Sybil finished pulling on her practice outfit. Valerie had asked her to get ready for a performance, but Sybil didn’t know why she was given such a sudden request. They weren’t expecting any guests today, and extracurricular activities had been suspended so they would have time to study for their upcoming exams.
Although, now that Sybil thought about it, about ninety percent of what she was being taught could be considered an extracurricular activity. Still, this was an excuse to not study spices, so she was going to use it… Apparently by herself… Since no one was waiting for her inside the theater.
“There you are!” Valerie called out from the backstage entrance. She dashed to Sybil and grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been more specific. We’re going to be going to our drama club’s theater today!”
Tabitha caught up to them the moment they left the building. “They don’t have a tightrope available and they said we couldn’t bring ours.”
The news caught Valerie off guard. “Well, perhaps it isn’t all that necessary. Margret, can you dance the Ebbing Ibis without one?”
Sybil’s eyes flashed blue for the briefest of moments. “No,” she growled out. Once Sybil realized that the priestess was fighting for control, she averted her gaze, hoping that the other two hadn’t noticed the color change.
Valerie gripped onto Sybil’s shoulders as a look of desperation crossed her features. “I’m afraid that there isn’t much of a choice in the matter.”
After a moment of gritting her teeth, Sybil was able to regain control. “... What’s going on?” She looked between them.
“Uh…” Tabitha wrung her hands together. “So you know how you had that fit in front of Lord Patterfall a week ago? When you pleaded with him to get in contact with the prince on your behalf?”
That was only partially the truth. “Yes?” Sybil brushed a strand of her wig behind her ear. “Has something happened to Lord Patterfall?”
Valerie shook her head. “We may have found a way to help you.” She tightened her grip on Sybil’s shoulders. “There is a large celebration at the palace every year, on the eve of Eatha’s Feast Day. They have a large banquet and a stage full of performers, so this might be your best opportunity to meet with the prince again!”
Sybil slowly nodded her head. She then realized that it would be the best opportunity to assassinate Laurent Aconite. Her head began to bobble faster. “... And?”
“And the entertainment is being set up by Riposte Theater this year. They somehow won the contract despite being underfunded and short staff. The dean wrote to their production director and invited an envoy from the theater to host auditions here. Your rendition of the Ebbing Ibis would be absolutely perfect for their show!”
Sybil was already envisioning how all the pieces could fit together. “I see?” That was awfully convenient, but she would be dumb to not take advantage of the situation. “There may be something I can do.”
They reached the main university theater, only to find that Gwyn was waiting for them. “They don’t have a tightrope,” she said.
“I already told them that,” replied Tabitha.
Gwyn cursed underneath her breath. She had gone through so much effort to put this together. She had even buttered up Fairy so she’d have access to all of Zaniyah’s potential suitors. That’s how she found out about Riposte Theater and their upcoming performance at the palace.
From there, she used the stationary that Sybil had stolen from the dean’s office to forge a letter of invitation to their director. Gwyn had expected an advanced notice for the audition, but it suddenly popped up today without warning. She wouldn’t have even heard about it if she hadn’t been helping out the university’s horticultural club today, whom she was only helping out because the women there were among the biggest gossips in the school.
Gwyn couldn’t stand the thought of her plans going down the drain because Sybil was unable to show off her dancing abilities. Sybil absolutely needed a stand-out gimmick if she was going to pass the auditions and Gwyn needed to give her one. This was their best chance to get inside the palace and those drama brats had to ruin it by saying that it was too dangerous to bring in a tightrope.
Leaves began to curl about her wrists. “Vines,” she muttered. Surely their desperate need for showmanship would force them to accept a tightrope made from living trees and vines.
Sybil lightly tapped Gwyn’s wrist. “I’ll be fine. I’m able to handle it from here.”
They entered the theater and Sybil was immediately separated from the others. Auditions had already started, so she had to wait quietly backstage until someone called on her. Sybil leaned her back against the wall, closed her eyes, and placed her fingers against her temples.
“Please tell me that there is another song you love,” she whispered. The priestess within her was silent. “This is to help both of us. You want revenge, don’t you? We need to put a stop to the madness that’s happened to us.”
“Miss Margret Miller?” A young man with a clipboard was standing in front of her.
“Y-yes?” She was terrified that her ramblings would have scared this man off, but he was unphased by her behavior. Now that her senses were returning to her, she realized that a lot of people in the audition line were muttering to themselves. All sorts of monologues and song lyrics.
“They want you on stage,” the man replied.
Sybil nodded her head, but her knees were suddenly knotted up by stage fright. Her legs were stiff as she walked onto the stage. She noticed that several of her classmates and other students had shown up to watch the auditions. Valerie and Tabitha were clinging nervously to each other while Gwyn was patiently sitting by herself.
“Name?” The director made a gesture with his hand but was more interested in the notebook on his lap.
She had almost bowed but remembered that she got scolded the last time she did that. Instead, she curtsied. “My name is Margret Miller. I am seventeen years old and I’m a first-year student in Women’s Studies.”
The director continued to stare down at his notebook, completely uninterested in what she had to say. “And what will you be performing?”
“I had originally planned on performing The Ebbing Ibis, but we weren’t allowed to bring our tightrope.”
“Tightrope?” The director looked up, clearly confused by the statement.
“Yes, we have a tightrope in our practice hall. I like to use it for my dancing.” Sybil placed her hands behind her back and tightly gripped onto her wrists.
“We don’t have time to set up a tightrope!” The man who had told her to go onstage had called out to them. He was standing just off stage and was annoyed by how much time Sybil had already wasted.
“... Was there anything else you can perform?” The director asked.
Sybil’s mind went blank. She had learned plenty of songs in the music classes, but she absolutely needed something that would make her shine. Maybe something she had seen Alton performed? Did she even remember anything that Alton performed? Was there anything at all that she could dance beautifully to?
“Drifting Petals. From act one of Selina.”
It wasn’t her voice that spoke. The words may have stolen her breath and fallen from her lips, but Sybil hadn’t been the one to utter them. She didn’t know that song, nor had she ever heard of Selina, but an odd sort of confidence was slowly lifting her spirits.
“Is your duet partner available?” The director leaned forward in his chair, glancing at the man with the clipboard. “We do not have time to wait for them, so you will have to go back in line if you wish to perform it.”
Duet? It was a duet. Sybil’s eyes flicked over to the bossy clipboard man, secretly pleading with him to save her. He had to be able to magically produce someone that would sing and dance and act like a fool with her.
He stared back at her, growing more and more uncomfortable as each second took an eternity to tick by. “... Fine,” he muttered as he set his clipboard on the floor. His boots clicked against the stage as he took his place next to Sybil. “My name is Kogin Audee. I’m twenty-one years old and I’m a production assistant at the Riposte Theater. Today, I will be performing Drifting Petals from act one of Selina.”
The director stared at him.
“Thank you so much,” whispered Sybil.
“Just make it look good,” he whispered back. Kogin’s arm twirled in the air as he crossed one foot over the other and performed a lavish bow.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
A quill was tapped against the director’s notepad. “Drifting Petals, A minor,” he called out to the piano.
“Let me pick the key,” snapped back Kogin.
The director took a moment to grab the megaphone from the chair next to him and held it against his mouth. “You’re doing it in A minor.”
Kogin huffed and walked off to one side of the stage. One hand was placed on his hip while he tossed his dark bangs away from his eyes with a flick of his head. He didn’t say anything to mark that he was ready, but he did glance at Sybil with the corner of his eye.
Something within Sybil told her to go to the other side of the stage. She held her hand in front of her face, as though a fan was nestled in it. Her leg was stuck out to the side. If she were wearing a long skirt, her leg would have dramatically brushed it off to the side.
The piano’s melody began to drift in the air, sounding light and airy. This was a comedy piece that mocked the trials and tribulations of noble dating. A budding generation of young men and women, each seeming to be a regal flower when ensnared into the bouquet, but each bloom would wilt easily once they were plucked away from the rest.
Kogin and Sybil took turns impersonating different stereotypes, before lamenting about why everyone was truly terrible and that there was no such thing as love. Both of them suddenly turn into hypocrites when their eyes suddenly meet and it’s love at first sight. They forge fake personalities for themselves in hopes of impressing the other. The song ends with both of them wondering if the charade is truly worth the effort, right before glancing at each other with a weak and blushing smile.
While the audience let out a round of applause, the director’s stern expression hadn’t changed. He made a few notes in his book and waited for the audience to quiet themselves before raising his hand. “Kogin, make an appointment for Miss Miller to come by our theater later this week. I would like to see her rendition of The Ebbing Ibis.”
Sybil was panting. The past few minutes were a complete blur in her mind. “That’s good, right? I did good?”
Kogin was also panting. “It’s only good if you do well, because then I won’t have to perform,” he muttered.
“We’ll be opening the banquet with this performance,” called out the director. “Kogin, arrange a practice schedule with Miss Miller after you have set her appointment.” He then deflected the bitter glare Kogin tossed him with a roll of his eyes.”
“Thank you!” Sybil performed an awkward bow-curtsy before rushing off the stage. She was absolutely thrilled that the priestess within her was able to pull this off.
Step one complete. Step two, second audition, which was only a few days later. They had a larger tightrope set up there, but Sybil was able to ace that audition. This was perfect. She had succeeded in gaining access to the palace without depending on Duxton.
All she had to do now was balance mid-terms, performance practice, and help out Patterfall with the golem research club’s projects. Oh, and plot assassinate the religious advisor to the king... But everything was fine! Sybil was going to handle it.
“Alright.” Sybil unfurled a scroll of blueprint paper. “I managed to get the layout of the banquet hall from the set design crew.” There was a magic show planned as one of the performances, which meant that Sybil had gained knowledge of the stage’s intricacies as well as all of the room’s entrances and exits.
“Do you have your performance schedule?” Gwyn asked.
Sybil nodded. “I’ll be in the lead in the first and twelfth skits and a background singer during the seventh. Security told us that we’re not allowed to mingle with the guests, and I’m supposed to be helping out with costumes and set changes between skits. My best chance to find Father Laurent is during the seventh skit.”
There was a chance that the wards created to detect Alcea magic still existed in the palace. Her grandfather did sort of invade the place fifty years ago and assassinate her great grandfather. Now that she thought about it, murdering religious heads was sort of a family tradition at this point. Might as well follow Grandfather Aeneas’ lead.
But, those wards… Sybil couldn’t risk going into mist form until it was time to go in for the kill. She had no idea what Laurent looked like, so she needed Gwyn to find him for her. Gwyn had brightly colored hair and she was planning on wearing a bright green dress to the banquet. It should be easy to spot her in the crowd.
The banquet performance was two hours long. Tables didn’t have assigned seating, and guests were encouraged to walk around and socialize in between and during skits. There was a ball planned for after skits were done, but Riposte Theater was supposed to pack up and leave as soon as they were done with their work.
The gap where the end of the banquet and the start of the ball slightly overlapped. There was an hour when the theater was expected to pack up and leave. That’s when Sybil could get her kill and still use the theater as her alibi.
“... And why am I involved in this?” Patterfall asked. He was sitting rather dejectedly on a stool next to the table. Plotting against the palace wasn’t a comfort zone for him.
Sybil and Gwyn looked at him, then at each other, then at him again. “She’s your date to the banquet,” replied Sybil as she pointed at Gwyn.
Patterfall’s shoulders sulked. “What about Duxton?”
“What about Prince Duxton?” Asked Gwyn.
“Duxton is a jerk,” replied Sybil.
Gwyn gestured at Sybil with her hand and nodded in agreement.
“Duxton just wants me to sit around on my thumbs. He treats me like I’m some weird source of entertainment,” grumbled Sybil. “I refuse to let myself remain helpless any longer.” She then lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper. “But if you could do this one favor for me...”
What would Elbellziara have to say about her son taking a woman like Gwyn to the palace? That was practically announcing his intention to have a serious relationship with her. If Patterfall didn’t consider Sybil to be a friend, he wouldn’t bother. “I have conditions.” He held up a finger. “I will not help you outside of introducing my cousin to Miss Hewitt. Whatever happens after that is none of my concern. I also ask that you do not endanger Miss Hewitt. You are solely responsible for your actions within the palace.”
Sybil raised her hands. “I only wish to speak to him.” Her lips were saying one thing, but her mind was hollering the stabbity stab stab song.
“I don’t plan on risking my life for this,” said Gwyn reassuringly. “We’ll leave the party together and act as the other’s alibi.”
Patterfall had a cloud of uncertainty hanging over his head. “... I need some time to think about it.”
He didn’t say no, which was everything that Sybil needed. She’d soon wedge herself in and bend him into a willing accomplice. While Sybil was easily bribed with bread, Patterfall had a weakness for runic equations. Everything was going to work out.
The only problem with Sybil’s plan was that she had no idea that her prey had left Fogbloom last summer and hadn’t been back in some time. Laurent Aconite had been wandering about Lustro. It had reminded him of his younger days, when he was often sent out for missions across the country. Honestly, his promotion and placement by the king’s side had been nothing but a pain.
Though the bulk of his mission had yet to be accomplished, there were duties that he could no longer ignore. Rumors of Duxton’s activities around the city were also beginning to trouble him. There was no putting it off any longer. Today was the day he would return to the city. He avoided the loud fanfare that usually came whenever an important member of the court arrived at the palace and headed straight towards his room.
Laurent pulled off his jacket and tossed it at a chair. He then collapsed on his bed with a pout on his lips. It would’ve been better to stay traveling… His body twitched as a knock resonated through the door. “I will need a bath drawn and dinner prepared,” he called out.
Protea slipped through the door. “I sent your servants away for the night,” he replied with a grin.
“My bath,” whined Laurent as he gestured towards the bathroom with his foot.
“Oh boohoo. The mighty War Viper can’t manage a night without a bit of warm soap,” replied a sarcastic Protea. “Whatever will we do without your precious wine and candle time?”
“An unwashed body will easily fall prey to disease,” grumbled Laurent as he sat up. “What do you want, Quinton?”
Protea shrugged as he took a seat next to Laurent. “What’s wrong with me wanting to say hi?”
“You aren’t the type to show up for a casual greeting. You’ve always been, ‘Have you murdered anyone today?’”
The smile on Protea’s face grew wider as he turned towards Laurent. “I’m simply surprised to see you at the palace. Last I heard, you were out on one of your little secret missions.” His hands danced about the air. “You paraded about the throne room, gloating that you were going to relive the glory days from before Wulfert died. Out there in the world, willing to prove that The Order was in charge.”
“That isn’t how I behave.” Laurent’s face remained flat and expressionless.
“But that’s what Neryx claimed happened.”
“Neryx will say anything to get you to go away.” Laurent tilted his head. “So have you murdered anyone recently?”
Protea attempted to look innocent by placing a palm against his own cheek. “My, it would’ve been lovely to do some proper work, but I was stuck cleaning up a suicide.” He poked Laurent’s chest. “There is some good news to come from the whole affair. I’m finally going to take in my apprentice and begin her training.”
“That crazy girl? The one you said you prayed would leave you alone?” Laurent’s face shifted into silent judgement. Amalfrieda had originally been sent to Braytons in order to give Protea some peace, but she had somehow convinced herself that she had been sent there to spy on Duxton. The idiot had been their inside contact ever since.
“We each have our strengths, Laurent, and Neryx has been quite pleased with my and her progress.” There was a hint of pride in Protea’s tone.
“Lustro has changed in the past twenty years,” replied Laurent. “We must focus on putting violence behind us and work on unifying our country.”
Protea leaned uncomfortably close to Laurent. “Yet The Order still seeks out those like myself to initiate into their fold. Neryx even has me being sent out on a mission soon. It’s so boring, pretending to be serious.” He stood up and twirled around. “I’d much rather be playing out there, like you’ve been doing.”
“Yet you are here. Bothering me.”
Protea folded his hands together, pleading with Laurent in a joking manner. “I need you to convince Neryx to loan me Harlea.” A finger popped up as Laurent opened his mouth. “And something from his blood iron collection.”
Neryx didn’t mind letting someone borrow their pet if it was for something important, but no one was allowed near their collection. “Why?”
Now Protea’s folded hands were placed behind his head as he rocked from one foot to the other. “Confirmation. Harlea needs blood to do her little thing. I swear that it’s in Neryx’s best interests, but you know how he is about his toys.”
Laurent thought about it. “Where are you heading?”
“Braytons,” replied Protea. “I need to fetch my apprentice and run a few errands.”
“Check with the Order’s post in Tilrey. My web had reported that they were closing in on Tria’s location.”
Protea hid his smile with his palm. “Tria was eaten by a would-be last winter.” He resisted the urge to laugh out loud as an alarmed Laurent stood up. “However, that Twist girl that you claimed was unimportant ended up saving her. The goddess is supposedly with Mart now.”
Laurent pointed accusingly at Protea. “You cut it with your lies. You know that I cannot be chasing false leads this close to winter.”
No fun. Never any fun. “Would it please you to know that Tyrtain is in a golem body that Tria’s son made for him? Oh yes, and Tria does have a human son running about in this world.”
“Cease your attempts to antagonize me!”
“What reason would I have to annoy you? It’s almost as if you sent Neryx a letter that specifically rejected my request to join you on your mission. Something about me being a pain to work with, was it?” Protea returned to rocking on his heels. “I may just sit around most days, waiting for Neryx to give me boring little fetch quests, but I do keep my ears open.” He pointed to his ear. “And wouldn’t you love to know the wonderful little things this ear has heard as of late?”
“I highly doubt you did anything other than have another hissy-fit about Pennyrile.” Laurent sat back down on the bed. As usual, Protea was a chore to deal with.
“She shouldn’t have taken the position of head of the Daughters of Iath away from me!” Protea protested. “I fully deserved a post in Grand Temple, where I could make merry and puppeteer dear Duchess El about.”
“For the last time, you are a man and a cleric of Mart. That position was simply not within your grasp in the first place,” argued Laurent. There was also the fact that Elbellziara couldn’t stand him either. “Either give me the source of your information or rid me of your presence.”
Much to Laurent’s annoyance, Protea sat back on the bed and crossed his legs. His shoes were still on. The dust on them was smearing itself on Laurent’s sheets as the cleric squirmed about. “I have so many wonderful stories to tell you, Laurent. So many fun facts for you to learn… I do hope that you’ll bear with me for what will turn into a long night.”