Page 46 of Nemesis Mine
“I’d better.”
Maximillian tapped his chest. “Cross my heart. I’ll see you soon, no doubt.”
“See you soon,” Cyrus echoed. He stood for a moment to watch Maximillian leave, unable to shake a sudden awareness of how odd it was, to wave one of the realm’s mightiest champions away from his lair clad in his own clothing, and to know thatsee you soonhad become a promise.
Chapter Eleven
Cyrus hadn’t expectedsee you soonto be quite so literal, but he woke late the next morning to the impatient tapping of a raven at his window. He sat bolt upright in bed, hair sticking out in every direction and silk sleep mask still in place. The ivy he’d coaxed to stretch out over his bedroom ceiling twitched and tautened with a burst of vengeful anger towards whomever had disturbed his slumber. Anger slid into anticipation when he remembered it was most likely Maximillian. He screwed his face up at himself, disgruntled at his own eagerness.
The scroll tied to the raven’s leg was bound with the usual blue ribbon, but Cyrus’s eyebrows lifted as he unfurled the parchment. In place of Maximillian’s loopy handwriting was a spidery scrawl, narrow and neat.
Maximillian is to attend the opening of the new brewery at Heliarth in two days’ time, beginning at midday sharp. Be punctual. See map for entry details.
Balthazar.
(Burn this parchment upon reading.)
A second scroll of parchment revealed a map of the new brewery, with a neat X marking an entrance towards the back of the building. Cyrus examined it, then turned his attention back to the letter.
Balthazar had never written before. Cyrus could well imagine how much it had pained him to write now. He grinned to himself at the thought. It just about made up for the tiny, inconsequential, barely there stab of disappointment he hadpossiblyfelt when he realised it wasn’t Maximillian sending him the letter. And for the fact that Balthazar had decided to issue two orders in such a short letter. Three, really, because Balthazar was essentially telling him to drop everything and go, given that it would take him two days to reach Heliarth in the first place.
But still. A brewery opening sounded like it could be fun. And Cyrus hadn’t been to Heliarth in years. He’d avoided it, paranoid about crossing paths with the champion he’d failed to take down all those years before.
Not something he had to worry about now. Cyrus scanned the letter again, then crumpled it up. A quick breakfast using some of the spinach from his garden, and then he’d set off.
Cyrus arrived in Heliarth as the sun climbed the eastern slope of the sky. Leaving Soulripper at the outskirts of the city, in a paddock beside a small stable manned by a yawning teen, he took the winding track through the magnificent archway marking entry to Heliarth’s inner quarters.Like much of the city, the archway was formed from the smooth reddish rocks native to the area. Finely detailed spirals were carved into the sides and morphed into unfurling flowers overhead, protruding from the stonework. Sunflowers. Heliarth had been a centre of worship for the summer god in years gone by, and their devotion to his sunshine was still evident across the city.
Cyrus eyed the flowers as he passed beneath, momentarily wistful. Such finery was the mark of a city with wealth, far grander than anything Ranragh had to offer, and the buildings that came into view as he rounded the next corner only added to that. They were large and handsome with enormous windows boasting elaborate stained glass displays, built to honour Summer with playful bursts of colourful refracted light.
Heliarth was built across several sloping hills, leaning down towards a wide harbour on one side and overlooked on the tallest hill by a church that looked more like a small castle, with two proud towers standing guard over a glinting golden sun. The sun was finely shaped, its slender rays stretching out from a perfect sphere, and untarnished by age; if anything, it looked freshly polished. Cyrus doubted that Heliarth had converted its religious buildings into grain storehouses. That church was probably a fancy holiday home for one of the council members under Maximillian’s stewardship.
Cyrus moved on. Before setting off he had perused the latest news on Heliarth, so he had an idea of where the new brewery was located—on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by fields so that they could grow their own hops.Cyrus would have approved, if they weren’t planning to call their beer Hopiarth.
He had a little time to kill, so he picked his way through the crisscrossing streets leading to the harbour with his head down. Stalls piled with fruit and fabric and bread competed with glossy shops selling designer clothes and bags. A couple of the grander shops even had security details, clad in shiny buttons and crisp waistcoats and eyeing the stallholders with disdain. A jeweller displaying wide trays of Heliarth’s native orange-hued gem had two guards lurking in the doorway, scaring off any prospective customers. Cyrus wouldn’t mind a Summer’s Eye ring himself, perhaps a matching necklace. He’d have to see what connections Maximillian had to offer.
Moving on, he filched an orange from a nearby stall when the seller wasn’t looking and stowed it into his pocket. He passed a bakery selling flaking pastries shaped like unfurling petals. Pretty, but surely not worth the queue of Heliarth residents that snaked down half the street. The next shop carried the earthy tang of leather and a pleasant, woody scent wafting artfully out of the door, courtesy of a row of incense sticks. Cyrus recognised the Athaca-wide footwear brand that had recently signed Maximillian as their model and smiled to himself, wriggling his toes in his own designer boots. It was possible that freebies felt even better than stolen goods, knowing that the marketing manager of Suit ’n’ Boot would probably go into shock if she knew who was on the receiving end of her gifted parcel.
Turning down an alleyway looping towards the harbour, Cyrus was abruptly accosted by a spotty youth clutching anarmful of crumpled parchments. He tried to thrust one in Cyrus’s face, far too close. Were those pimples catching? “Tour of ancient Heliarth,” the teen droned. “Walk in the footsteps of pilgrims past, pay homage to the seasons four, and enjoy a complimentary beverage with the rest of your tour group at Heliarth’s new brewery, opening today—”
Nobody was paying close attention, least of all the youth with his glazed eyes. Cyrus ducked his head so that his hood fell fully over his own eyes and jerked his chin towards the chickweed nestled along the edge of a nearby paving slab. The weed responded eagerly, sprouting forth to pounce on the teen’s ankle and drag him down with a squeal.
Some people did look then, frowning at the billow of parchment in the air around the fallen tour guide. Cyrus melted into the shadows and pretended to look too, doing his best shocked impression.
By the harbour, he found a wall where he could sit and eat his orange. Fishermen were heading out, as grizzled as the barnacles that clung to the hulls of their boats and laden with heavy nets that carried the salt stink of the sea. They weren’t the only ones setting off for the day; whilst Ranragh’s harbour was only really utilised by fishermen focused on bringing in hauls to feed and sell, a lot of the boats here were sailing out towards the distant shadow of a neighbouring island. Valyxi, Athaca’s closest neighbour to the south, was a tourist hot spot with its long stretches of sandy beaches, especially compared to the rugged and wild island of Melaki off the northwest coast.
Some smaller boats followed the curve of the coastline—day-trippers, probably, aiming for Cori Cove. It was tuckedalong the coast from Heliarth and was impossible to reach by foot, sitting at the base of a steep and foreboding hillside. Cyrus had never been there either. Perhaps he ought to treat himself to a visit, when he and Maximillian were finished with their little pretence.
Whenever that would be. Cyrus dug his thumb into the peel of the orange, registering the sting as juice nibbled at a cut by his nail bed. Presumably their ploy would end if—when—Maximillian secured his seat at Heliarth. That was the driving force for him, after all.
Two and a half months until the election. Cyrus frowned down at the split flesh of the fruit. He hadn’t thought of their scheme as having an end point before.
A seabird wheeled overhead, prowling in the wake of an approaching boat. Its hoarse caw pulled Cyrus from his thoughts. He stood, glad of the interruption. Today was not the day for dwelling on what was to come. Things were going well here and now, and he was going to enjoy it.
As the sun hefted itself towards its peak, Cyrus found his way to the brewery. There was a buzz in the air, though he wasn’t sure whether it was related to Maximillian or the promise of beer. He listened out as he joined the crowds winding their way through Heliarth’s dusty streets, keeping his head low, until he eventually heard Maximillian’s name.
“—opening it. Makes a change.” A judgemental sniff accompanied the snide tone.
Her companion gave a noncommittal grunt. “Seems he’s been busy lately, I suppose.”
