On her way to the stables to prepare a horse, Adrastia walked the less-travelled corridors of the palace. As she passed by one corridor, she heard someone speaking and, predictably, her curiosity was aroused.
She crept to the edge of the corridor, intending to peer down to see who was speaking. Strangely, though she had no trouble hearing the voices, she couldn't see the speaker. She stepped lightly into the hall, careful her footsteps could not be heard. A floorboard creaked loudly, making her freeze, but the voices did not falter.
As she walked further, the words and tone were more distinguishable – a private argument, she realised. It was not until she was almost on top of the speakers before she realised where they hid.
Along the side of the wall, there was a tapestry of the first meritocratic leader – Lord Rieger. The man smiling at her benevolently, was Rayonne's sixth-degree great grandfather, but she had little interest in family history at the moment. Her concern was for what was going on behind it: a hollowed wall, where she had hidden from her sisters as a child. She wasn't aware others knew of the alcove.
"I don't understand why you can't just meet me outside the palace grounds." Adrastia had to hold back a gasp as she recognised Margravine's voice.
To even greater surprise, Kilaix answered: "We have more important things to discuss – let's not waste time complaining about the location."
Margravine sounded agitated: "I want to renegotiate."
"I'm not interested," Kilaix replied. "You know what I want."
"But you know where I stand," Margravine argued.
"While I sympathise, that really isn't my problem," Kilaix returned, curtly.
Without any particular details, Adrastia was lost. What was Margravine saying? Did she want this arrangement or not? Kilaix, Adrastia could not understand either. He could be enforcing the deal, or rejecting it completely.
"You don't want to cross me, Kilaix," Margravine's declared hotly.
"Of course not," Kilaix sighed. "I only agreed to meet because I thought we could work this out amicably. Now I see that is not the case."
Margravine sounded smug. "When we next meet then, you will be ready to renegotiate."
"No," Kilaix replied; "I will be ready to crush you."
The curtain rippled; Adrastia realised he would emerge from behind the tapestry. With no other option, she ran.
She was not quick enough – Kilaix caught a blurred sight of someone, and decided to pursue her. He was fast, grabbing her arm and practically slamming her against the wall, his body pressing against hers to prevent any chance of escape.
They were deep enough in the unused corridors that no help could be given: but any apologise or excuses fled Adrastia's mind as he slammed against her. The look in his eyes was equally rapt and captivated – as devoid of thought as hers. The next instant, she found his lips pressed down on hers.
She tried to push him away; tried to keep a cool head. But resistance became more difficult as his lips conquered hers, wiping her mind clear.
Then she kissed him back: her arms wrapped around his neck to secure him, locking their bodies together. His arms drew her closer to him, holding her so tightly, yet so gently. His hands tightened and loosened, kneading the muscles of her back. He pressed against her harder, as if trying to be sure she was real. Her fingers twined into his golden hair and she sighed, enjoying its softness.
When he began to grow hard, his body readying to take her, the cold, cruel splash of reality broke in. She began to fight him, scared of where desire was leading them.
"Let go of me!" She bit down on his lip, hard. He jerked back with a hiss of pain.
"You've made me bleed, you little..." Finally, he saw her clearly, and his eyes grew sombre. Mortified, he apologised: "My lady, please accept my..."
"I don't want to hear it, Kilaix." She said irritably.
His expression hardened. "You were listening."
She nodded.
"How much did you hear?" he demanded, stepping closer. She shrank from him, not in fear of his blazing glare, but because the look on his face did funny things to her insides.
"Not enough to make any sense," she answered, stepping out of his shadow.
"Good," he breathed a little easier, which only fed her suspicion.
"But you're going to tell me every detail," she replied, tartly.
Kilaix narrowed his eyes. "Why should I do that?"
She cocked her head to one side. "I seem to remember you want my protection."
He shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. But if Adrastia had gained any intuition about Kilaix – it was that he thrived even under pressure. Getting information from him wouldn't be simple.
She was proved right. "With all due respect, Lady Adrastia," Kilaix was curt; "I think I know enough about you to know that, even if I intended to tell you the details, it will not buy me your protection."
Adrastia gritted her teeth. Aware Kilaix could have been the first to realise the depths of her cunning, she had no response.
In an attempt to save face, she stepped back into his personal space – until he was the one pressed up against the wall. Inspiration struck as his eyes flashed darkly. Adrastia reached out, running her fingertips along the dip between his pectoral muscles. Faintly, she detected his heart beating faster; his skin heating under her fingers. She had to hide her smile.
Very well, if an open ended deal didn't work for him, she would have to change her tactics.
"What would it take for you to accept me as an ally?" she purred, letting her fingers spread over his chest.
"You're playing with me," he rebuked, but she couldn't miss the way his breathing changed. Power raced through her veins, sending a thrill into her stomach.
"Don't tell me you've never considered it," she smirked.
He refused to be distracted: "What's your angle, Lady Adrastia?"
"I don't know what you mean, Kilaix." A little affronted by his gruffness, she stared hard at him.
He grabbed her wrist, holding her hand still on his chest. "We both know you would as soon offer Margravine the same alliance."
She sneered, ignoring the truth of his words. "What could she do for me?"
"Far more than I can, I'd wager," Kilaix returned.
Adrastia frowned at him. "Don't underestimate yourself. Lady Margravine is more use a rival than a friend."
"How so?" Kilaix remained unconvinced.
Adrastia shrugged dismissively. "She is in competition with my family. With your help, I can get rid of a threat." She snatched her wrist free from his grip, moving her hand to his biceps.
"And what can you offer me, if I help you do this?" Kilaix responded, keeping his gaze trained on hers. He searched for any insincerity, any doubt behind her lashes.
Her smile this time was seductive, and she placed both hands on him. Leaning close, so her lips almost brushed his earlobe, she murmured: "I have more to offer than my protection, Kilaix."
Her meaning was clear. His arms wrapped around her, lifting her off the ground so they were eye level. His gaze was unswerving, true – and terrified the life out of her. This was true will – not the kind she toyed with, but the kind to be obeyed.
"Not this way," he shook his head. "Not for you."
Her eyebrows pulled together. "I'm not good enough for you?"
Kilaix set her down, still holding her waist. "Don't misunderstand me, my lady. If anything happens between us, it will not be a game. It will happen because we both want it."
His words sent a shock through her system; clearing away all doubt. Kilaix was not one of her people. He hadn't been borne through Samdinian games. No, he lived in a world where fairness and life without deceit were expected. Now, he wanted to offer this to her – a relationship not governed by manipulation or lies. She suddenly felt very exposed.
She pulled out of his embrace: shock over his offer quickly turned to fear, which overwhelmed her. Fear just as swiftly turned to anger, and an icy chill replaced the warmth of his touch.
"Have it your way, then." Adrastia snapped. "You will have nothing of me. Margravine can crush you, for all I care."
She turned on her heel and stormed away from him. Her blood boiling and her mind harried, she turned down several wrong passageways, making a maze out of her thoughts. Eventually, she came to a halt. Overwhelmed, she sank down to the ground, and finally allowed tears to come.
When she finally made it to the stables, most of Adrastia's temper had dissipated. She nodded amiably at a stable boy, who ran off to prepare her horse. As she waited, Adrastia leaned against a stall, thinking about how Dalina would snap if she saw her posture. She certainly wasn't thinking about Kilaix – not at all.
Finally, the stable boy led Juniper round to the mounting block, helped her mount, and asked if she would be back soon. Adrastia answered with the toss of a silver coin, which sent him running across the yard. She kicked Juniper into action, and was clear of the palace grounds in a matter of minutes. She avoided the town, instead turning her mount towards the hills – letting him gallop at break-neck speed.
Adrastia knew that she wouldn't arrive before night fell. Even a thoroughbred like Juniper couldn't do a day's journey in a few hours. But, though her legs began to ache and she slumped in the saddle, she never relented on the reins, never looked for a short cut. Once the moon had risen, brigands ruled the night, and she had no intention of meeting thieves or rapists on the backroads.
She arrived at the Kyshan manor somewhere close to midnight. The building somewhat reflected the burning braziers set around the outer courtyard, illuminating the extravagant carvings in the stone walls. It was grander than expected, considering it housed two women and their husbands – but, as these women were considered the goddess' mouthpieces, it seemed fitting.
Images of the goddess were everywhere: most artists pictured her as a beautiful woman with multi-coloured wings where arms should be. The Kyshan sisters, for some reason, had commissioned her image as entirely human – Adrastia only recognised her as the goddess because of the symbol hovering over her head.
As they entered the courtyard, a light flickered on in an upper room of the house. Adrastia watched it move from window to window, unable to see who carried it, as the windows were clouded with mist.
Adrastia was chilled to the bone – even the cloak she'd brought with her was a poor defence against Samdinian evenings, and she dismounted Juniper to walk closer to the braziers. Once she could feel her fingers again, she crossed to the large, red door at the centre of the courtyard. Before she could knock, however, the door opened and the sisters stood there, as though they had been standing there for hours.
"Adrastia, welcome," Gertane stepped forward into the courtyard. Adrastia thought she saw a rare smile on the oracle's face – but it could be a trick of the light. Suddenly, Gertane wrapped her arms around Adrastia. "We expected you hours ago."
Puzzled, Adrastia opened her mouth to say something, but as soon as Gertane released her, Daisina hugged her too.
"You're freezing!" Daisina exclaimed. "Come inside before you catch your death!" Then, in a manner more fitting for a country girl than a dignitary, she took Adrastia's arm and led her into the house.
"What about Juniper?" Adrastia protested, glancing back at her grey horse.
"Don't worry about him," Gertane assured her, shutting the door behind her. "We have attendants to take care of him in the stables."
With that, Daisina tugged on Adrastia's arm and began to show her through the house. It was an incredibly complex structure – staircases sometimes started in the middle of corridors, leading to goddess-knew-where. This layout, strange as it was, seemed a lot more fitting for the oracles than the external décor.
Eventually, they entered upon a room where three chaises sat around a low table. This table, too, was set for three. Adrastia frowned upon seeing it. The oracles weren't kidding about having expected her.
As if the moment had been rehearsed, the sisters took the chaises opposite each other, leaving Adrastia to sit between them. The oracles did not sit upright, but leaned against the chair's arm. Their skirts covered the rest of the seat, with their legs tucked up underneath. Adrastia thought it prudent to copy their position, but her skirt was not quite long enough to cover her ankles, so she threw her cloak over her legs as well.
"You must be hungry," Gertane lifted the lid to one of the dishes. Her sister then picked it up, offering the hot rolls to their guest. Adrastia selected one, almost burning her fingers in the process, and dropped it indelicately onto her plate. She waited until the sisters had taken a roll each, before she picked up her knife.
The oracles stared at her amusedly.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she set her knife down. "You want to say blessing?"
Daisina smiled. "There's no need. Eat. You look half-starved."
Hiding a smile, Adrastia picked at her bread, thinking of Kilaix's expression when the dishes she had selected were unveiled. She smoothed out her smile, remembering she was not happy with him.
The hot roll was mouth-watering: it had been stuffed with a slab of butter before being heated, so the taste blended both dairy and bread, with a soft, moist texture. Adrastia would have reached for another, but Gertane offered a different platter: dried meats barely larger than dice, but salty and rich in flavour.
"How did you know I was coming?" Adrastia asked the obvious question. Even before she finished speaking, she expected some cryptic answer.
She wasn't disappointed. "The goddess has eyes on everyone," Gertane intoned, wiping the butter off her chin.
"Typical," Adrastia muttered.
"We knew you would seek us out after the debacle yesterday evening," Daisina corrected.
"You knew, and yet you left?" Adrastia felt a little miffed about having to make such a long journey.
"Of course," Gertane smiled. "Castell Palace is hardly an ideal place to discuss these matters."
"Do you think..?" Adrastia began, but Daisina cut her off.
"Not just yet, Adrastia," the oracle frowned, pouring red wine into her guest's goblet. "Eat, sleep, and we will discuss business tomorrow." Her voice was firm, allowing for no argument.
"I had hoped to get this over with quickly," Adrastia hedged.
"We know," Gertane smiled; "But there is time. This isn't something to be rushed."
"But I don't know what it means," Adrastia protested.
"And now isn't the time to discuss it," Gertane's voice was firm; she held up her hand to emphasise her words.
Stumped, Adrastia nodded meekly. She stared down at her plate, thinking of something to say, aware of an awkward silence in the room. When she glanced up, the oracles were staring at each other; Daisina frowning, Gertane looking defensive. It was as if the two were conversing telepathically, Adrastia mused, as their faces communicated.
"So Adrastia," Daisina suddenly turned to her guest. "How do you plan to deal with your suitor?"
Adrastia almost spat out her wine. The oracles stared interestedly at her, as she spluttered.
When she could finally speak – although the alcohol sticking to the back of her throat made it difficult – Adrastia croaked: "Who do you speak of?"
Daisina laughed. "I should have known you had more than one."
"But I think you know which one we mean," Gertane smiled conspiratorially at Adrastia.
Adrastia's lip curled. "If you mean Kilaix..."
"Such a handsome young man," Daisina winked, teasingly.
"He isn't my suitor," Adrastia said firmly. How much did these women know?
"I don't think you can decide that," Gertane smiled suggestively. "He's in danger of losing his heart to you."
Adrastia pretended she didn't hear that. It wasn't the truth. "Regardless, I am not so easily convinced."
Daisina shook her head. "You're too young to shut your heart away."
"My heart has nothing to do with it," Adrastia argued. "My emotions are in here." She tapped the side of her forehead determinedly. "All I need is reason and rationale. My heart can stay out of it."
The sisters shared a silent look. Adrastia felt their condemnation in the air, and she bristled.
"When did you become cynical, Adrastia?" Gertane asked, curiously.
"It's a family trait, I think," Daisina interjected.
"I am not cynical," Adrastia objected. "I am rational."
Gertane raised her eyebrows. "If you say so."
Daisina used a softer approach. "What we're saying, Adrastia, is that though you may understand some way of the world, you have yet to see the big picture. That's where we come in."
"And you think Kilaix is some part of that picture?" Adrastia questioned.
"Indubitably," Gertane surmised.
She thought about it for a moment. "Then he is the key to unlocking Margravine's secrets."
Daisina sounded horrified. "Lord Martek's wife? That Margravine?"
"Yes." Adrastia was puzzled by this reaction. "What do you know about her?"
The sisters shared a troubled look. It began again; that silent conversation where only their expressions spoke.
Finally, Gertane turned: "As we said, business will be discussed tomorrow."
"So Margravine is business, but Kilaix is not?" Adrastia questioned. "Is that what you're saying?"
Neither woman answered her.
"This is ridiculous," Adrastia declared. "There is no difference between Margravine and Kilaix – but I can tell you about him, but not ask about her?"
Daisina shook her head. "You will understand all this in time," she tried to soothe her. "For now, let's discuss something else."
"I assume your mother spoke to you about the events of last night?" Gertane prompted her, but by now Adrastia was in no mood to talk any longer. She answered their questions as shortly as possible, waiting to be offered a bed.
She continued to wait, for what felt like half the night, as they had covered two dozen topics involving herself, her sisters and their husbands, her brothers, and finally, her parents.
Adrastia yawned through her brief answers, and finally the oracles took pity on her. They guided her back through the house, taking staircase after staircase until they finally stopped outside a bedchamber, on its own on a long corridor.
Leading Adrastia towards it, Daisina told her: "If you need anything in the night, just give us a shout. One of us will come running."
Adrastia severely doubted that either of them would hear her, but nonetheless she thanked her hosts and entered the room.
It was small – at least smaller than anything in Castell Palace – but warmly decorated. A fire burned in the hearth, thankfully – or the room would have been too cold to be comfortable.
Too tired to take a bath, which was situated in an adjoining room, Adrastia discarded her tunic and burrowed her way into the four poster bed. Waywardly, she wondered who had last slept there, and whether she was in this secluded part of the house for a reason.
She had thought the window would be a problem – the moon was full, and light streamed directly over the bed, far brighter than at home. Pulling at the poster drapes, Adrastia managed to form a blind-spot as she snuggled into the pillows.
Sleep came without difficulty; perhaps because of her long ride and the oracles' dinner. Maybe there was something more, making sleep so easy, but Adrastia was not conscious to suspect.