Chapter 31:
A Spy in Lystra
Author’s Note:
This is the last chapter without Trevus.
I lie in my woolen bed, staring at the dark fabric roof of my personal tent. Despite the late hour, the camp is awake and active. Imagining what soldiers may be doing as their metal armor clanks past my tent keeps my mind occupied, but the thought of Trevus is never far.
Trying to sleep is a pointless endeavor. I peek out from my tent curtain. Cozy orange fires dot the camp. Each tent is so close to the next that their pegged cords overlap. Armored soldiers traverse in every direction, many of them in bandages. None look my way. Ametha was adamant that at least two personal guards follow for my protection, but I refused. Regardless of what side they’re on, lingering soldiers make me uncomfortable.
There’s music and laughing in the distance – somewhere in this camp people are having fun. It’s the distraction I crave. I fit the pair of woolen gloves from Ametha and step out onto the makeshift footpath. A few men stop for a second glance as I pass, but none question or stand in my way. My gadin and Ametha’s orders grant privilege I’ve never experienced.
I follow the music and laughter down dim crevasses between the candle-lit tents, soon discovering the source. A large tarp is draped over a tall dead tree trunk, and it’s stretched wide with taut rope and pegs, spread forty feet in every direction. At least a hundred soldiers sit on makeshift benches of rocks and fallen trees, all enjoying mugs of ale.
The front of the tent has no wall, seeming to welcome any passerby inside. I accept the invitation and find an empty stone at the end of a log table. The stone’s too small for large soldiers, but I fit quite comfortably.
A guitar strums with a fast beat, and slurred voices sing about their victory. While I didn’t share their stake in battle, listening to their joyful song beats being alone in my tent.
Men often glance in my direction, but they avert their eyes when I meet their gaze. Perhaps Ametha warned that I don’t trust soldiers.
“Evening. Would you like a drink?” A boy offers a mug of ale. His round face and brown curly hair betray his age as a year or two younger than mine.
“Any distraction is welcome.” I take the drink, careful not to touch his hand.
He takes a seat beside me. “I don’t remember any of the Six being so beautiful.”
I smile and take another sip of my drink. Living free from that tower has done wonders for my self-image. “It’s just a costume,” I say. My small lie steers the conversation away from my connection. He’s wearing simple gray longs and a matching shirt, bare of any armor. “You’re not dressed like a soldier?” I ask. It’s a welcome sight.
“I’m not enlisted, but my father is a logistics officer, and he dragged me along. Maybe he thought the thrill of managing food rations would have me rushing to the nearest barracks.”
I chuckle. This boy doesn’t fit with the rest of the men here, and his friendliness makes him my favorite of the camp.
“What rotten luck stuck you here?” he asks.
The last twenty-four hours flash through my mind. I down the rest of the ale. The bitter drink I once hated is much more palatable when looking forward to the light-headed reward at the bottom of the mug.
The boy chuckles at my response. He reaches for my empty mug. “Let’s get you another-” His fingers brush over my gloved hands, my body connects to his, and he falls flat on the grass.
I leap up from my stone seat. Several soldiers rise from their spots, now staring without any attempt to hide it. I cover my mouth. My body just connected to him on its own.
One man reaches for the boy, bringing his head up close to his ear. “The ale has put Bobby to bed!” the soldier calls. The others laugh and return to their conversations.
Having lost all desire to stay, I rush back to my tent. I rip off the useless gloves as soon as I’m inside. The sleeves the Versillian soldiers bound my hands in were so thick I could barely move my fingers. No less than a debilitating amount of material will block my connection.
I trail my finger over my soft palm. My whole life in that tower was spent being kept at a distance, never allowed to touch or be touched. Now that I’m finally free, my hands form an invisible barrier around me.
Evelyn mentioned another way – julite – another stone? If rahlite amplifies my connection, then maybe julite will smother it, perhaps permanently. Neither the Mephian Six nor the Versillian royal family would want anything to do with me. I could be normal.
Ametha dismissed the idea, but shouldn’t it be my decision? She’s using her position of power to impose her will over me, and that’s something I became fed up with years ago.
I head out again, weaving between the tents in search of Evelyn. A thin woman would stick out in a camp full of armored soldiers. I scan the men gathered around the campfires, searching for one in a unique outfit.
An older man is speaking in private with an officer in decorated armor. He’s wearing the same gray robe that Evelyn had. She can change her appearance in an instant, but clothes take more time.
I approach old man Evelyn. “Tell me about julite.”
The old man appears surprised.
I stand waiting.
He dismisses the officer and takes my arm, leading me to an empty tent.
Evelyn reaches under her shirt the moment the curtains close. In an instant, she returns to her red-haired self. “You should listen more. Information is your greatest ally. Retrieving julite is dangerous.”
I raise my hands. “I’d rather lose my connection than be stuck like this.”
“What about your head?”
“Is julite deadly?”
“No, but Versillians are.”
I survived for years in Versillian custody. “I’m more capable than you know.”
Evelyn raises an eyebrow. “You’d never heard of julite before our conversation this evening.”
“It’s a stone that will stop my salted connection for good. It’s exactly what I need.”
“It’ll interrupt your magic when nearby, but not for good.”
“I’ve been ready to wish my connection away for years. Where can I find the stone?”
Her eyes trace my frame. The day has left my hair disheveled, my clothes covered in dust and remnants of red paint littering my face.
She finally speaks, “My ear in Lystra has heard it protects their ruler. I know nothing more.”
Lystra – the capital of Versillia? King Tytius would recognize me. Even without him, dozens of Versillian soldiers from the battle know exactly what I look like, and it would only take one remembering my role at Nepolis to lose my head.
“Not so confident after learning you’d be operating in Versillia,” Evelyn says.
“I’d be recognized. We can’t all change our face,” I say.
Evelyn smiles. “I don’t change my face. That’s impossible.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Magic only affects the mind. I influence your perception of my appearance, nothing more.” She reaches into her pocket and retrieves a thin silver necklace. “I’ll lend you a new image, one I crafted just this week.”
She drops it in my hands. A small ruby framed in a gold teardrop hangs at the bottom. With her nod of approval, I put it around my neck.
My skin prickles where the pendant rests on my chest, but beyond that, my body feels the same.
Evelyn wears a satisfied smile. “Quite fine work, if I do say so myself.”
I touch my face. “I don’t feel any different.” My own voice startles me. It sounds like it came from another woman.
“Of course not. Your body hasn’t changed,” she reveals a handheld mirror, the reflective side out of view, “only our perception.”
I take the mirror, careful not to touch her fingers. The back has a beautiful light and dark diagonal wooden carving. I’m nervous to turn it over, to see my new face. “It’s only temporary, right?”
“The pendant draws magic from your body, without which the illusion shatters.”
I turn over the mirror. A blonde-haired woman meets my gaze, and I gasp. The mirror slips from my fingers. Evelyn catches it before it scuffs on the ground. She was ready.
Evelyn angles the mirror to face me again, and I’m met with my blonde reflection a second time.
I touch my new nose, a little longer and thinner. My eyebrows sport a lighter shade with a steeper arch, and the eyes staring back at me are sky blue. My mother named me after my distinctive green eyes. Not having them is frightening, like I’m no longer myself.
“Will this fool them?” I ask. The voice that leaves my mouth sounds nothing like my own.
“Not if you speak like a Mephian,” Evelyn says. “The illusion morphs the sound of your voice, not the words.”
“Shall my appearance deceive the people of Lystra?” I try again.
“Good. Remember there is more to an identity than appearance. I’ll arrange for you to accompany a caravan to Lystra tomorrow. Once you reach the city, one of my ears will assist you.”
This woman I met a few hours ago is unusually helpful. I don’t understand her motivation, and that makes it hard to trust her. “Why deceive Ametha for someone you don’t know?” I ask.
“Ametha may be the commander of this camp, but Lystra is my domain. The rumored julite makes entering the palace too risky. I’d prefer the suppressive stone in the hands of a fellow mage instead of our adversaries.”
I nod. It’s not about the stones being in my possession, but about them being out of Versillian hands.
Evelyn opens the tent curtain but turns back before leaving. “Remember, the pendant feeds from your magic. If you get too close to julite, the illusion will crumble, and it may not reform.”
Sleep is difficult to come by. Trevus returns to my mind in the silent moments before I can drift away, jerking me wide awake again. I soon give up trying and wait for dawn.
Evelyn is kind enough to gift a pack of provisions and a small purse of coins. I join a caravan of about thirty traders heading to Corinth, a city near Lystra. Horses and mules haul wagons of merchants and carts stuffed with goods. They’re so numerous that it’s not hard to find a half empty wagon to lie down on.
Our caravan heads for Versillia. My illusion is in place from the moment we set off, as it’ll be safer if no one knows who I am.
Spending my day on the back of the wagon is easy, but sleeping at night is hard. As the days pass, I resign myself to resting during the day and pacing at night.
The driver of the wagon I’m on doesn’t speak much, but that’s probably for the better. I don’t want the merchants to have any interesting stories about the blonde Mephian girl who hitched a ride with them back to Versillia.
We soon cross a bridge at Troas village, passing over the Merk’s unmistakable raging water. I was devastated when I first left Mephia ten years ago, but this time it’s different. If Mephia really is my home, then leaving it should make me feel
something
. In truth, even though Versillians hunt sorcerers, living among them has begun to feel normal.
On day twelve of our journey back into Versillia, a familiar sight appears on the horizon. The merchants prefer to spend nights in settlements, and tonight they chose Cidon, the first village Trevus brought me to after I was freed from Antiock.
I approach the same tavern we visited that night. I remember how inviting it appeared when pelted with freezing rain. The bartender offers a welcoming nod when I step inside. Local men and women chat at their tables, and a few of the caravan merchants have joined them.
I find the seat closest to the fire – the same place I sat weeks ago. The local farmers laugh and joke amongst each other. Trevus sat across from me, with Giddius to his left and Marcellus to his right. We played tike, and though I never won a round, I had the most fun of all of them.
“Do you desire anything, miss?” The bartender stands where Trevus sat, awaiting my answer.
“Just ale,” I say.
He returns with the mug, and I pay with a silver coin. Evelyn gave me plenty. Removing the julite from Lystra is priceless, and being one of the Mephian Six makes money of little concern.
I finish the bitter ale fast, and the bartender provides another. I’m here as a free woman, but I’m still wearing gloves – and while this time by choice, they feel even more binding. My spirit reflects my first years in the tower, back when Mehlia’s ghost haunted my dreams.
I take another swig of ale, and the world seems a little more pleasant, Mehlia’s memory grows a little more distant, and the guilt over Trevus’s pain is a little easier to ignore.
Soon that mug is empty, and so is the second and third.
“Miss, do you wish to dwell in a room tonight?” the bartender asks.
So I can stay up all night imagining Trevus sitting across the room on that couch? “Absolutely not.”
Three days later, we arrive in Corinth. This is the end of the journey for the merchants, so I pay the caravan master his promised gold coin and we say our farewells. Lystra is only a couple hours away by foot.
Heeding Evelyn’s advice, I spend the rest of the afternoon exploring Corinth and learning local history. I’m Raylia, the daughter of a carpenter raised in Corinth. That’s my fabricated identity.
After spending a night at the inn, I accompany a group of women heading to Lystra. Traveling alone on routes I don’t know would be foolish.
Following a dusty road, we crest a hill, and I still at the sight ahead. There are rows and rows of wattle-and-daub houses – hundreds, maybe even thousands. They’re followed by a huge stone wall, which protects even taller double- and triple-story buildings. The roofs reach higher and higher, rising up a hill. At the peak of the hill stands a proud marble-white palace, with tall towers tipped with emerald flags. The palace is so large it would take hours to circle. The city is like a mountain with a snow peak. I’ve never seen something so grand in my life. There’s no doubt that this is Lystra, the capital of Versillia.
I hurry ahead of the group and soon reach the main city streets. My heart jumps at the sight of Versillian soldiers in their black oban uniforms. They’re posted on a watchtower that overlooks the muddy path, but none of them offer more than a glance in my direction.
Fearing that the guards will recognize the sorceress from the battlefield, I slide into an alley out of view and grab my hand mirror. The illusion shows the thinner face of a different girl, with blonde locks in place of my brunette hair. While my height and build remain unchanged, no one would suspect a girl with a completely different face.
Seeing someone else staring back through a mirror soon becomes uncomfortable. I tuck it in my pocket and return to the street.
“Down Bird Street, with fifty steps of your feet,” I repeat Evelyn’s rhyme under my breath. “Left is best because right is tight. When roofs are red, go ahead, with brown don’t frown, but at black go back. The entrance is green but hard to be seen. Knocks of four will open the door.” She has an ‘ear’ in this city, and I’m hoping they’ll know where I can find the julite.
I continue down the main road, heading uphill to the city center. Tarped stalls line either side of the street, with farmers selling produce and artisans presenting fine wares.
I reach the large stone wall that surrounds the inner city. The huge gate towers thirty feet over my head, and half a dozen guards are stationed on either side of the wide arched entrance. City citizens pass freely through the gate.
I tail a trio of men, close enough that it appears I’m with them, but not so close that they’d notice. My black pants and cardigan blend in with the city fashion, and no one glances at me twice.
The black and white wattle-and-daub houses reach three stories high in the inner city, and the main road grows even more crowded. I bet that wall surrounded the entire city at one point, but the houses have grown so numerous that they’ve burst out.
The temple to Nomier is even more impressive than the one in Antiock. I count twelve stone columns on the front side alone, and they are nearly twice the height. A large staircase raises the temple up from the grimy streets, and it’s split by an immaculate fountain presenting a tall statue of a woman. A stone robe hangs off her shoulders, and she holds a spear with a diamond-shaped tip. It’s the figure that Marcellus took inspiration from.
I stop short of the grand silver palace gates. Behind the bars await lush green gardens and a marble building so wide I have to turn my head to see corner to corner. People line up to enter, and a dozen guards in black obans interrogate everyone going through. They’re the Palace Guard, the unit that Trevus used to head.
I turn back in search of Bird Street. While there are no road signs, I soon find a street echoing with chirps, tweets and songs. It’s filled with bird merchants, and both sides are lined with brass cages.
“Down Bird Street, with fifty steps of your feet. Left is best because right is tight,” I whisper to myself. At seventy steps, I find a long alley crossing the road. The right is clogged with dusty barrels and crates, but the left leads to more houses. Whoever counted those fifty steps must have been tall.
“When roofs are red, go ahead, with brown don’t frown, but at black go back.” I keep my eye on the tall roofs overhead – red, red, brown, red, red. “The entrance is green but hard to be seen.” I spot a faded green wall in front of a modest home. That’s it. “Knocks of four will open the door.” I ready my knuckles. Knock, knock, knock, knock.
There’s no answer. I wait.
The door opens just two inches, a chain keeping it from going any further. I try peer inside but can’t make out more than a figure in the darkness. They don’t say a word.
I take my time before speaking, making sure to use Versillian speech. “Evelyn is a companion of mine.”
There’s no response, but the door stays open.
I pass five gold coins through the gap. “She offers her gratitude,” I say.
“Was there a need to have this discussion a fortnight early?” The voice of an elderly woman emanates from behind the door, but her face is kept hidden.
“I must learn the whereabouts of the julite and a route to retrieve it.”
“The julite is the king’s defender,” she says. “I have no knowledge beyond that.”
At least she knows it’s real. “Is there a route into the palace?” I ask.
“The entrance is always guarded. Staff openings are rare, but with the prince’s return, girls are auditioning to be his assistant. ‘Tis a game for the sharp, young and fair.”
“When do they audition?” I ask.
“Noon today.”
I look up at the sky. The sun is at its highest point.
“Thank you.” I rush back down the alley and head straight for the palace.
Author’s Note:
We’ll see Trevus in the next chapter, and he’ll be in every chapter here on.
If the julite suppresses her powers won’t the illusion shatter when she’s near it?
HALLELUJAH 🙌🙌
she’s prob super careful abt cause of habit— she’s been avoiding touching people for ten years now
BACK UP 🤺🤺
@Thegigl I know right! Is she gonna get hired by his half brother and then vetted by Trevus? So many possibilities
Oh right Trevus isn’t a prince… Unless the king decided to acknowledge him cause of his actions in saving him which made him a prince
Or we are going to meet Trevus’s half brother lol
Oh damn! What an exciting twist
It was such a fun scene to draw!
Yeah, maybe a certain person’s lol
Yeah it’s your choice…
Unless using the stone would put your life in danger but you should have been told that if it was the case
But at least she could blend in more and just live a semi normal life
It really is…
she may be free but she’s still stuck in a cage
Wait even with gloves on? That’s insane
Wait what?
But does it really matter if you touch him if your hands are gloved?
Do the 6 know her background and how she’s been treated since they have only just met her?
how did the author come up with these lines. I’m impressed 👏
The last of the Spice Girls
damnnn she cant have one semi-happy moment😭😭😭
The prince isnt Trevus but did we know of a prince being gone? The king was gone … I’m either missing something or there’s about to be a twist
normal? A prisoner for ten years and living with 3 soldiers for only a short few weeks, home is not the name, but the heart and soul
I’m vouching the stones in a pendant, or piece of jewellery
She is experienced in listening to them speak, Trevus hates her speaking that way XD
This will be important later
Your hands don’t always make a barrier lol, stick with these guys and none of them will pass out XD
Pretty hard to be normal after everything you’ve gone through
Welp, going to need thicker gloves lol
oof
You work with food, you’ll wish to die! lol
gone from imprisoned to spicy queen
Can’t wait
I’m getting emotional🥲
Omg the memories🥹
that’s black or brown hair?
Yay
Shit that’s so sad🥺
🥺
💀💀
🥹
oh my goshhhh😭😭😭
😃😃
Yey!!!!!!!
YAY
LOVE YOUUUUUU
THANK GOD