average human’s Reviews > One Small Echo > Status Update

It also wasn’t exactly a refreshments table in the official sense of the word. It was just a tall table, wide enough for one of the trays the attendants had been carrying around. She had commandeered an entire tray and was now attempting to fuel her power so that she wouldn’t be stumbling around in the dark for the rest of the night.
Walking into the Copperlight Thingy had felt like a dream, at first. People stared (mostly at Rion) and whispered adoringly (probably about Rion) and gasped with glee when Rion was asked to dance with a lordly gentleman after barely ten steps into the hall.
Eiko was also asked to dance by an equally lordly fellow, but she declined on account of the cream puffs that had caught her eye barely ten steps into the hall. That was one whole tray ago. The second tray now sat atop the first, and she was beginning to garner a different type of stare.
“Ah, there you are,” a familiar, velvety voice slid across the exposed skin of her collarbone. “Poised as ever, Eiko. Where in the dark are you putting all that food?”
Ceran was standing in front of her, suddenly, holding out his gloved hand for her to take. He was dressed in gold, delicate chains dangling from the pockets of his formal jacket. He had been dressed to match her, or her to match him; she wasn’t sure which.
“In my stomach,” she said dumbly, a little struck by the handsome prince. What was it about him? Corvan was handsome, but he didn’t stir her. He … did nothing for her, really. Chasin was beautiful, but he certainly didn’t have his brother’s unfailing charm. He terrified her. Stirred her ire. He may have even inspired hatred with his little poisoning trick. But he didn’t make her blush and lose her words.
Ren was handsome. Ren made her feel warm and safe and excited.
But Ren didn’t make her heart flop. Nobody made her heart flop … except … Ceran?
You sound confused, Hymn said. Does he make you flop or not?
You tell me, she grumbled. You’re the one living inside my chest.
It’s flopping, he confirmed. Curious.
Why curious? she demanded. Is he not handsome?
Ceran’s brows knit together, and he looked down at his waiting hand and then back at her. And then he remembered she was blind, and the bashful, self-aware cringe that momentarily scrunched his features made her heart flop. Again.
“May I take your hand?” he asked politely.
He is very handsome, Hymn confirmed. The other ladies seem to think so too.
Eiko had been too focused on the cream puffs to notice, but she supposed there was quite the gaggle of women hovering nearby, sighing over Ceran’s gallant offer of a hand.
Eiko placed her bare hand into his gloved one—or at least, she tried to. Something was in the way. She glanced down at the cream puff threatening to explode between their palms and quickly snatched it up and plopped it back onto the tray. A passing attendant paused, doing a double-take at the unattended tray, his eyes widening in panic over its lack of guardianship in such prestigious company. He quickly snatched it up, and because Eiko didn’t want to give away her second sight, she allowed it to happen.
But her blood ran hot.
Mine. Those cream puffs were hers. He deserved to bleed for stealing them⁠—
Eiko? Hymn asked, concerned.
She blinked, the blurry haze of rage receding, her free hand uncurling from the tight fist she had formed.
“Shall we dance?” Ceran asked, already pulling her onto the floor, probably sparing her the embarrassment of lingering on the cream puff moment, especially since it wasn’t her first time offering a scrap of food to a royal’s waiting palm like a mangy cat dropping a mangled rat’s corpse to the feet of their owner.
“Of course, Your Grace,” she said, even though he was already drawing her close, leading her gently through the glide of the crowd.
What was that? Hymn demanded. What happened back there?
I don’t know, she admitted. I think I’m approaching that time in my cycle.
Hymn was buzzing around her ribcage unhappily, stressed out by her brief flash of proprietary aggression. She was a little worried herself, but she already had enough on her plate, so she pushed it into a little box in her mind, labelling it “Hey, so … no big deal or anything, but today I almost bit off the hand of a castle attendant for confiscating my cream puffs.”
The music swelled as Ceran pulled her into his arms. The melody was rich and layered, gentle and teasing. Ceran guided her so steadily that it put her at immediate ease. One of his hands gripped her waist, the other held hers at a respectful distance. He moved as though he had danced like this his whole life, and there was something about him that just made it easy to follow. She had never danced—not like this. She had twirled and played and mocked these sorts of dances with Ky and Rion.
Ceran led her so calmly, so charmingly, that she didn’t even have a chance to stumble or grow awkward. She let him steer her, the chandeliers flaring above them, the polished marble catching reflections of gold and silk and metal. The air smelled of citrus peel and warm wine and crushed flowers. Ceran himself smelled like clean soap and something faintly spiced.
Is this it? Hymn asked nervously. Is it happening? What do we do?
Please don’t make me even more nervous, she begged.
Ceran laughed softly, the sound close to her ear. “You’re thinking very loudly.”
“It’s a lot,” she replied rapidly, before wincing. “Sorry. That came out … sharper than intended.”
“I like your sharpness,” he said easily. “It’s cute.”
Her heart did another irritating little flop.
Over … cute? What the actual fuck was wrong with her? Maybe that crazy monster she had encountered in Blackreach, right before Hymn reached out to her, had been right. Maybe all she really wanted in life was to be a princess. To marry one of the golden princes. To be called beautiful and cute and be draped in gold. She didn’t think she wanted that, but what other conclusion could she reach?
Here was a prince—one of the golden ones, no less—paying her compliments and offering to make her a princess, and she was blushing and playing along and only entertaining a mild thread of panic, instead of what should have been an entire flood of panic. Because she hadn’t chosen this. She had been forced into this. So why was her heart flopping? Why did it almost feel like she wanted this?
I can’t make sense of your feelings, Hymn complained.
That makes two of us, she complained right back.
They swayed in time with the music, Ceran’s steps sure, hers careful but improving. He adjusted automatically before she moved in the wrong direction, calmly correcting her before she could embarrass them both, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Across the hall, the music shifted, a second melody threading in, lighter and brighter. The crowd parted as Corvan stepped onto the floor with Rion, the two of them instantly commanding attention. Rion moved like she had been born to swirl into the centre of a crowd, her posture flawless, her smile radiant but restrained, her laugh floating over to Eiko in a familiar caress.
She looked more like a queen than the actual queen.
Did she get gems? Hymn asked.
Eiko hated that she had already checked. Nope.
Ceran also looked in that direction, his expression softening. “Your friend is remarkable. I would never be able to tell she wasn’t highborn.”
“She always has been,” Eiko agreed. “This setting just … gives her more of an opportunity to show it.”
They turned, the music drawing them into a wider circle, and Eiko became acutely aware of eyes on her. Curious and speculative. People were whispering.
“I’m glad to see you looking healthier,” Ceran said, perhaps trying to distract her. “You had us worried at the fitting.”
She frowned in the general direction of his face, choosing not to focus on him too steadily. “Us?”
“Me,” he amended, smirking.
“Worried?” she challenged, raising a brow.
“Dark be damned, woman. You’re impossible to charm.”
She chuckled. “It’s easier than you’d think.” Her attention snagged on a gemstone twinkling out at her from his coat. She allowed her hand to slip down from his shoulder, pretending to find it by touch. Accidentally. “What’s this?”
He eased her hand away, placing it back on his shoulder. “A family heirloom. You’ll find there’s plenty of those around here.”
“Gems?”
“Heirlooms,” he said with a laugh.
“Oh. Right.” She registered the quick flash of white teeth and the tousle of copper-gold hair as he tipped his head back to laugh, baring the strong column of his throat.
But her attention kept dragging back to the gem. It was large and dark, almost a fathomless black. She wanted to touch it again.
And maybe steal it.
The tempo of the music quickened, making it a little harder to appear graceful, but Ceran once again took it in his stride, easily gliding with her across the polished floor. The music shifted again, slowing, deepening, and all around her, the pairs drew a step closer to their partners.
Corvan led Rion back onto the floor, making Eiko’s brow furrow slightly. How long had she been dancing for?
“I’m sorry about this,” Ceran muttered low.
Eiko’s stomach dropped.
Oh no, Hymn said faintly. Oh no no no, we’re not ready.
Ceran’s steps slowed. He turned her gently, so they were facing one another fully, the world around them receding into a blur of colour and softly swaying shapes.
“Eiko,” he said, and her name sounded strange in his mouth.
Because he was still a stranger to her.
The music softened and slowed, the strings trembling on a single sustained note. The queen hadn’t simply choreographed their outfits, and this moment, she had choreographed it to music. Eiko could feel the eyes of the hall pressing in, pressure rolling over her, as vast and inevitable as the tide.
She glanced instinctively towards Rion. Corvan was mirroring Ceran’s movement, drawing Rion to a halt a few paces away.
Two golden princes, two gold-draped women. It was like they were performers putting on a show. The final notes of the song began to fade, slow and deliberate.
Ceran released her hand.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
Should we run? she asked Hymn. A quick glance back at the entrance to the hall showed Kingsguard soldiers lining the wall.
The music dipped into silence.
Ceran lowered himself to one knee. At the exact same moment, Corvan did too.
The hall erupted into gasps. Eiko felt like she was going to throw up. Rion made a small, startled sound, somehow managing to appear utterly shocked and delighted and overwhelmed all at once. The delicate chains covering Eiko’s face now made perfect sense.
Ceran looked up at Eiko, his expression guarded. “Eiko Menai of Stonesigh, of the sacred Godsguard,” he said, his voice carrying effortlessly through the sudden silence.
Across the hall, Corvan spoke in the same measured cadence, his voice overlapping Ceran’s. “Rion Shulin of Stonesigh, of the sacred Godsguard …”
Ceran’s mouth twitched once, just barely, lost to a private thought he couldn’t fully restrain, before he spoke again. “When I returned to these halls, I expected more of the same. The same comfortable emptiness.”
“When I returned to these halls,” Corvan was also speaking, “I expected to fulfil a duty. To do whatever was expected of me.”
Ceran’s eyes swept her face, those gold-threaded pupils taking in the chains veiling her expression, the rigid line of her jaw. “And then you arrived.”
Corvan’s voice lowered. “And then you arrived.”

A ripple moved through the crowd, gasps and whispers exploding through the echoing space.
They’re seriously buying this shit?
Ceran lifted his chin, letting them hear every syllable. “You wear the mark of service against your skin.” His gaze dropped, briefly, to her hand in his. To her gold lace. “But you are not here to be ornamental. You are here because you are formidable.”
Corvan’s voice was bold and steady. “You are not here to be ornamental. You are here because you are exceptional.”
Who in the damned dark came up with these speeches?
Eiko caught sight of the queen standing at the very edge of the crowd, with the King of All looming over her shoulder. She was wiping a tear from her eye, her smile tremulous. Eiko had no idea if it was real or fake. King Grigori was squeezing her shoulders, comforting her, looking on the verge of tears himself.
Well, she knew that was fake.
Ceran’s voice warmed, just enough to feel like a secret offered just to her, though plenty of the onlookers would still have heard him. “The people will see you tonight, Eiko. And they won’t see a delicate princess. They will see a woman worthy of our capital, as she has bled for Goldmoor and will continue to bleed for Goldmoor.”
Corvan was busy saying basically the same thing until his jaw tightened, then eased with the words: “They will see a woman worthy of standing beside a future king.”
Ceran reached into his jacket and drew out a small velvet box. The hinge creaked, and the sound drew Eiko’s head back to him with a snap.
Gems.
Finally!
“Before Lyra. Before the court. In the light.”
A ring caught the chandelier fire: a glowing, polished gold … with an empty setting in the middle.
An empty fucking setting?
That’s it, Hymn growled. I am so done with this engagement.
“Eiko Menai,” Ceran was talking again, “will you accept my name and my hand and stand by me, at my side, for the rest of our lives?”
Corvan was jabbering on in the same vein, but Eiko wasn’t even listening anymore. This whole thing was beginning to feel like a fever dream, and her mind kept snagging on the same detail over and over. Why did her ring have an empty setting?
Oh. Hymn said.
Oh? Eiko asked. What? What do you know?
Chasin, Hymn answered. This was him. Look. He’s⁠—
Hiding in a corner, I know. She lifted her head from whatever soppy, ceremonial speech Queen Noemi had prepared for her sons and sought out the corner with the most shadow. The corner that was the most depressing and hovel-like⁠—
He’s standing in the middle of the crowd in front of you, Hymn corrected her.
Oops. She darted her eyes back to the centre of the crowd. It wasn’t hard to find him, really—he was half a head taller than everyone else, and distracted as they were, the gathered nobles were all still instinctively giving him a wide berth.
He was watching the spectacle with mild, dark amusement. He seemed especially pleased by the opening of the ring boxes. There was a glittering, sinister black mockery in his eyes as they switched from the little box to Eiko’s face—the movement so fast and sudden that Eiko was forced to keep her eyes “wandering” along the sea of faces.
“Will you be my wife?”
What?
Eiko stood frozen, the weight of the room crashing down on her all at once, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might crack her ribs.
Oh, Hymn, she whispered, what do we do?
Eiko’s throat was threatening to close up from the sudden, brutal realisation that every single person in this room could see her answer before she gave it … because only one answer existed. The silence of the hall wasn’t silence at all. It was a held inhale, a hundred lungs waiting to exhale into celebration.
And she was standing at the centre of it, wrapped in gold, with an empty ring setting glinting in Ceran’s palm like a joke only one person in the room understood.
Say yes, Hymn hissed, vibrating like a panicked moth against her ribs. Say yes and live through tonight, and we can figure out how to not die tomorrow.
They’re not going to kill me if I say no, she said. Right?
Ceran was still looking up at her, his expression careful. He didn’t really want to marry her. He didn’t even know her. Across the hall, Rion’s smile was fixed in place so perfectly it looked like a mask someone had strapped there. Corvan held his own ring up in offering, his posture squared and noble, his eyes steady. The court’s attention flicked between Eiko and Rion like they were comparing jewels.
Interestingly, Rion’s own ring appeared to be without a gem.
Queen Noemi stood at the edge of the crowd with her hands clasped at her heart, tearful and glowing. King Grigori loomed behind her, fingers digging into her shoulders. He had the appearance of a man losing his patience and trying not to shake his wife into making what he wanted to happen, happen faster.
Eiko pulled the colours of her second sight into her vision, crystallising the hall into a too-bright, too-vivid display, adrenaline spiking through her blood.
Careful, Hymn warned.
Queen Noemi’s smile was painted on with honeyed gold that dripped like it was melting. Manufactured warmth. Grigori’s eyes didn’t appear gold at all, not in that moment. They were alive, a hungry, molten spark of bubbling bronze. His clawed, clutching hands were red-tipped, the vivid red spidering up through his veins. A subtle promise of violence.
Say yes, Hymn begged. Please, Eiko.
Eiko’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Ceran’s brows knit, the tiniest flicker of something cutting through his charm, but before she could catch the colour of it, a swirl of pinkish white unravelled from him, stroking up her arm, soothing her. His voice dropped, pitched for her and her alone, though the hush of the hall made every murmur feel loud.
“Eiko,” he said softly. “Breathe.”
She drew in a single, shuddering breath. Rion glanced back at her, meeting her eyes and holding them, realising that she was using her second sight. Rion’s hazel gaze widened in question.
I’m not doing this without you.
Eiko swallowed and nodded infinitesimally, but only because of the colours of panic that wrapped her best friend like ropes, winding around and around, circling her throat like a collar. Porcelain, foggy blue. Lost. Rion was so lost.
Don’t look, Hymn warned her, a breath before she would have sought out Chasin. Her monster could feel her instinct. He’s watching too carefully, Hymn told her. He’ll know you can see him if you look again.
So she fixed her attention on the man she could hear breathing right in front of her. And because she couldn’t answer with words, because she didn’t trust her voice not to crack, or her tongue not to betray her, or her panic not to spill out and ruin everything, she did what she always did when she couldn’t bear the weight of a moment.
She grappled for humour.
She swallowed, forcing her hands to unclench from the folds of her gown. The chains over her face chimed, delicate and treacherous.
“Is …” Her voice came out rasped and quiet. “Is this the correct ring? It reminds me of my training staff. Is it a training ring? It seems to be missing a gemstone.”
A couple of nobles made confused little sounds. A laugh tried to burst out of someone’s mouth before it got strangled halfway to death.
Ceran froze, just for a breath, then his lips twitched. He recovered faster than she expected, smooth as silk.
“Later,” he whispered.
Queen Noemi’s smile had tightened—not that they could have possibly heard what Eiko had said—and King Grigori’s fingers flexed on his wife’s shoulders, the colours of growing agitation and fury emanating so strongly from him that Eiko was forced to blink away the colours. Her second sight wobbled, threatening to plunge her into darkness, and she forced the word out like it was a splinter in her throat. The acceptance torn from her just as it was torn from Rion, both of them finding their voices at the same time.
“Yes,” Eiko muttered.
“You honour me, Your Grace,” Rion whispered. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
The hall erupted. A tidal wave of cheers and gasps and applause. Music surged back into existence as if the musicians had been holding their bows in mid-air, waiting an eternity for the spectacle to conclude.
Ceran rose, his gloved hand capturing hers. He slid the ring onto her finger with a careful, practised gentleness.
Eiko’s vision flickered again, tears gathering along the lower line of her lashes as she stared down at the little band. She tried to blink them free, but they only seemed to thicken, and then she caught sight of a little spot of red on one of the chains dangling over her face.
Shit.
Shit, Hymn breathed. Your eyes are bleeding!
“Will you please escort me to Rion?” Eiko whispered. “I must … uh … retire, for a moment.” She kept her gaze downcast, her head lowered, hoping the chains obscured her bloodied eyes, thanking the sun that she was so much shorter than the prince.
Ceran hesitated for a moment, but then, ever the gentleman, he escorted her over to Rion and Corvan. Eiko’s vision flickered for the last time, plunging her into darkness.
She grabbed for Rion out of instinct, muttering low and hurried, “Privacy.”
Rion pulled her close, her grip firm, anchoring, and she stepped slightly in front of Eiko. Even now, even shaking, she moved like a woman who had been trained to survive balls just like this—situations Eiko could never have even dreamed up.
“Your Grace,” Rion said to Corvan, her voice bright and breathless in exactly the right way. Overjoyed. Overwhelmed. Perfect. “May we be excused for a moment? We … we need to compose ourselves.”
“Of course,” Corvan said, and then, for the first time that night, he sounded less like a rehearsed heir and more like a soldier. “Take them.”
One of them moved closer, and Eiko stiffened, but Ceran’s voice was projected in the wrong direction. He had put his back to her, shielding her from the approaching cluster of slippered feet, surging towards them with delighted whispers.
“Ladies,” he said smoothly, the warmth in his voice bright enough to soothe the crowd back from the edge of chaos. “Please. I’ll not have my betrothed mobbed so soon,” he joked.
“This way,” an attendant urged—the person Corvan must have spoken to. Rion guided Eiko away, fingers firm around her waist, and Eiko clung to her with a shaking grip.
They were stopped by a pair of soldiers before they could escape the hall, the silver-white uniforms of the Kingsguard sounding different to the Godsguard uniforms, but similar enough that Eiko knew what she was hearing. She was hearing soldiers stepping into her path.
“Her Grace requested—” one of them began.
“She’s about to faint,” Rion interrupted, her voice still sweet. Still bright. “Unless you’d like her to faint on the marble in front of everyone?”
Eiko could feel the guard calculating the situation before stepping back. “Be quick.”
Rion ushered her on, and Eiko’s stomach lurched as the warm glide of blood began to seep down her cheek. She kept her head down, letting the chains hide the worst of it, hoping the gold would catch the light and distract anyone who looked too closely.
You’re bleeding more, Hymn whispered, horrified.
I know, Hymn. “Don’t panic,” she added under her breath, accidentally speaking out loud.
Rion’s grip tightened. “Absolutely don’t do that,” she agreed, quickening her step.
They reached an antechamber that felt small, quiet, dim, and blessedly empty. Rion quickly dismissed the attendant, quietly asking her to bring food and water, and then she shut the door with a soft click.
The second the latch caught, Rion’s poise shattered. She spun on Eiko, her hands flying up, and Eiko heard the tear in her breath. “Oh, light above, Eiko⁠—”
“I’m fine,” Eiko lied automatically, pulling off her headdress.
“Your face,” Rion said, and the words were sharp with swallowed tears. “Sit. Sit down.” She directed her to an upholstered armchair, and Eiko obediently sat, the heavy silk of her gown pooling around her.

Rion hurried into an attached washroom, wetting a cloth at a sink, before returning to kneel before Eiko, dabbing gently at her cheeks.
“It’s stopped,” she finally said, returning with another cloth, this time to pat her face dry.
Eiko just swallowed and let it happen—let Rion fuss over her. She was too weak to fight it. Her mouth was dry, her throat burning. She couldn’t summon the energy to speak until the attendant returned with a tray of finger sandwiches and a carafe of sweet wine. Eiko systematically worked her way through the entire tray and then gulped at the wine.
“It’s terrifying how you can do that,” Rion remarked. And she sounded it, too: terrified.
Eiko winced. “Sorry.” She set the carafe down and began to fiddle with the ring on her finger.
“Why no gemstone?” Rion asked curiously. “Mine doesn’t have one either.”
Eiko chewed on her lip. In her mind, she saw the way the crowd parted. The way the nobles instinctively gave Chasin space. The way his attention had landed on her ring box, his hard mouth twitching into the shadow of a smirk.
Eiko’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The commander.”
Rion fell still. The room felt colder, like just saying his title had somehow summoned him.
“I don’t understand,” Rion admitted. “Why would the commander confiscate the gemstones from our rings?”
“You don’t feel it?” Eiko asked, barely daring to utter the words.
“Feel what?” Rion’s genuine confusion chilled Eiko even more.
“Like … this … like you don’t randomly start obsessing over gemstones?” Eiko tripped over the humiliating question, her stomach rolling with that same deep, dark hunger, despite how much she had eaten.
“What?” Rion breathed. “Eiko … no. What⁠—”
A knock cut her off. Three quick taps. Polite, but unmistakably unavoidable.
Rion snapped up, and Eiko froze, quickly reaching for her headdress. Rion helped her to arrange it back into place.
A man’s voice came through the door, velvet-smooth and careful. “Ladies.” Ceran.
“Your Grace,” Rion called, bright and sweet, as if she hadn’t just been on the verge of tears. “We’re just⁠—”
“I won’t come in,” Ceran interrupted gently. “I only wanted to ensure you’re well.”
Eiko could hear the smile in his voice.
And underneath it, something else.
Concern? A soldier’s alertness? She wasn’t sure, but Ceran wasn’t stupid. Rion’s fingers slid into Eiko’s, squeezing once. A silent warning. Let me handle this.
“We’re well,” Rion said. “Just overwhelmed.”
“Of course,” Ceran murmured. Then, after a beat, his voice lowered. “Eiko?”
Eiko’s heart thumped painfully. Rion didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
So Eiko did, her voice hoarse. “Yes?”
Ceran said softly, “You’re bleeding. I saw it drip on the floor. Just a little. I only—” He paused, and when he spoke again, it was quieter. Less prince. More man. “I only want to help.”
Eiko attempted to copy Rion’s calm, bright tone. “It’s nothing, Your Grace. Just a nosebleed.”
Ceran’s voice shifted. Subtly formal again, safer for listening ears. “Very well. Take your time. The court will want you back soon.” His footsteps retreated.
The moment the sound faded, Rion sagged down against Eiko’s knees. “He’s very attentive,” she said thoughtfully. “Very charming. And clever. And the ladies seem to like him. Shit, there’s blood on one of the chains.”
Rion jumped up again, fetched her cloth, and began to polish away whatever spot of blood she had found.
Another knock came at the door. This one was heavier and sharper. The wood seemed to vibrate.
A voice followed: low, flat, and utterly devoid of warmth. “Open the door.” He seemed to expect immediate obedience.
Kingsguard, Hymn whispered.
Eiko’s stomach dropped straight through the floor.
It had taken no time at all for the King of All to tighten their nooses. Even a few minutes alone in the washroom wouldn’t be granted—not when there was a performance to be put on.