"Lady Quinctillia, I've heard the news about your father. My sincere condolences... he was a great man."
While led under the theatron, Nysa barely lost a glance at the palm-rubbing, balding official talking to her.
She knew him as Duris of Priene, an appointed supervisor of the Theatre and a supposed friend of her father. However, the greedy smile he tried hard to stifle made her doubt the sincerity of his feelings.
Nysa was publicly known as Lady Quinctillia Levidis, a daughter of the wealthy Levidis family. Since they were a major political player in the Sethian Empire, most Hierapetran aristocrats gave them a wide berth to avoid getting embroiled in a conspiracy from their aggressive eastern neighbors.
Despite that, her kind-hearted, lonely father had done everything he could to build friendly ties with the local elite. He had abandoned everything he ever knew when coming to Hierapetra, and Nysa saw the toll it took on him. Furthermore, she had barely spent time with him due to her mother's obsession with control.
Nysa guessed that feeling loathed both inside and outside his home slowly drove him to despair. In his final years, he donated large sums of money to the Theatre of Priene, hoping to kindle meaningful relationships. Unfortunately, some of the city's officials and aristocracy took advantage of his wealth and often extorted him in the name of their friendship.
The Theatre's supervisor, Duris of Priene, was one of them.
He didn't even attempt to hide his excitement. Nysa's mother hated Hierapetran theater, so he most likely hoped to secure some funding from the naive, recently orphaned daughter of the Levidis family instead.
Nysa would have liked nothing more than to gauge the eyes out of his piggish face, but even a money-grubbing weasel like him had his uses. Without his influence, she wouldn't have been able to enter the Theatre as a woman. Hence, she softened her expression and pushed a few tears down her rosy cheeks.
"Thank you, Duris. Your support means the world to me right now." She forced a snuffle before one of her slaves gave her a cloth. "My father absolutely loved this Theatre. I want to experience it... to learn of his passion and reminisce about our time together. I'm truly sorry for putting you in such a difficult position. Be sure that I'll make up for it."
Duris' lips quivered, and Nysa had the impression they were curving upwards.
"Don't mind me, Lady Quinctillia. The important thing is to preserve your father's memory." Duris gently helped her climb down a set of stairs. "Lord Lydus was an avid admirer of the performing arts. If you wish to honor him, you could always invest in the glorious institution that made his passion possible."
Nysa kept her eyes from rolling as she headed for the seats reserved for the local aristocracy. "That would be wonderful. However... I still need to consult my mother about such matters. Perhaps I'll bring her for a visit in the future."
Duris' expression froze, and his face became visibly pale. "Lady Helle? Uhh... Well, of course. I'd love to meet her in person. Hm, yes."
The supervisor's voice lost its ecstatic tone, and Nysa could spot the dread settling in his gaze.
Contrasting with the gentleness of her husband, Lady Helle Levidis' difficult character was infamous in the Divine Capital.
Compared to the mellow, impressionable Hierapetran women, she had the harsh, abrasive nature of the Sethian noblesse. As Nysa knew very well, interacting with her was akin to walking on eggshells.
Nevertheless, in situations like these, her notorious reputation proved somewhat useful.
Nysa soon reached a particular spot where a single, middle-aged man was sitting. She briefly paused, and Duris understood her cue.
"If you'll excuse me now, Lady Quinctillia. We still have to finish preparations for today's performance." With that, he climbed up the theatron and out of sight.
"I see they've already started pestering you." The middle-aged, blond-haired man spoke first. "Those vultures think themselves shrewd, preying on a weakened family. The aristocracy now sees you as a walking pile of golden Darics, but that's what you wanted, right? Lydus did his job well."
Although he was talking to Nysa, the man focused his bluish eyes on the thespians setting up the stage. His chiseled jaw, strong nose, and short beard gave him quite a handsome profile, though it was clearly dampened by age.
"Father was honest in his attempts at friendship," Nysa said before sitting next to the middle-aged man. "You're the only one who reciprocated, Iphiclus. I like to believe that he didn't think himself alone during his final moments."
"Your father was an idiot." Iphiclus' mouth twitched, though his declaration did not change Nysa's expression. "He never gave me a chance... never reached out for me to help him. He was convinced that everyone was after his wealth and dismissed my friendship ever so easily. I'll never forgive him."
"Is that so... I guess it all built up." Nysa's gaze landed on the busy stage. The lower seats, reserved exclusively for the aristocracy, were all empty aside from hers and Iphiclus'.
After a few seconds of silence, Nysa spoke again. "Mother doesn't want to organize a funeral rite. She plans on throwing Father's body away in River Phanias."
"Damn that wretched woman," Iphiclus spat. "I'll prepare his pyre myself if necessary. Lydus saved my life, and I intend to honor his death with the dignity he deserves. I'll get my friend's corpse from under that witch's claws. That, I promise you."
"Thank you." Nysa's eyes regained their faint light, and the shadow of a smile pressed on her cheeks. "I'll remember this favor."
"I don't need you to remember it. If you want to pay me back, let me help you get out of Helle's control."
Nysa's shoulders trembled for a second, but she caught herself in time. She clasped her hands together and lowered her head, trying to hide her uneasiness.
"I... I can't. I am a tool. I have a single purpose, and I won't be able to accomplish it if I choose to flee."
"Nonsense! You do know what today's performance is for, do you? It's to celebrate the upcoming Sacrificial Ceremony. The Celestial Offering isn't dead. You have failed your mission, and it's alright. It was presumptuous of our eastern friends to even think it was possible anyway."
Nysa's hands clenched harder, turning her slender fingers white.
"Mother doesn't think so. If she still has hope, it means the Sethian Empire hasn't abandoned its ambition yet, and neither did the..." She was unable to finish her sentence, stifling it under her breath. "The Celestial Offering must die before the Ceremony."
"And how do you plan on doing that exactly? Your first attempt clearly warned them. I hear the Luminous House has taken some drastic measures to protect the boy."
"I was too cautious the first time. I gave him the Eye of Crepuscule and used hypnosis magecraft to manipulate his actions. It must've been dispelled somehow, or the ritual for awakening the mirror didn't work. In any case, if I try something more direct, even at the cost of my life—"
"Your life won't be sufficient." Iphiclus' sharp retort cut her mid-sentence. "A roundabout assassination is the only way you could've succeeded. The instant you ooze the slightest killing intent near the Celestial Offering, you will have half the Luminous House flattening your corpse."
Nysa's brows furrowed. "Only half?"
Iphiclus answered her puzzlement with a smile. "Well, of course. The other half will be busy preparing for war against our dear eastern friends. Your nation lived far too long without a Hallowed Sovereign. It forgot the zealous piety of people growing increasingly bored with peace."
"War sparks easiest when its consequences have been forgotten, after all," he added. "And what better herald than the daughter of Sethian noblesse trying to assassinate Hierapetra's Celestial Offering?"
"A war between Sethia and Hierapetra is of no importance to me. I merely need to serve my purpose. Any thoughts about its ramifications need to be discarded." Nysa's voice turned cold, resolve written all over her expression.
Iphiclus stayed silent for a moment, then glanced at the sky, softly muttering, "I have tried, Lydus... my friend. Unfortunately, Her leash is too tight."
He let out another sigh, then arched his back forward, hands clasped under his chin. "I'll have you know, there's probably another faction dwelling inside the Great Sanctuary."
"Another faction? What do you mean?"
"The day after you tried to kill the boy, an ascetic from the Inner Monastery hung himself in front of him. His Adonal Virgins were promptly replaced, and he's now guarded by the Gilded Watch. What's more, the Temple of Stars sent a Novice and a Priestess to shadow the Celestial Offering at all times."
Nysa tilted her head, making her lustrous black hair flow like a dark tide. "A 10th-class and 9th-class magi. What of it?"
"You sure are quick to dismiss the non-magi." Iphiclus raised an eyebrow. "The Gilded Watch are slave-warriors. They're raised from birth as soldiers and answer to no will other than that of the Luminous House. In other words, they're incorruptible guards who are aware of magecraft."
"Moreover, the 10th-class magus is a Stargazer while the 9th-class one is an Astrologer. They're practitioners of the Astral Sorceries, meaning they're very perceptive to changes in the flow of Mana. What do you make of that?"
Nysa pinched her chin, her thoughts wandering to possible hypotheses. After a brief pause, she reached a conclusion.
"Someone is attracting the Temple of Stars' attention towards the Celestial Offering. By making a harmless fuss and leaving a few trails, they're indirectly raising the protection around him." She pursed her lip, displaying her frustration for the first time. "I won't be able to reach him as easily now. They're most likely the ones who foiled my previous assassination attempt, too."
Iphiclus nodded. "They want the Celestial Offering to survive until the Sacrificial Ceremony, but they don't wish to openly interfere."
"Any idea who it might be?" Nysa asked.
"I have a theory. But first, have you ever heard about the Mysteries?"