Xanthy tramped along the corridors leading out of the healing quarters. Priestesses streamed past her, talking in low tones and ducking their heads towards the doors. A sign of respect, maybe?
She peered down her clothes and frowned. A loose smock hung to her knees. She doubted she had anything underneath. Her bare feet scratched the smooth floor, the cold seeping through her ankles.
She needed proper clothes. Where would she find them?
Xanthy shrugged and tackled the corridor leading west. Candles lined the walls, the tiny sparks in their wicks giving light more than the normal wax ones Xanthy had grown accustomed to in the Commons. The whole corridor glowed in an ethereal auburn, leading Xanthy towards a corner where most priestesses disappeared to.
She knitted her eyebrows. What's going on there?
A priestess dressed in gray robes reappeared from the corner carrying a stack of clean linens folded neatly in a pile on her arms. Xanthy's eyebrows travelled up. Oh. A cloth section. Perhaps, they have some spare tunics or two?
Also, who cared about Temple regulations regarding residents wandering around looking for clothes?
Xanthy tiptoed towards the corner, weaving through throngs of priestesses carrying the same stacks of linen. Where were they even taking those? Did the Temple need that many linens?
Xanthy turned to the corner and beheld an assortment of doors lining the two walls. Signs bearing Ylanen symbols decorated the top of each door frame like a crown. She craned her neck up to read sheets on the first door to the right. Then, laundry, supplies.
Garments.
Xanthy snapped her fingers. There.
She yanked the door open and slipped inside. Racks of gray priestess robes hanging in metal bars littered the walls. Shelves of folded smocks like the one on her stood at a corner. There were no windows, turning the air musty. The smell of fresh thread filled Xanthy's senses, reminding her of the weaving room she sat countless hours in back in Vikara's estate.
She shook her head. Focus.
A sealed crate pushed under a rack of gray robes caught her eye. She crept towards it and, using both hands, pulled it out with a grunt. Flakes of wood clung to her palms and stung her skin. She took a deep breath and blew a breath over the crate's lid, disturbing a colony of dust that tickled her nose.
With deft fingers, she pried the lid off to reveal an assortment of dresses, tunics, and trousers. Perfect. She ducked her head inside and pilfered through it. After a while, she came up with a green, quarter-sleeved dress and beige trousers that hung to her ankles. She frowned. Shoes. She needed shoes.
Or...she would have to wait until she figured out where her trusty boots were.
She rolled her shoulders and yanked the smock off her. Her heart sank at the sight of the bruises peppering her thighs and her chest. She poked one purpling blotch. Pain bloomed on that spot enough to make her wince. Oh.
A sigh escaped her lips. No matter. Just wear the damned dress.
Within minutes, Xanthy was dressed. She yanked the dress's cinch around her waist. She didn't realize that she was thin as a pole nor that she wasn't blessed with an ample chest. What did that matter, anyway?
She folded the smock she discarded, pushed the crate back from where she found it, and crept out of the room. Her feet slapped the floor as she tramped towards the door whose sign read laundry.
A whiff of dark hair caught her attention. She knitted her eyebrows as her fingers closed around the door's knob. Wait, what was Nyxis doing here?
She whirled. There was no one with her. Huh.
"So we didn't find what we came here for," a voice sounding much like Nadia's echoed from beyond the corner. Xanthy slapped her hand to her mouth, barring the small gasp that came through. What was Nadia doing here?
It wasn't Nyxis. It was—
"But we freed Cardina," Diran's voice was laced with apprehension. "Shouldn't that be appealing enough?"
Xanthy tucked the smock underneath her arm and crept closer to the corner. The candles traced silhouettes of at least five people. She spied Nadia's bald head, Diran's shoulder-length hair, and the twin's broad shoulders.
"The Sovereign could care less what happens to Cardina," the fifth figure snapped. Xanthy knitted her eyebrows at the wide planes being traced out of the figure's shadow. Were those...wings?
Who...?
"Are you sure it wasn't anywhere on the Palace?" the winged figure asked.
Nadia's shadow of a head jerked. "No trace," she replied. "It was either stolen, cloaked, and hidden somewhere or the heir knew something about it to have brought it with them."
The winged figure cursed. Her voice wasn't something Xanthy heard before. "We move out in three days," the figure ordered. "Secure the weapons. Bury the dead. We meet at the base."
"And the girl?" one of the twins asked.
"I will deal with the Sovereign about her, Pikard," the winged figure replied. "Let her do things for herself in the meantime."
"And the prince? The half-blood? The varichria?" Viktir's shadow waved its hand. "Don't get me started on the Draswist runts. Each one of them is suspicious."
The winged figure shifted. "But they did help us fight off the Civil Knights, right?" she snapped. "If they are Cardovia's allies, we'll be seeing repercussions now. But so far, the Sovereign is quiet."
"Do you know why?" Naida interjected.
"Who knows?" The figure's wings flapped. The sound of tinkling chimes resounded along the walls. "Well, this is where we part ways. I will clean things up here and see you the soonest. Dearest of luck, comrades. Avraja."
"Avraja," four voice echoed.
Footsteps receded. The winged figure didn't move. Xanthy pressed closer to the wall. A sharp intake of breath sounded from the figure. Before Xanthy's eyes, the shadow morphed from a person with wings to a woman with braided hair.
Xanthy's eyes widened. Vikara.
The shadow jerked its head. Xanthy edged farther east. What would she do if Vikara discovered her eavesdropping? She's doomed.
Heartbeat throbbed in her temples. Whoever the Sovereign was, they seemed keen on something from Cardina. It's not about stopping the purges. The whole lot of them were looking for something. Something that has to do with...heirs.
Whatever those were.
Xanthy waited for a few moments before moving from her spot. She threw her used smock into the laundry room without looking inside. She went the opposite way she had gone, wishing that this corridor would take her back to the healing quarters.
She didn't even know how she got here!
She tousled her hair in frustration. Why must everything in her life be confusing and complicated? Ugh.
She needed to talk to someone about this. Her head spun with questions she wouldn't know how to start asking. All the things she was learning either blew her mind inside her skull or sent more stones dropping in her gut.
There's so much at play in the game she didn't even know the rules for. What's worse was that she seemed to be the most important piece. If she were to survive, she would have to untangle every string, follow every lead. Starting with her so-called friends.
Xanthy's nose collided with a hard surface, jarring her back to reality. Black spots danced in her vision. An arm steadied her as she stumbled back.
"Ow," she rubbed her nose against the throbbing. Her eyes cleared to register Nyxis smiling down at her. Huh, she never realised he stood at least a head taller. "Hey," she gave him a small smile.
"Hey," Nyxis answered. His smile didn't reach his bloodshot eyes when he tried to return the gesture.
Xanthy's eyebrows met. "Are you alright?" she asked. Was Nyxis's tunic rumpled? Strange.
"I am fine," Nyxis averted his eyes. "I heard June was hurt badly."
Xanthy ran her hands down her hair, smoothing it down. "Oh, yeah," she nodded. "He is at the healing quarters that I cannot find my way back into."
Nyxis snorted. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Silence coated the air between them. Something about Nyxis's hunched shoulders and pale face picked on Xanthy's concern.
"Hey," she reached out and touched Nyxis's arm. He flinched. "Do you want to talk?"
Nyxis hung his head. "No," he croaked. Then, he sniffled.
Xanthy pulled him forward into the nearest bench she could find which was by a door leading to somewhere. "Hey, we can talk about it," she kept her voice soft as if she was comforting an injured fowl. "What is wrong?"
"They are gone," Nyxis wiped his tears with his fingers. He shook his head. "No, I should not even be mourning for them given what they did."
"Who is gone?" Xanthy laid a hand on Nyxis's shoulder.
Nyxis met Xanthy's eyes. "My family."
Oh.
"What happened in the tower, Nyxis?" Xanthy asked. Guilt swam in circles around her gut. It felt wrong to insert her personal wants in talking to him.
Nyxis blew a shaky breath. Then, he told her everything from the tower until when they parted in the battlefield.
As he talked, Xanthy's gut churned. When he described the way her magic tore a hole between their world and the void, she started twiddling her fingers. Then, she talked about the battlefield and his desire to save his brother.
Then, he told her about the Heiress and the warriors dressed in black.
"That is strange," Xanthy interjected, tapping her chin. "The same people chased us around the tunnels."
Nyxis whirled to her. His features twisted from worry to curiosity then back to worry. "You were followed into the tunnels?" he breathed. "How did you survive?"
Xanthy told him. About how she broke her ankle, how June got injured, and how Marin used the last of her magic to save them. When it came to Marthiaq's arrival, she pursed her lips and tucked a strand of hair behind her pointy ears.
"So that is how we found ourselves at the Temple," she finished. "You did not tell me that there is a way from the Palace to the Temple. I discovered it by accident."
Nyxis raised an eyebrow. "I told you it leads to various places," he defended. Xanthy punched him lightly on the shoulder. He gave her a dry smile. Hey, progress! "It is a good thing you did not end up in Lanteglos or in Dwanzeig," he propped his chin on his hands.
Xanthy hummed along, not knowing the places Nyxis had mentioned. Were they even places?
"I just..." Nyxis sighed and rubbed his face. His hair flopped atop his head. "I just wish I could have saved them."
"I am sorry, too," she picked at her fingertips. "I should not have gone to the Palace. If anything, this is all my fault."
Nyxis drew up and faced her. "You saved us," he furrowed his eyebrows. "You chose to be subject to such pain to spare our lives. We, no, I owe you that."
Xanthy shook her head. "If I had not succeeded, we will not be living in the same world now," she bit her lip. She couldn't let it happen again. Being forced to choose between the Virtakios and innocent lives was a trade Xanthy refused to go through again.
Because she knew what she was going to choose and she wasn't sure if she wanted that.
"I am sorry about your family," Xanthy averted her eyes. She couldn't bear to see tears in fear that she would start crying, too. "I wish I could have saved them, too. Despite what they did to me, to their people, and to you."
Nyxis's face crumpled. His shoulders shook. Emotions welled in Xanthy's chest. She wrapped her arms around Nyxis. Her heart leaped to her throat when Nyxis snuggled against her neck and sobbed.
It was so raw and so empty, Xanthy realized as she tried blinking away her own tears. Grief was something Xanthy didn't understand back when she was Disfavored. People die all the time and the whole place was a constant reminder that one day, every one of them would meet the same fate. It's only a matter of when.
Now, as Xanthy cradled Nyxis's head and ran her hand against his silky hair, it dawned on her that it wasn't the case. She didn't understand grief because she had no one to care about. Aunt Bertha didn't count even though Xanthy speculated she would shed a tear or two. In an hour, she would probably be fine.
She realized that every life was fleeting for her.
So, when her heart felt like it was snapping into two or when her chest felt like it was slowly filling up with air, it felt...strange. New. Was this how people feel like when losing family?
What defined family, even?
Xanthy rested her cheek atop Nyxis's hair. He clung to her sleeve like he was scared that she might vanish if he let go. She tightened her embrace. If there was something she could do to take whatever Nyxis was feeling to make him cry like this into her shoulders, she wouldn't hesitate. Let it come to her instead.
Nobody deserved to experience these things.
Now, she was torn. Would she celebrate the end of a tyrannical rule or would she grieve the death of a boy's family?
Nyxis broke away from Xanthy and sniffed. Her wet shoulder reminded her of all the stormy nights she would force herself to sleep through damp clothes and through the cold. Like all those times, she didn't mind.
"Thank you," Nyxis wiped his nose at his sleeve.
Xanthy reached out and laid her hand over his. "I am always here to talk. You know that, right?" she smiled up at him. Her heart swelled when he smiled back.
"Of course," Nyxis squeezed Xanthy's hand.
"Friends?" Xanthy prodded.
Nyxis chuckled and ducked his head. "Friends," he met her eyes, his emerald eyes flashing with gratitude. For Xanthy, that was enough.
"There you are!" Reeca's voice speared from behind Xanthy. She whirled to find the varichria weaving through throngs of priestesses, her wings out for all to see. No one blinked a bad eye. No one threw rotten fruits at Reeca.
In fact, Xanthy caught some of the priestesses stare at Reeca's wings like they're the most special linen blanket they ever saw. There was no fear. Certainly, there was no hate.
Reeca stopped by Xanthy and Nyxis's bench and propped her hand on her hip. Xanthy dragged her eyes at Reeca's bandaged arm, the cloth turning the varichria's golden brown skin white.
"Funeral for the fallen is on the courtyard," Reeca reported.
Xanthy's heart sank to her feet.