate the boy, who was the least likely knight Eris had ever seen. “Kirkos will win this year, not Khelidon.”

“You intend to fight?”

“Yes, in my own place—to represent my father.” He had fallen out of the Royal We, which meant nothing to Eris. “Khelidon is no one, Lady Kallia. You must attend as a guest of Duke Hierax. A woman like you should sit beside the Archon himself.”

Now there was an unexpected turn. Beauty was itself magic over men. She stumbled over her own feet in the dance as she considered the potential. “A guest of the Duke?”

“Then when I win—I will dedicate my victory to you.”

Rook could kill this Kirkos with even a dull blade. That was a fight she wanted to see indeed. This was an excellent opportunity, yet she saw several points which might make it impossible. So she gave him a smile.

“I would not want to throw my support to the losing side of the family,” she said. “Yet I have promised Khelidon I will go as his guest. I will speak to him.”

He nodded, as if this made sense in the language of the rich. He was starting to relax. Now she decided to strike again.

“The two of you are cousins, are you not? Why do you fight against each other?”

Kirkos’ hands were becoming more adventurous, which was a good sign. “His brother is a fugitive. An attempted Archonslayer.”

Eris gasped. “I did not know.”

“Father thinks his brother may even be back in the city. They say his lover is a witch.”

“A witch?”

“That’s what I heard. He—their branch of our family is very poorly regarded, Lady Kallia. You would do much better with me, as my guest.”

“Indeed. I think I would. I shall ask him about this.” She feigned surprise. “Are you safe, with a witch loose in Katharos?”

“Father has seen to that,” he said. “Keep Korakos is safe, you needn’t fret.” The dance came to an end. They parted and both bowed—apparently this was custom. “Thank you for the honor, Lady Kallia.”

“The honor was mine, young Kirkos,” Eris replied. She had learned a great deal and felt on the verge of learning so much more—this child had spilled far more information than he should have, yet she grew nervous of attracting too much attention.

Thus she broke from him and returned to Khelidon. Two more men asked her for a dance; she instructed them to boil themselves and retreated to a place of relative privacy in the gardens. There it was dark and quiet. They discussed her findings.

“What do you think of Kirkos?” Khelidon whispered.

“He is normal enough,” she replied. “Willing to say anything for the chance to make love to me. ‘Tis almost a shame we will need to kill him.”

Khelidon smiled. “Don’t tell Rook.”

“I do not plan to, yet. Now: he says Hierax suspects Rook and I have returned to the city, and that he has taken precautions. The Seekers likely informed him following our escape from Pyrthos.”

“What precautions?”

“There may be a Seeker present at this ball—though that is unlikely, for they are few in number. But a single Cult Custodian would be able to see through my disguise.”

“Would he recognize you?”

“Not likely. Custodians cannot see magical enchantments, so he could not be shown a portrait of me except one made by hand. But if we disguised ourselves as guards or servants, he would not be fooled. I would also not be able to subdue him with magic. So you see ‘tis good I took the time to gather intelligence.”

“Except,” Khelidon said, “everyone is now wondering where the beautiful blonde has fled off to.”

“A small price. Oh, he also invited me to attend the Kathar Tournament as his personal guest.”

“Did you accept?”

“I have not yet decided.”

He looked especially nervous now. Her dance had taken a heavy toll on his heartrate, it seemed. Now he said, “Decide later. We need to make our move.”

He pulled her into a dark corridor exposed to the night sky. The sounds of the party faded quickly. He navigated a series of turns so identical that within moments Eris was completely lost.

“We are not yet under disguises,” she said.

“We don’t need them yet,” he replied. “Guards are never posted here.”

“Your father was murdered. Perhaps Hierax takes his security more seriously.”

“There’s nothing to protect, there won’t be any guards. This way.” Another corridor, this leading away from the Keep’s exterior. He had a point—without familiarity, this place would be impossible to traverse.

Finally they took a loop back to a section of exposed wall. There was, seemingly, nothing here, except a view of the bailey about one storey now below them. Kirkos limped to the edge of the rampart, back to where it was covered, around a corner—

And there was a guard in a featureless mask waiting for them at a dead end. He had been reclining against the wall with his shield, staring off into nothingness by a sconce, but he rose immediately when he saw the two of them.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he said, lifting his spear. “Who are you? Stay put!”

Khelidon threw up his arms. He looked to Eris. “Well,” he said. “I guess you were right.”