Damn, that hurts, he thought as he rolled to lessen the impact of his landing. His knees throbbed, and his legs wobbled unseemly his first few steps, but at least he was down and moving. He burst through the balcony door, surprise his greatest weapon. All the soldiers were rushing for the stairs to the higher floors. The secret passageway in the parlor was unknown to them. A young soldier spun about upon hearing the door open. Cyrus cut his throat before he could even draw his sword. Two servants in a nearby room screamed at the spray of blood.

“Out!” Cyrus screamed, and he pointed his sword eastward down the hall. They fled, which was all he needed, for the next room west was the parlor. He pulled the lever disguised as a candelabra and slid into the crack in the wall. Voices shouted after him, but he would be faster than any chasing guard. They’d find the tunnel eventually; he was sure of that. Nothing else would explain his disappearance, and after having a sword put to Uriah’s throat, Gordian would tear the whole castle apart to ensure his son’s safety. But that would take time, and by then Cyrus was long gone.

Cyrus took the long way home. He told himself it was because he needed cold air on his now-unmasked face, and that the walk would be calming as the excitement of battle slowly faded from his body. It certainly had nothing to do with using the secret access Thorda had hoarded close to his chest for some unknown perfect timing. It wasn’t because he feared the ire of the ice-blooded teacher.

Over an hour later, he returned to find Thorda waiting in the entry foyer of his home, sitting on a lone stool like he did so many days of training back at the mansion. There was no sign of either of his daughters, nor Clarissa, who had been crying in Stasia’s room when Cyrus left to exact his revenge.

“I would hear it from your own lips first,” Thorda said.

“I see word travels fast around Vallessau,” Cyrus said, purposefully stalling.

“There are many within the castle who send me their whispers in exchange for a glint of silver. After tonight’s debacle, they came running. But whispers can be wrong. They can be incomplete. Explain yourself, Cyrus. Let me hear where the blood on your mask came from.”

Cyrus puffed up his chest and pulled back his shoulders.

“I made an attempt on the Usurper King’s life,” he said, purposefully leaving out his encounter with Gordian’s son. “If not for the untimely arrival of Imperator Magus, I’d have been successful.”

“And yet you failed.”

“I nearly took his life.”