Vengeance Throne (The Callistra Chronicles #2)

FIFTEEN

Chapter Fifteen

The intruder jumped up in alarm as Pasiphae entered.

"Well, hello," Pasiphae said plainly.

Small and slight with a chubby face, the girl looked around fourteen, but faery ageing would make her far older than Pasiphae. Regardless, her simple clothing confirmed her lower rank, as did the smear of soot that stained her dress.

The girl swept into a hurried curtsey. She appeared fearful, as Pasiphae had come to expect from the Seelie people now, but there was something else lurking in each nervous dart of her eye, something dull, empty, and off.

"Hello," the girl replied softly. "I am Rhiannon, the handmaiden of this palace. I thought I would tidy up a little."

Tidying, Pasiphae thought to herself. Right.

"Can I help you with anything?" Rhiannon continued.

"No, I will be fine," Pasiphae said stiffly. Seth hadn't mentioned anything about a handmaiden. "You can take your leave."

Rhiannon bobbed into another curtesy, and scuttled towards the door. Pasiphae caught a whiff of something sharp and sweet as the faery passed her.

"Wait," she snapped.

Rhiannon halted just as her hand reached out to slide the door open. Her dark hair swung with the motion, becoming a rope around her neck.

"Yes?" Rhiannon asked, inclining her chin over her shoulder.

Pasiphae's hand curled around the back of a nearby chair. Her nails dug into the fabric, gouging at the material.

"Show me your wings."

The faery turned around fully then, frowning. "Pardon?"

"Your wings," Pasiphae demanded.

Confused, Rhiannon lifted the back collar of her shirt, and shook her shoulders. Poking out from beneath the hem of the shirt, Pasiphae caught a glimpse of two, short golden wings.

Not the spy then, she realised with a breath of relief. There was no doubt that their Unseelie spy was of Unseelie origin. If the spy was Seelie, they would have become a banshee by now, and it was hard to miss a banshee's screaming if one was present in the country.

"You may go," Pasiphae dismissed promptly.

Rhiannon swept a final curtsy and slipped out of the room before Pasiphae could change her mind. Even if the handmaiden was Seelie, there had been something not quite right about that encounter.

"What was she looking at?" Pasiphae muttered. She loomed over the box on the floor, one that was pressed to the very foot of the bed, but all she could see inside were linens. Perhaps she had truly only been tidying.

Compared to Medeis, it should have been far easier to find the spy in Airesi. All they needed to look for was a pair of silver wings, and yet the Mors continued.

Exhausted, Pasiphae detached the heavy headdress from her head, and shed the layers that Psyche had shoved her into. She was left with just her gown, and a yellow cloak lying on the bed that she supposed was deemed acceptable wear in Airesi.

She pulled it on.

With the sun beating down at the very apex of the sky, it was warmer than what Pasiphae was used to, but still, she eased out of the glass doors, squinting into the oversaturated gardens, squinting into the field beyond.

It was not immediately visible to the naked eye, but Airesi hummed with technology just as Khotadi did. Pasiphae felt it through the charge in the air—the spark of the wires running beneath the stone tiles, camouflaging into the lines as if to disguise the constant surveillance being run on its civilians.