Page 7 of The Scarlet Star

She hugged her arms to herself as she followed Heva up the wide stairs and through a tall silver archway. The evening wind picked up, tossing her hair and tugging at her hem, and she shivered. But she paused at the top of the stairs, her toes coming along a blue line of tile where the palace doors might reach once closed.

Ryn thought of her warm kitchen where she’d just been with Kai. She turned and gazed back at the city, her throat thickening as she imagined Kai, Matthias, and Theo gathering without her in the empty house, sitting around the rickety table in the kitchen for Matthias’s birthday.

Her gaze fell on a temple with a gold domed roof glittering beneath the last sliver of sun a few blocks from the palace. Something about it made Ryn forget about her guardswoman waiting for her inside. She’d heard of a building with a golden roof before.

Her throat constricted so she wouldn’t scream for it—that building just past the wall of the palace grounds. It looked exactly how Kai had described his temple; the building where he worked. The building where he spent his long days studying with the Priesthood, along with the occasional nights he didn’t come home.

Ryn traced the road from the temple with her eyes, over the white wall encircling the palace grounds, through a large garden inside, and all the way to a narrow path before the entrance where she stood.

If there was ever a right place to escape to…

Heva’s hand found her shoulder. “I said don’t risk it.”

When Ryn met her guard’s eyes this time, there was more than a command there; a sharp warning rang through the silence between them.

Ryn’s shoulders relaxed. It wasn’t like she could run for the temple right now anyway.

She turned her back to the Mother City, to Kai’s temple, and stepped over the blue line of cold tile in her bare feet.

Maidens squealed and pointed at a starry ceiling mosaic sweeping from the entrance across a glass atrium. The ceiling hosted a depiction of a war in the clouds where the seven gods of the Weylin people fought at the beginning of time. It was the biggest mural Ryn had ever seen in her life. Every stone sparkled; every detail was intricate.

Her gaze dropped to a giant fountain piercing the middle of the room surrounded by statues of the seven Celestial Divinities. Ryn couldn’t remember the names of the primary Divinitiesapart from Nyx. Beyond the fountain, two broomsticks floated by, sweeping all on their own. Ryn nearly fell over as she leaned to watch them around the fountain. She’d heard of the magic of the Intelligentsia flowing through the palace, she’d even felt the weight of it on her way in, but she’dneverimagined that the gossip about the palace cleaning itself was true. Warmth bled into her stomach as she became aware of it—that heavy presence no one else reacted to. She rubbed her temples as the atrium went in and out of focus around her.

Groups rushed for the other maidens. Ryn blinked the fog from her eyes as two maidens were escorted away and disappeared down a hallway. “What’s happening?” she whispered to Heva.

Her guardswoman sighed. “The artists are choosing the maiden they wish to beautify. None of them seem interested in you though,” she said, then added, “The best artists were paid by rich benefactors or politicians who hope their chosen maiden will inherit the second throne of the kingdom. It’s a power struggle.” She waved a hand through the air like it wasn’t worth explaining to someone like Ryn.

Ryn watched the last maiden receive a group of helpers along with trunks of supplies and a rack of gowns. She, and her crew, disappeared down the same hallway as the first two maidens.

Only Folke guards remained in the atrium, securing the entrance at Ryn’s back, and Ryn glanced at Heva. She didn’t have a chance to ask another question before the sound of clumsy, clunking boots met her ears, growing louder until finally a young man raced into the atrium with pink cheeks and a large suitcase beneath his arm.

He skidded to a stop, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. When he looked around at the empty entrance, his face fell. Then he noticed Ryn.

His face fell again.

He glanced back the way he came as if debating whether he should run away. “This is what I get for arriving late, I suppose,” he muttered under his breath—not quietly enough. He sighed as he hauled his suitcase over, looking Ryn up and down with a scowl. “You’re the only option left?” he asked.

“She is,” Heva answered for her.

The young man nodded. “Come with me, then. I’mMarcan.” He emphasised his name and waited for a moment, like he expected something. Ryn looked over at Heva, then back at Marcan.

“Divinities, do you really not recognize my name? Did you grow up over the border or something?” Marcan asked, still talking to Ryn. “I’m Marcan.TheMarcan.”

Most Weylins might know who Marcan was, Ryn realized. “Ah, right,” she said, nodding in feigned recognition. “Marcan.”

Marcan rolled his eyes. He stomped over the tiles to the hallway after the others, waving for Ryn and Heva to follow. He remarked without missing a beat, “You don’t look noble.”

Ryn clasped her hands and squeezed her palms together. She glanced at a passing servant, then at Heva, then back toward the atrium. “My name is Estheryn Electus.” She stated the name she’d learned to say with ease. The name she’d spoken so many times it was starting to feel like her real name.

“Alright, Estheryn Electus, your name passes. But still…” Marcan glanced over at her, at herdirt, specifically. “How, by the Divinities, did you manage to get chosen as a Heartstealer?” he asked.

Doors were left open down the hall, giving Ryn glimpses of the other girls trying on silk dresses and glistening gold jewelry in their rooms. They probably really were the fairest young women in all of Per-Siana. Ryn couldn’t come up with one reason as to why she dared to walk among them.

“I have no idea,” she admitted.

Marcan made a face without questioning her further. “I should warn you; I amnotthis kind of artist. I do stunning mosaics with glass and jewels, rare gem paintings, and coveted wall art,” he bragged, but his voice shook when he added, “I’ve never decorated a woman in my life. I don’t even know how to beautify a mess like you, and now my reputation will suffer for it. Don’t you know what we’re up against? Calliope Ingrid has at leastthreepolitical figures backing her, along with her family’s deep pockets!” He took in a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly. “I wasn’t given a choice about coming here, you know.” Marcan swallowed and put the back of his hand against his pink cheek.

It shouldn’t have been a relief that someone else didnotwant to be here, and while Ryn would never allow herself to feel kinship with a Weylin, she studied Marcan’s back, seeing a soul just as lost and alone in this vast building as she was.

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