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"She would have wanted you to have it."
Lyse held the mask in both hands, unable to tear her eyes away. Yda's mask. Yda. She's gone, she told herself, but she couldn't will herself to believe it. Her sister was strong. Maybe the strongest fighter she'd ever met. Surely Papalymo must be wrong.
"Lyse," the man uttered softly, prompting her to meet his gaze. The pain in his own eyes was more than she was prepared for, and Lyse could feel the tears welling up. "I'm sorry," he told her earnestly.
She felt a tear streak down her cheek, leaving a warm trail behind. Lyse gripped the mask even tighter, until her knuckles went white.
"Lyse, please," Papalymo implored her. "Yda would want you to be safe."
"Yda would want to be alive," Lyse countered, her words far more biting than she had intended. "I'm sorry, that was undeserved."
"'Tis understandable," Papalymo told her. "You... we all... have suffered a great loss today."
Lyse continued to stare at the mask in her hands. According to Papalymo, Yda had been smuggling Ala Mhigan refugees out of Gyr Abania, but Imperial soldiers had caught them. Her sister had chosen to stay behind to rescue a child, and though the girl was saved, Yda had fallen to the Imperial legionnaires. Lyse wanted to believe it was a lie, but Papalymo himself had returned to search for her, and all he had brought back was her mask.
"I may not be able to liberate our home," Yda had once told her, "but if I can liberate even one of her people then I've made a difference in this world."
"Lyse?" Papalymo asked, pulling her out of her memories.
"I want to carry on her work," she told him after a moment.
"Pardon?" the mage asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. Clearly he had not expected that response.
"I want to... Do whatever it was Yda did," Lyse repeated. "She was an Archon, right?"
"Lyse, I don't think you understand--"
"I understand perfectly," she interrupted. "Yda once told me that if she helped people, she could make a difference. She's gone, but I'm still here."
"Lyse, please," Papalymo urged. "Your sister was a skilled warrior, and her work with the Circle was dangerous."
"Yda taught me everything she knew," Lyse countered. "Maybe I'm not as good as she was, but I can hold my own!"
The mage sighed. "I won't be able to talk you out of this, will I?"
"Not a chance."
Papalymo crossed his arms. "You are but nineteen summers old, Lyse. Are you sure you want to give up having a normal life?"
"My life has never been normal," she told him wistfully. With a determined breath, she tore her eyes off of her sister's mask and placed them squarely on Papalymo. "I want to take Yda's place in the Circle of Knowing."
"You must know the other Archons would never agree to that."
Lyse could feel her face growing hot as she gripped the mask even tighter. "Then I'll... I'll pretend to be her!"
"Don't be absurd," the mage scoffed.
"We look almost identical," she reminded him.
Papalymo sighed even louder than before. "This is foolish, Lyse."
"But I'm gonna do it anyway," she told him stubbornly. "So you can either help me or not."
"Lyse Hext, some day you will be the end of me," the lalafell complained, motioning for her to move forward. She frowned, but kneeled down before him. After muttering a few words to himself, Papalymo reached out and touched her neck. She had to resist the urge to recoil as she felt a tingling on the surface of her skin.
"What was that?" she asked as Papalymo pulled his hand away.
"The Archon's mark," he explained. "Without it the others will see through your charade immediately."
Lyse reached up to touch her neck where Papalymo had weaved his magic. It felt no different, but she remembered seeing the purple marking on her sister many times.
"So... what's next?" she asked after a moment.
Lyse was sure she saw Papalymo roll his eyes. "If you insist upon following through with this ridiculous plan, then we needs must prepare you, else I fear you will give yourself away the moment you open your mouth."
"I don't think-"
Papalymo held one finger to his mouth, effectively silencing her. "I swore to your sister that if anything should happen to her, I would see to your safety. The least you can do is not make keeping that promise any more difficult that you already are."
Lyse resisted her urge to object. She didn't know Papalymo as well as Yda had, but her sister and the mage had worked together for years. He knew that Yda's death was undoubtedly nearly as painful to him as it was to her, so with a deep breath she decided to let him have his way.
"Come then," Papalymo beckoned to her with a wave of his hand. "If you're to fool the brightest minds of our age, we have our work cut out for us."