“My uncle once told me there is knowledge people carry in their heads, and there is knowledge that travels to the heart. In their heads, those lords and nobles know they are at risk. In their hearts, they believe themselves safe. Others will be fighting and dying in a war against the Everlorn Empire. They’ll play at this distant game, hand over some coin, and encourage their servants and workers to join instead. That’s why Thorda brought you in and gave you a victim to slaughter. It’s the closest to a fight any of those spoiled silk-robes will ever see. It’ll excite them. Entertain them.”

“And I duly obliged,” Cyrus said, still not understanding. “So why would this redeem me in your eyes?”

“Because you were angry,” she said softly. “It wasn’t a game to you, was it? It couldn’t be. Not after Imperator Magus cut down your parents.” She leaned forward, chin on her hands, and sighed at the sea. “I suppose I should apologize for doubting you. You may be a prince, but you have lost just as much as I have, if not more. You could never be like those in the crowd.”

Cyrus thought of the conversation he’d eavesdropped on between Rayan and Thorda, and of his importance as not necessarily a killer but as a symbol. Executing the enemy soldier on the stage only reinforced that understanding.

“I am exactly like those in the crowd,” he said. “And that is why Thorda chose me. The Lythan name has power. I was born at the foot of a throne. My blood is recognized by those whose lives are gold and silver. If I have to play these games to free us from the Uplifted Church and its Joining Laws, then I shall play them. If I must become a monster, than I shall do that, too. I shall be both and one, Prince and Vagrant, so long as it gives the people something to believe in. If they cannot believe in Endarius and Lycaena, then let them believe in me. I accept the mantle no one else may bear.”

He felt naked before her, exposed in a way he hadn’t been when in the company of Thorda and his daughters. Keles stood from the tower edge. She smoothed out her dress, and he lurched to his feet to join her.

“I will never put my faith in you, Cyrus,” she said. The wind blew across her, teasing the braids of her hair. “I put my faith in a goddess once. If she can die, then so can you. My days as a paladin are over, and no skull mask or outrageous promises from Thorda Ahlai will have me believe anew. Thanet belongs to the empire, and so shall it be to the end of my days. I pray I am wrong. I fear I am right.”