The Mark of Gold

by A. S. Etaski

  “Enter,” said the Queen, who seemed not surprised when Elder D’Shea appeared alone in the room with them.

  Shyntre, despite himself, very much was.

  Elder D’Shea arrived in time to watch the Valsharess calmly take Her seat, but her son was cowering against the wall on the right, the image of a pincerworm that hadn’t lashed out only because something else had bitten him first. He trembled from fear or from hunger and for certain hadn’t slept well, if at all, since last she’d seen him.

  At least he wasn’t naked.

  The Sorceress had done much to avoid laying eyes on Shyntre during his ill-requested time inside the Cloister training for the Surface, where he’d remained without a stitch of clothing and been treated worse than a new recruit. Not only would her compulsion make her show weakness in front of the others, but this old, swelling anger toward her superiors threatened to boil over, time and again.

  We have no way out of the web, him and me.

  Rausery had interrupted scenes like what lay before D’Shea now, albeit never by the Valsharess herself. The Elder General had mostly tried to avoid describing those confrontations in detail while D’Shea was around. Occasionally, the Prime would demand to know it all and require the Sorceress to stay and listen, a cruel smile on her lips as she listened to the “well deserved” abuse of a bua going where he “didn’t belong.”

  “What else did he expect coming here?” the Prime crowed, laughing.

  The only detail which prevented D’Shea from doing something truly regrettable back then was that the Prime herself seemed either disinclined or forbidden to touch Shyntre herself. The Elder Sorceress didn’t know how her Queen and Auranka had been touching him since resuming his residence in the Palace after Sirana left, but the desperate fear in his eyes was the same as that last time he’d left it.

  All too familiar.

  “My Queen,” she began with perfect poise. “I just came from the Thalluen plantation. I have learned the Consort-healer there has become ill.”

  The Valsharess waited, tapping Her finger.

  “He is not responding to healing potions. They have a vastly reduced effect, somehow in conflict with his magic. It would take time and study to alter our common potions to suit his aura, but I believe he will only decline during that time. I w—”

  “Ridiculous,” interrupted the Queen in monotone. “The slut cleansed Sirana of Abyssal scars and primed her womb to conceive in the Tower by your son.”

  D’Shea’s planned speech tripped and fell over a cliff. She blinked, staring with a genuine shock that brought a smile to the Valsharess’s lips.

  “We have touched the Red Sister,” She said. “We know the Consort is not tainted. Your strongest healing potions will work.”

  Not yet speaking, D’Shea saw a sly tilt of the Queen’s head.

  “What?” She asked. “Did you not know your novice carried when she left?”

  Not by Shyntre.

  D’Shea glanced at her bua. His brow was pressed to the carpet, and his arms covered his head. Every line of his body language conveyed clear guilt.

  Or had it been him?

  No, impossible, I—

  The Elder shook her head, trying to clear it. What conversations had her son been having with their Queen? This is critical.

  She bowed. “Uhm. I did not know this, my Queen.”

  “We have Seen how her condition will aid the tapestry, Varessa. That is why We allowed her to go.”

  “Y-yes, Your Majesty.”

  The Valsharess had known Sirana was pregnant the entire time. Of course, She did. Thank the Goddess D’Shea had failed to convince Sirana to take one of her potions.

  Her mind whirled in the quiet.

  “Do you wish us to aid the healer, Your Majesty?”

  She held her breath during a pause, then witnessed a nod.

  “Yes, We do. We have witnessed in past centuries, this rare talent can aid those left catatonic by the Ornilleth. We will need him when the Elder Mind attacks.”

  D’Shea wished she had known this about Auslan after the last thrall battle. We might have prevented all this penance and not lost six Sisters in the process.

  “Then I beseech to be heard about the potions not working, my Queen. If the Consort is this strong a mage but had been required to train his aura to share healing only through pleasure, then the lack of pleasure is draining his aura and interfering with our potions regardless of potency.”

  “How do you know he was trained in such a way, Elder?”

  “I have discovered that the Conceiver had been selling his talent in exchange for magic and favors. Quickening wombs but also reducing wrinkles and erasing scars more quickly.”

  The Queen reacted to that. Her lip curled in disgust.

  D’Shea continued, “The bua has told me he has taken healing potions before but only in service of his function. I believe the pleasure and healing are entwined too tightly, and he cannot undo it so easily after two centuries. He has been isolated from his function since the Purge, healing many Red Sisters for us, Jaunda especially, but not allowed any pleasure. It is making him ill.”

  Intense, tawny eyes narrowed at her, and D’Shea looked down, sensing the truth-aura swelling in the room, testing if the Elder was lying. D’Shea knew she was not. Meanwhile, Shyntre hid his own expression, not daring to show her a hint of what he thought.

  “Hm,” the Valsharess grunted.

  D’Shea waited, sensing the opening before She acknowledged there was a problem with a gesture of Her hand.

  “I have a proposal to fix this, my Queen.”

  “Speak it.”

  “He must be retrained to heal by touch without coupling.” D’Shea straightened. “But I do not seek aid among the Red Sisters. Our own conditioning under the Prime, the pleasure in violence, is a conflict of interest in what we must accomplish, and many have failed the test of wills in the Cloister. He is potent, my Queen.”

  The Valsharess leaned forward. “What do you mean, D’Shea?”

  The Elder ground her teeth having to say it. “One Red Sister has conceived since last he was in the Cloister and must be rehabilitated. It is why I removed him and instructed no one at House Thalluen was to touch him. We cannot put further Red Sisters at risk to catch while the Ornilleth remain a threat.”

  The Valsharess frowned in agreement. “Are you suggesting We execute this healer, Elder? Is he too unstable?”

  Shyntre tensed so much that D’Shea worried he was about to snap his spine.

  She rushed to say, “No, Your Majesty. This healer will be invaluable in the coming conflict, as You have said. But he must be prepared for that conflict the same as any fighter. I… I must request something extraordinary to see this happen, to break the Priestess’s hold and repurpose it for war as I also uncover how the Consort was made.”

  The Valsharess hissed subtly. “What request?”

  “I seek a bua, not a cait who may lose her mind in want to rut the Consort. I need a bua past the curiosity of coupling and with a powerful will to guide this Consort’s aura in unlearning what Wilsira required of him. Lastly, given the urgency, I need a mage who has faced the magic of the Priestesses already and proven to withstand it.”

  The Queen was like a statue again. Then, hauntingly slow, She turned her head toward the young wizard on the floor, where his fingers arched like claws wanting to shred Her carpet.

  She understands.

  D’Shea licked her lips. “My Queen. Shyntre knows of this Consort from their shared time in the Sanctuary, and his will and aura are stronger. He has knowledge both of Sanctuary conditioning and of battle and resilience under pressure, the Elder General has seen to that. He has long despised the Priestesses while making it no secret. I have heard of none of them manipulating him for long.”

  Unexpectedly, the Valsharess chuckled. D’Shea felt a rush of chill she couldn’t immediately explain; she didn’t know if this was a good si
gn or not. Nonetheless, the Elder Sorceress took the risk and finished her speech.

  “The Red Sisters are ill-equipped to retrain the healer to prepare Sivaraus for possible invasion, Your Majesty, and we cannot spare any more to pregnancy. The Sanctuary is in backbiting flux and are the ones who bent the healer this way in the first place. We need Phaelous’s son to aid us in this task, if our Queen will grant us his help.”

  Mother and son waited in silence as the Valsharess pushed Herself up from the throne again, stepping beside him. Her tone was contemplative while She watched D’Shea’s son. “Of course, you need him…”

  Then the Valsharess slowly turned away from the Elder, stepping through the royal curtain through which Auranka and their Queen had arrived for the audience between Wilsira and Sirana over Kerse. D’Shea had never seen what lay behind it; she didn’t know anyone who had.

  The throne room fell into oppressive silence while the Elder Sister stood in place. She was ready to meet Shyntre’s eyes if he looked up because she could now. He kept his eyes down, though it was clear to her he had not given up on whatever it was he held on to.

  It was a long wait, but the Valsharess stepped through Her curtains again, alone, Her gaze distant and calm. Her aura tended to always remain hidden even from powerful mage-eyes like hers, and the Elder could not read what She had decided.

  “Stand up,” She commanded.

  Shyntre pushed himself off the carpet to his unsteady feet; D’Shea could see the tremors, and he appeared dizzy. He made not one gesture or plea on behalf of himself, made no hint what outcome he might desire from his Mother’s proposal, if any.

  The Queen reached with one hand and caressed his face; he stood rock-still, his eyes locked on a neutral spot on Her robe. Then She stroked again with Her other hand, stepping close and cradling his face, pressing Her lips to his forehead. She brushed his cheeks with Her thumbs as if wiping away nonexistent tears.

  D’Shea felt confusion, jealousy, and resentment, despite that she’d witnessed much harsher treatment than this. She showed none of it, trying to read her Queen’s lips as She whispered to him, not bothering to cover Her mouth from sight.

  “Tell Us who you are.”

  Shyntre hadn’t blinked; D’Shea saw her son’s throat flex in a swallow.

  “Mazdel,” he whispered. “The Royal Son.”

  “Royal, yes, remember. You will not sell yourself out there in the city. You are not a whore, do you understand? You are priceless to Us.”

  A hint of bafflement crossed his face as D’Shea stared in astonishment, remembering to close her mouth before either of them acknowledged her presence.

  “Have no fear, for none in Sivaraus will harm you. You shall teach this bred Consort what you have learned, Mazdel. If he can be made worthy to strengthen Our people beyond using his cock to quicken, We will spare him the same fate as his brothers, and he shall not be sent to Auranka’s Pit.”

  D’Shea would have said the Queen had plunged a dagger into his gut from the look of stunned betrayal on his face as they stared at one another.

  He forced a nod. “I-I will, Queen-Mother. M-my vow.”

  Ohh, Goddess.

  D’Shea moved her eyes to one side, waiting while this played through as it must as cold horror tightened low in her middle. Had she been sentenced as merely a surrogate as well?

  But he is my son.

  “Will you spare Matron Thalluen sanctions as well?” Shyntre said. “She was only doing as the Elder Sorceress commanded.”

  D’Shea blinked, cringing inside that he was trying to negotiate when they had so little to give.

  The Valsharess chuckled and caressed his face again, planting another dry kiss on his brow. “Hm. Dream of Sirana for Us, in payment for her Mother. We would see her through your eyes.”

  Implying that he had not, thus far, whether he’d drunk the Drider Keeper’s breast milk or not. As D’Shea had expected, her son realized he couldn’t match the Queen’s expectations. He nearly panicked.

  The Sorceress spoke up. “My Queen amazes me with Her foresight. I had thought it too early to present this theory, but I believe us capable of reaching Sirana on the Surface through a shared bond.”

  The Valsharess whipped Her intense, topaz-yellow gaze at her, and abruptly D’Shea knew the weight she’d removed from her bua and taken onto herself.

  “You do, Varessa? Why?”

  The Sorceress smiled and bowed. “The saphgar stone, which the Sisterhood has been studying of late, Your Majesty.”

  She removed from her pouch the unfinished piece Phaelous had given her last turn and held it up. The Valsharess nodded, motioning to her.

  “Under the Headmaster, Shyntre has proven the only mage in the Tower to alter its qualities to appear like the Tragar weapons, and Sirana has with her the piece he created. If he can create another stone like it, we may form a connection in Reverie. The vast distance may not matter.”

  The Elder witnessed an odd, scholarly expression on her Queen which was nonetheless encouraging. Not just a visionary and Davrin touched by the divine, the Valsharess was also knowledgeable of the arcane studied by Her wizards and sorceresses.

  This was why She was their Queen.

  “Good,” She ruled. “We accept, Varessa. This in exchange for leniency on Matron Thalluen. In addition to rehabilitating a natural born healer, our son must make the effort to remind Sirana what awaits, lest she willfully forget what is at stake.”

  The Elder Sorceress bowed deeply. “Your Will be done, my Queen.”

  The Valsharess did not trust Shyntre to cross the circular room on his own as She steered him by his shoulders off the royal platform to stand before his birth Mother. He looked like a fly caught center-web and about to be spun into a meal. Gently, D’Shea took him by his arm.

  The hand-off performed in silence.

  “You have your objectives, Elder,” She said. “Take him and leave the Palace immediately.”

  Shyntre was like a bristling ball of pins that D’Shea dare not touch again as she escorted him quickly to the stables to claim a set of riding lizards. She had asked if he needed to pack anything from his rooms, and he’d met her gaze in silence, his eyes hot as coals.

  She took it as a resounding negative.

  He kept his mouth sealed as they rode without wasting time, as crowds parted for the Elder Sorceress and a powerful shield protected them from an ill-advised attack. His aura was simmering, sometimes flaring beyond good sense, and he could barely wait until they were out of the central market and in enough space and darkness to where his hands would be hard to read.

  *What the fuck are you doing?!* he exploded. *Are you insane, too? How could you give away all that?!*

  If D’Shea hadn’t witnessed what she had moments ago, she might have struck him for taking that tone with her. As things were, she had no idea what he had been enduring since Sirana left, and only some of the two centuries he had lived without her. The Valsharess wished him to be someone other than who he was; She was convinced of it and that was outright terrifying.

  Are you insane, too?

  She brought her own temper to heel.

  *Did you not listen?* she returned. *I am doing exactly what I told the Queen I would. It’s not wise to lie to Her. He needs you, and I need you both.*

  This had the same result as a strike. Her son flinched, and his eyes glistened with moisture. *What…? What did he tell you?*

  D’Shea swept her senses around them before answering. The shield and alarm wards would allow them some ability to relax on the road, but she was not completely certain they wouldn’t see Auranka over the next hill. She exhaled, taking the extra precaution of a shape-blurring spell before answering.

  *That you awakened his healing magic before his first worship ball. That his aura cannot overwhelm yours because you overwhelmed his first. That you know his name, and he has never forgotten you.*

  Shyntre withdrew, stunned and nu
mb, and this response D’Shea did understand. She had seen it many times, as many in Sivaraus kept their true desires hidden. Lest someone more powerful decide to punish and play with them.

  A few times, Shyntre considered bolting on his lizard, tempted to try escape; she could tell. Fortunately, some lingering practical sense pinned down the panic, and D’Shea waited, as Phaelous often did when she acted this way. The two traveled a long way before her son could communicate a hint of what agony roiled inside him.

  Wait.

  She had outlasted her share of nerves in plenty of interrogations. She could wait.

  *Disgusted?* he signed, showing his teeth like a trapped animal.

  She smiled dryly. *As if my opinion has ever mattered in your life? For what it is worth to you, I bed both caits and buas.*

  *You are a Red Sister. It is expected.*

  *I mostly prefer my own sex, probably for similar reasons as you.*

  He wanted to scoff. *Oh?*

  She ticked off, *No status games, no worthiness tests, no pregnancy.*

  Shyntre didn’t disagree.

  Instead, he repeated, *You are an Elder Red Sister. You have immense power and freedom.*

  Now, D’Shea wanted to scoff. *I am the last survivor of my House, as good as vanished. Power I may have, but no freedom such as you imagine it. I have seen so much which many Matrons and Nobles never do. I long ago accepted that desire between buas must be as commonly felt as between caits, and this is real and will always happen among Davrin, no matter the punishments, or they would not risk being caught so often.*

  She could hear her son’s heartbeat as she swept the ground again. Still no obstacles. Shyntre made a small noise, and she looked.

  *What will you do, now,* he signed, *knowing this about me and the healer?*

  D’Shea grinned. *I have already done it, Shyntre. I came to retrieve you from the Palace and escort you to House Thalluen. Auslan must heal himself, and someone strong enough must touch him to begin the process.*