“You were speaking of Remembrance,” Bethany said curtly. She hated the annual celebration dedicated to Apexia’s grace and guidance over the lives of soldiers. For her, it was a forced reminder of every man, woman and, regrettably, child she had ever killed. “I believe it’s my turn to-”
“You should replace this chair. It is uncomfortable.” Aneese shifted her weight. “During Remembrance, you will be responsible for accepting the Rose of Apexia from His Holiness, Father Torius.”
Bethany folded her arms against her chest and leaned back in her chair.
“Is there a problem, Lady Bethany?” Aneese’s wrinkled forehead scrunched tighter.
“I’ve done the acceptance for the last two years. It’s Jovan’s turn.”
“Lord Jovan cannot do it because he is a non-believer. He will be handling all of the reception activities. It would be disrespectful to the Gentle Goddess for him to do anything else.”
Bickering seldom worked with Aneese, so she tried reasoning with the old priestess. “Aneese, please. We agreed to alternate. I realize how important Remembrance week is to the people but for those of us who are being honored, this isn’t a celebration. It’s a reminder of what we’ve done. It’s hard to stand there, listing off the glorious dead of the last year and hearing a priest talk about the righteousness of war.” She pointed at herself. “It’s hard on me.”
The grey-haired elf sat sword-straight, unflinching, reminding Bethany of the statue of Aneese in one of the prayer rooms. “As you say, Lady Bethany, this is for the people. The clergy agreed to let you live like one of us while we wait for the prophecy to fulfil itself. I’m confident that you will do your duty and honor the wishes of your mother, the Gentle Goddess.”
Bethany clenched her jaw. Even though they were alone with the door closed, she hated the verbal admission of her parentage. Aneese knew that and while she supported Bethany’s secrecy, she also supported rubbing Bethany’s nerves in it whenever possible. “I’ve asked you not to refer to Apexia as my mother.”
“And I have requested that you address me as Mother Aneese, of which you refuse.”
Bethany sprung to her feet, her calves pushing her chair back and scraping it against the stone floor. “I’m quite busy. Please pass the details to Rebecca once you have finalized them. Good day to you.”
Aneese rose slowly from the chair, wincing. Bethany swallowed down the guilt of snapping at a woman several centuries her senior. Perhaps new chairs were in order. “Thank you for granting me an audience, Lady Bethany. I am pleased that you continue to do your duty as dictated by the clergy and your rank.”
Bethany remained standing until the priestess closed the door, and then groaned loudly as she collapsed back into her chair. The priestess had lived to see the change of guard between the old faith and the new way of Apexia. Yet, Aneese remained a staunch defender of the old elvish ways; prudish and based on blind formality. Bethany supposed their conflict was because she embraced the changing world, while Aneese repelled it.
After knocking, Rebecca entered the study again, slid a sheet of paper onto Bethany’s desk and left, silent as a mouse in the kitchen. Rebecca was her eighth assistant in as many months. She felt uncomfortable around the willowy human girl whom Aneese had handpicked for the position. Bethany would have been more comfortable with an Elorian or elf, but Aneese insisted on providing a human. Something about Bethany’s inability to work well with others and a learning opportunity. Whatever that meant.
After picking up the sheet, Bethany scanned the neat handwriting, grinding her teeth together the further along she got. She marched into the adjoining room.
“Rebecca! What in Apexia’s name is this?” Bethany thrust the letter into her aide’s hand.
The woman’s hands trembled when she took the paper. “It’s the letter you asked me to write.” Her eyes grew wide.
“I know I asked you to write it. What I want to know is why you thought I wanted you to offend a mourning queen?” Bethany grabbed the paper back and pointed. “See? You called him Garran, not king and you left out the expected humorous childhood story. It’s a part of their mourning tradition!”
She lowered her head. “I’m sorry.”
Bethany balled the paper up and flung it into the reed wastebasket next to Rebecca’s desk. “I’ll write it. Next time, do your homework.” Bethany stormed back into her office and slammed the door. The entire purpose of an assistant was to assist.
Guess my nerves are more frayed than I thought.
Bethany pulled out a clean sheet of paper and played with her quill while she pondered her words. She considered her words carefully. Bethany and Marcia had often corresponded over the years. The ramblings of two friends talking about court gossip and Harvest gifts did not need the attention that a formal letter required. Knowing that all formal letters became the property of Ellentop’s record keepers, Bethany wanted to have her letter exactly right. She had been wrong asking Rebecca to compose the letter but Garran’s death was so raw.
Your Gracious Majesty, Queen Marcia,
News of King Garran’s violent end just now reached us. We were all saddened by the news of his passing. He was a great leader who will be remembered for generations as the kindest and most just of rules. Accompanying this letter are four of our most experienced investigators, in whom I place my full trust. With your permission, they will assist your own investigators to bring swift and severe justice to King Garran’s assassins.
Bethany tapped her thumb against the wooden desk. Ellentop’s mourning rituals celebrated the life of the deceased. She toyed with telling a generic tale of youth, something boring about him pretending to be a king.Pretending. A mischievous idea rose in her mind and she returned to her letter.
Long ago, you asked me why I used a green saddle blanket during my Ellentop visits. If you recall, I said it was a private joke that I had sworn to keep. I will risk Garran haunting the wind to explain his embarrassment.
For my thirtieth birthday, High Priest Torius gave me a white saddle blanket. Prince Garran, only seven at the time, decided he wanted to be a tree named Gary. He wasn’t tall enough to be a tree in his mind, so he stole my horse, Apples. Since horses don’t naturally come in the shade of green, he also stole cotton dye from the clothiers. When we finally found him, he and Apples were hiding in the hedgerow dyed completely green. Including my new saddle blanket. Poor Apples was green for months and never completely forgave him.
She paused, wondering if mentioning Apples was wise, and then dismissed her worries. She rarely rode the palomino these days; he having lived for over a century. After her misstep of healing him, Torius and Aneese spread the word that Apexia blessed the horse with long life. A compassionate act, they said. The Gentle Goddess could not stand to see little Bethany crying over the impending death of her beloved horse.
Those who knew better knew she had healed the horse by imparting her own Power to him. How she felt their wrath. But she had been just a child and the sadness of losing a beloved companion like Apples had been too overpowering. She had no idea that touching him with Power passed some of her long life to him. In healing his sickness, she became acutely aware of her abilities at too young of an age. It had scared her.
It still scared her.
She shook off the memory. That was the past, where it belonged. She no longer healed. She no longer touched that aspect of herself. She had to look to the present.
Letter in hand, Bethany walked back to Rebecca’s adjoining study, determined to be civil. Bethany needed her to copy the letter. For all her aide’s faults, and there were many, Rebecca had excellent handwriting. Bethany’s resembled chicken scratches in the sand. She knew Marcia would understand; the queen rarely wrote to Bethany in her own hand either. A soft chuckle escaped her lips, thinking about how she was friends with her betrothed’s wife.
Former betrothed, she reminded herself. Not even the priests could not force her to marry a dead man.
She placed the folded pa
per on her aide’s desk. “Please transcribe this immediately.”
An ‘X’ of spears in the doorway caught her attention. The glint of steel breastplates announced that they were on-duty soldiers. “Rebecca, why is there a sentry outside our door?
“Lord Erem said you knew.”
Two knights in full mail and weaponry flanked her door. Several discreet steps away, two apprentice knights stood, their purple cotton strip attached to their baldrics where full knights wore battle honors. She didn’t know their names, but recognized them by sight. Her rank took her often out of contact with the ranks.
However, she did know the tall, lanky elf on her left. “Erem, why are you blocking my doorway?”
He shifted his eyes, observing the corridor, even though it was a restricted wing of the temple. He leaned closer to her, as if to avoid being overheard. “Allric said he would speak to you. Hasn’t he?”
Bethany shook her head, still confused. “Speak to me about what?”
He took a deep breath and tensed. “We have been assigned to your personal safety.”
“What?” She managed to keep her tone low, though the guard across the hallway glanced at her. “My personal safety?”
“We’re to accompany you wherever you go.” He gulped. “I’ve been put in charge of your security detail. Four guards at all times, three shifts.”
She shifted her eyes between the two Knights flanking her and the pair across the hallway. Well, she wasn’t having this. Bethany turned on her heel and marched straight for Allric’s study, not bothering to cool her temper. She wanted Allric to feel the full brunt of it. Behind her, she heard the annoying clinking of mail on her newly appointed bodyguards.
* * * * *
Apexia watched her old friend, Arragous, stretched out like a cat, snoring softly in his favorite velvet chaise. His dreams saturated her mind and a smile spread across her face. The oldest living elf dreamed of centuries past, before the new faith and the new traditions, and of the strong voice of his wife complaining that he overstuffed the fireplace, smoking up the house.
“Wake up, my old friend.”
The elf stirred from his slumber, joints creaking. A smile crept across his wrinkled face, stretching his deep creases from eyebrow to chin. “Welcome, my Lady Apexia. You honor me with your visit.” He winced as he pushed his body upright.
The wind whistled around her as she made it swirl and form the curves of a young human woman. She smiled at him. “Greetings, Arragous.”
“Gentle Apexia,” he said, his voice raspy and tired. “You tease me by appearing as you once were when I was a young man. You were always cruel to me.” He pulled his afghan over his shoulders. “My Lady, Taftlin is a beautiful country but it is too cold for my sore joints.”
Apexia chuckled softly. She slid a hand along his sagging face. “I have come to repay my debt.”
Arragous let slip a short laugh. “It was no trouble to help Arrago. He had wanted to go to the temple since he was a wee thing on my knee.” He stretched his back to sit as straight as he could. “Besides, he carries my name. The human with the elven name. That is bound to give him some prestige in the world.”
“Nevertheless, I could not interfere directly in his life. They might be my rules but I still need to follow them. I want to repay your loyalty and friendship.”
He shifted his eyes to the open window behind the woman. “Apexia, the Goddess of Truth and Life. You who were once mortal. I held you in my arms as a brother holds his sister. I could never ask payment from you.”
She sat next to him on the bed and slid her arm around his frail frame. “Dear brother, in spirit if not by blood, I hear your thoughts. I respect you too much to read them but I know you have two requests you want to make of me. I give you permission to ask, no matter what they are.”
“You were always sly, Mistress Apexia,” he said, smiling once again. “Then answer me the riddle. Who is the father of your blessed offspring?”
She narrowed her eyes. “To tell you would endanger your life and that of my children.” Her voice remained soft and kind. “What is your second request?”
Arragous pulled his afghan tighter. “I’m sick of being old. Let me die.”
She thought for a moment before she nodded. If he were about to die, telling him would do no harm. Leaning close, she whispered into his ear.
His eyes widened and Arragous let out a ragged laugh. “Of course. I should have known it was him.”
“I look forward to your spirit on the wind, as does your wife.”
He lay back down on his chaise and said, “I look forward to my wife bickering at me again. Tell me, is there a fireplace waiting for me on the wind? “He let out a short snort and his body relaxed.
“Yes,” Apexia whispered as she kissed his forehead. “There is.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The Diamond will only know the comfort of the Elf King. Her pain will bleed into their hearts. None will escape the Diamond’s agony.
—Aleu’s “The Agony of the Diamond”
Clad in her boots and her usual tunic and trouser outfit, Bethany was able to double-time weave through the temple’s mid-day crowd significantly faster than her mail and plate friends. She made no attempt to slow down for Erem and the others. If it were indeed Allric’s idiotic notion to put soldiers around her - in the midst of a military installation for Apexia’s sake - then she’d make him pay.
Bethany ignored the pleasantries of those around her and even a couple of lower aides who shouted questions at her. Her focus remained on getting to Allric and getting him to see reason.
She rounded the turn and headed down to Allric’s study. Bethany slammed the carved wooden door behind her, not caring if the entire temple heard the thud. “Why is Erem babysitting me?”
Allric looked up from his desk at the clock on the wall. “It’s been four hours, three minutes since our last meeting. Kiner wins the betting pool over how long it would take you to break into a rage.”
With one hand on her hip, she glared at the husky elf who smiled wearily at her. “I want an answer. Now.”
He folded his large hands on his desk. “My betting habits are my own business.”
“I’m talking about the guards!” Bethany shouted. She took a steadying breath and blew it out. Through clenched teeth, she asked, “Why wasn’t I told about the guards?”
“If you would allow your anger to subside, we can all discuss them.” Allric motioned at something behind her.
She debated not turning around and the sinking feeling in her gut said she’d regret looking. The temple’s senior clergy and military leaders had gathered in Allric’s study. Heat rose in her cheeks and she made a mental note to never again storm into a room shouting without first taking a visual survey. The mental note that she made at least once a week and never seemed to remember.
When will I ever learn?
Bethany eased herself into the closest available seat, her limbs shaking. Taking long, steady breaths, she tried to quell the mixture of adrenaline and embarrassment that rushed through her.
Clearing her throat, she inclined her head towards the others in the room. “Jovan, Torius, Aneese.”
Jovan’s tanned face cringed in sympathy, while Torius offered a supportive, if amused smile that creased his wrinkles. Aneese glared at her in contempt.
After a moment, Bethany said, “This is awkward.”
Jovan cleared his throat, a soft chuckle coming from it. “The guards were my idea. I thought Allric already told you, so I assigned them.”
Allric stood from his desk, bringing his chair around with him. “I thought you agreed to tell her.”
Bethany crossed her arms. Embarrassment gave way to annoyance once again. “Why? We’ve never had personal guards. Are you suddenly afraid that there will be hordes of crazed assassins haunting the hallways?” She paused to consider her words before adding, “It will take more than a few idiots to kill me.”
Allric frowned at her, worry making
his eyes look tired and pensive. “Three men, cloaked by Magic, snuck through the Imperial Palace of Ellentop and killed Garran, his sons, grandchildren, and brothers. It took seventeen Knights in Taftlin to —”
She raised her hand to stop him from finishing the sentence. As it was, his words brought a sick, dark shadow over her. Chills grabbed the back of her neck and she cringed. “The past needs to remain in the past, Allric,” she said quietly. A moment later, she said, “Killing servants with Magic is easy. We are Knights.” Bethany swallowed. “And I am, well, we know who I am.”
Torius sloshed about the wine in his glass, the dark liquid matching his burgundy and dark orange robes. “Overconfidence is a failing. We are all mortal. Humans, elves, Elorians, and even those mystics, the Rygents. While the blood of the Goddess runs through your veins, frail mortality flows alongside it. Sarissa may lack the Power of Apexia but, no doubt, she is full of Magic that she can control. You are mortal. And thus, you can die.”
Bethany stared at the priest. He had never accepted that Bethany refused the full extent of her own birthright and role in prophecy. Nor did he accept that her life was dedicated to avoiding it as much as possible. In her younger days, she accused them of not understanding. A century of experience had taught Bethany it had nothing to do with misunderstanding and everything to do with different perspectives.
Hers being the right one.
Torius’s words stuck out in her mind. She tipped her head at him and then Aneese. “Then, it’s official? You agree that my sister caused Garran’s death?”
Aneese cleared her throat. “The emergency conclave of the prophecy scholars agrees that your version of events may be correct.” She drawled out “May.”
Bethany smirked. It must have pained Aneese to admit Bethany was correct about something beyond the time of day, and even that could have been debated with ill-functioning clock.
Without thinking, she jumped to her feet. Perhaps it was the entire frustration of the situation, or maybe it was just that tiny immature part of her that wanted to annoy the priestess. “This calls for a celebration. The scholars and I can’t even agree on the weather.”
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