Uniting the Heavens

by Emily English

  Tiede-born Begles Henrik, promised at birth to the goddess Kaila, died on the banks of the River Taethe from what appeared to be an altercation. His lifeless body was found by [Gerrit] Aren, House Apprentice, while on holiday. It was difficult to determine whether Fisherman Henrik died from blood loss due to blade wounds or from a wild animal attack.

  Aren crumpled up the parchment, tossed it aside, laid out a new sheet, then began to scribble a picture of a swan as he considered the lie. Henrik was a good man who had died because he had delusions of grandeur—because he thought he was going to save Tiede. Looking back on the incident, Aren wondered if he had overreacted as well. He had risked his and Selina’s lives—for what? Was one mage going to destroy Tiede because of a silly message?

  Tiede-born Fisherman Begles Henrik, promised at birth to the goddess Kaila, died on the banks of the River Taethe under the impression that he was protecting the House of Tiede from an unconfirmed threat.

  Aren let his forehead rest against the parchment as he suffered over his words. Perhaps his subconscious was too focused on Selina. He hadn’t been allowed anywhere near her, and the servants kept whispering about secret ceremonies. Some of them thought Selina had been selected as a sign from the gods, showing how merciful and forgiving the gods were towards the Unblessed. Others saw it as outright blasphemy and began to spread rumors that it was a sign of the end times—that the gods could no longer be relied upon to protect them. A handful of servants wondered if Selina would be offered as a sacrifice to get the gods’ attention.

  Selecting Selina to be a Priestess had to have been a mistake, and Aren needed to find a way to get the situation straightened out. He had to come up with a way to gain an audience with the Head Priestess. It wouldn’t be easy; he was pretty sure the Head Priestess hated him too. At least he was in his element now. He could think here, and some of his best plans had been designed in this very room. He breathed in the scent of old books, curling papers, and fresh ink.

  “What have you done this time?” Elder Tanda asked in his usual exasperated tone.

  “I haven’t done a thing. I was just theorizing on why Lord Vir wants to keep the message a secret,” Aren said, lifting his head off the desk. He wondered what information he could get from his old master.

  “Are you talking about the message that doesn’t exist?” Elder said as he looked over some recently acquired scrolls. “The message Lord Vir asked you to make sure wasn’t spoken of ever again?”

  “Yes.”

  Elder lifted his eyes as if it took great effort, then stared at Aren. “I thought I asked you years ago to acquire some common sense.”

  “I’m just curious. There’s been rumor of a shift of power in Cordelacht towards the Light Houses, and everyone knows that Rose arranged the marriage with Tiede for protection. The messenger from Rose also talked about the mages rising in the east.”

  “You would do well to keep those rumors to yourself and not allow them into the House, of all places.” Elder returned his attention to the scroll he was working on. “I will not have Lord Vir’s wrath in this Library because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. I don’t want to hear another word of an arranged marriage either; Lord Vir fell in love with Lady Geyle, and that is the end of that.” Aren opened his mouth to say something, but Elder cut him off. “Before you start asking about Selina and the Priestesses, I need you to pick up some oil. The mess at the docks has left the entire House short, and I know you were planning on meeting Dane anyway.” Elder added, “And try to be careful; there’s a killer out there. Some people have gone missing and others have been brutally murdered. If I lose you, I’ll have to find and train a new apprentice, and I don’t have time for that.”

  Aren rolled his eyes but smiled, leaving the stacks and scrolls behind. Though he knew he’d never make Elder proud, never impress him, Aren loved the old man. Elder would never admit it, but Aren sensed that the Master Historian and Librarian saw a potential in Aren that Aren didn’t even see in himself. Why else would he bring an Unblessed into the House? Aren sometimes told himself that the old man was going senile.

  Aren closed the heavy black doors to the Library and crossed the hallway towards the courtyard, nodding at the maids with their linens as they passed. Two of them giggled and blushed, while the third traced a star of warding on her palm and hurried the others along. Aren ignored the gesture, as he always did, then stretched out his arms as he walked through the courtyard. Twilight filled the expansive space with a soft, lavender glow, and the first of the peppermint fireflies were descending and alighting upon the fountain. He stopped for a moment, entranced by the beauty of the marble mermaid. Her eyes were as blank and cold as the stone she was carved of, but her lips curved into a generous, gentle smile. The firefly glow lit her cheeks, and he could almost imagine that the waves of hair that framed her face were billowing in the cool, dusky breeze.

  A shadow lengthened across the courtyard as the sun sought its rest. Curious, Aren walked around the fountain to find out who it was. At this time, most of the House was gathering in Alaric’s worship room to welcome the night. A petite woman was sitting on the fountain’s outer rim, her legs curled up under her, staring up at the mermaid as if begging in prayer. She wore a light, simple evening gown of yellow and orange silks that cascaded like molten gold over the edge of the fountain’s rim, pooling onto the floor. Her hair, the color of ripened wheat, fell in long, loose curls around her shoulders. She was a small, solitary light in Tiede’s darkness.

  The lady’s voice was small as she asked, “Did the gods send you?”

  EIGHTEEN

  Lady Tiede Geyle noticed Aren from the corner of her eye and turned to look at him. For a moment, they just stared at each other, lost in the rhythmic splash of water. She was fair and pleasant to look at. Her eyes were cornflower blue and distant. Her mouth was small, and her nose was small. All of her facial features seemed petite, right down to the abbreviated smattering of golden freckles across her nose and the tops of her cheeks.

  All at once, Aren remembered his manners and bowed from the waist, bringing a fist to his chest.

  “My Lady,” Aren rushed, “I apologize. I wasn’t expecting you—I mean, I didn’t think you were here. Although, this is your House, so I suppose of course you would be here, I just mean that—”

  “Apprentice, be still,” she said, cutting him off with an upraised hand and moving to lower her bare feet to the floor. The sound of water filled the space between them again. She seemed to consider him, then spared a quick glance at the mermaid before saying, “Your timing couldn’t be better. Sit with me.”

  He obeyed without hesitation, seating himself to her left, an appropriate distance away. He felt the water that had puddled on the wide bench soak through his pants, and he had to stop himself from bolting and cursing his dull mind.

  She must have sensed what he was thinking because she laughed and said, “Your room isn’t far, and I’m sure no one will notice in the meantime. The sun is setting, and the shadows will hide you well. Besides, rumor has it there’s not much you can do to stop women from swooning over you, wet pants or not.”

  Aren felt his cheeks grow hot, and he cast his eyes downward, rubbing the nails of one hand against the nails of the other. “That’s a strange rumor, my Lady.”

  “I first heard your name during the festivals that celebrated my marriage to Vir,” she said, ignoring his words. Her eyes seemed further away now, as if looking into the past. “Do you remember the celebrations?”

  “Of course. It was a joyous event for Tiede, and we were happy to welcome you.”

  “That’s very kind of you to say.” Geyle blushed. “I remember your name because it’s unusual.”

  “I suppose, but how would you have heard my name then? I had only just been summoned to the House around that time.”

  “In Tiede, you have the custom of maidens bringing the bride a slip of paper with a young man’s name.”

  “A wish with the bride’s bl
essing.”

  Geyle lifted an eyebrow, her eyes sparkling in the courtyard’s firelight. “Apprentice, over half the slips of paper had your name written on them! I had to show Vir after the seventh or eighth one; I was so tickled!”

  Aren felt the flush of heat on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it, trying to think through the ringing and burning in his ears. Geyle began to laugh, high-pitched and lyrical like a songbird. He kept his face down, concentrating on the water rippling in the fountain, and chuckled a little. “Those girls had no idea what they were writing, probably daring each other to write down the name of some awkward boy just for the fun of it. More likely it was a way of cursing each other.”

  “Stop being so modest.” She poked his upper arm. He didn’t say anything, a little taken aback by the direction of the conversation and the fact that she had touched him. She sighed. “This is nice, talking and laughing with someone and remembering happy times. It feels…normal.”

  A silence slipped over them again, and he watched as her smile faded like the setting sun. She was looking up at the sky, past the mist of water and flickering fireflies. Aren wondered if he should leave.

  “Do you know anything of Rose?” she asked at last.

  The Rose is a symbol of the ideal. The Rose is trampled in battles and wars.

  Aren felt a lump in his throat. What did she know of the message he delivered? Should he feign ignorance? Was it a trap designed by Vir to test him? Before he could say anything, she continued, “It’s nothing like Tiede, with its oceans and history and…dominance.”

  Aren felt a wave of relief wash over his conscience. She wasn’t asking about the message; she just wanted to talk about her home. “I’ve never been, but I’ve read that it’s all meadows and grasslands.”

  Geyle’s face lit up. “Yes! And the flowers in the spring cover every inch of the hills; it’s warm, and beautiful. Tiede is more regal, and everything about it is structured and defiant. Cold.” She stopped herself as if only just realizing where she was and with whom she was speaking.

  “Are you homesick?” he asked. “Maybe a trip back would do you some good.”

  “I wish I could, but it’s so far away and Vir is not likely to let me leave. We’re expecting many guests over the coming weeks for this reason and that; it would be inappropriate for me to be away. It’s always like this in Tiede; no one ever stops or slows down.”

  “It’s good the House is busy. It means that it’s respected; its counsel has weight enough to dictate the future of Cordelacht as a whole.”

  “Do you know much about the history of Tiede? The curse?” she asked as if he hadn’t spoken. “All of Cordelacht knows of the curse of Tiede, especially the strange stories about the Wood.”

  Aren tightened his lips, furrowed his brows. His fingers began to scratch at the stubble on his chin, which he hadn’t bothered shaving after his bath. “I’m familiar with the stories of Tiede Wood”—and the reality, he added internally—“but as far as a curse is concerned, I can’t say that I’ve encountered any text that mentions a specific curse. There are countless records in the Library, though. I’ll be as Elder before I come close to knowing them all.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t know. Tiede blood is cursed, and they say the House is dying. Have you read anything of previous generations? Lady Cath disappeared. Assassins murdered Lady Kaye. Tiede Ril died as an infant from unknown causes. There was that fire that killed those two Tiede children. The list goes on and on and on.”

  He shrugged. “Even if it were all true, what does it matter now?”

  She looked at him as if he were dim. “The most recent of all the Tiede histories: Vir’s father killed his wife. There was madness in her from being so close to the Wood, and the darkness in his blood is now in Vir. How can I not be concerned? Things have changed over these past few years.”

  Aren almost laughed, but remembered his manners. “The death of Lady Elleina was nothing violent or supernatural. There is nothing I’ve read that said Lord Ren killed her, and Lord Vir is a fair and reasonable man. The only darkness that flows through them is that of the natural night, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

  “You’re so naïve.” She gave him a weak smile. “But your idealistic attitude warms me.” Aren wanted to ask what she was getting at, but she held up a hand. “Don’t tell,” she said as she brought her palms together.

  Her eyes fluttered closed. Aren watched as her shoulders began to glow with a soft light, and he leaned away from her, his eyes wide. He knew the Lady bore the marks of a magic wielder—everyone knew—but he didn’t realize that she could summon magic. It wasn’t uncommon to see people who bore the marks upon their shoulders; this didn’t mean that they were mages, just that the magic had been in the bloodline, and for some reason or another, it chose to manifest itself in certain individuals. It didn’t mean they could actually use magic.

  When Geyle opened her eyes, the light from her shoulders dimmed until it vanished. She made no explanations, only asked, “Will you do me a favor, Aren?”

  This time, it was her familiarity with him that caught him off guard. “My Lady?”

  “Can I trust you?” Aren felt his throat dry up, and no words came out. “I worship the Light goddess Aalae, but I was praying to Kaila when you arrived,” she explained, indicating the mermaid. “Do you…Are you her worshipper? I saw you with the Priestess Initiate earlier, and she looks like she was blessed by Night. You don’t look related, though. Yet, you’re of Tiede. You must worship the Night god Alaric, then?”

  Aren chose his words carefully, wanting to be precise without offending her. “Considering how quickly rumors spread, I’m surprised you’ve not heard. I was an orphan, as was the new Priestess, Selina. We’re not related by blood, but we are family. There’s no record of a blessing for either of us. I pay my respects to the gods as is required by the House, nothing more, but if it pleases you, I have always found the likenesses of the Water goddess beautiful.”

  In a soft voice, Geyle said, “Kaila is said to be soft-hearted and easy to flatter. Perhaps she has sent you to me.” Aren felt uncomfortable and was about to change the subject or find a polite way to excuse himself when she leaned towards him. He had to strain to hear her words over the incessant splish-splash. “In the Weavers Guild, there is an apprentice named Caley,” Geyle said. “She has hair the color of winter plums. Do you know of whom I speak?” He nodded. “Tell her I wish to know if the fabric for my dress is ready. She will present you with a box.” Geyle opened her hand to reveal a small iron key. She took his hand and pressed the key into his palm hard, closing his fingers around it.

  Aren slipped it into his vest pocket without looking at it, glancing around to make sure they weren’t being watched. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but if Vir or one of the servants noticed, he would probably be questioned about why he was in such close proximity to the Lady. Then, he’d be thrown into the dungeons.

  “I’ve placed wards around the courtyard, but they won’t last long,” she said, noticing his watchful eyes. “Open the box Caley gives you, and bring me the contents.”

  “Any of your servants could do this for you. The apprentice from the Weavers Guild could find a way to bring you what you need. I don’t understand the need for secrecy.”

  She moved closer, and he could smell the rosewater on her skin, feel the heat of her breath against his cheek. “Please, Aren. Everyone else is too terrified of Vir. You aren’t from Rose; no one would suspect you.”

  Aren wanted to voice how terrified he was of Vir too, but he couldn’t find the words. He locked his eyes onto hers and saw the desperation there. She was so close to him, trying to persuade him with whatever magic still lingered around her. He almost thought she would kiss him, but she moved away and stared at the mermaid again.

  “The wards will be fading,” she said, her voice sad again. “One needs a staff to work any proper magic.”

  Aren stood up, sweat dotting his foreh
ead and neck. “I need to change my clothes, and I probably shouldn’t leave the House without my robes.”

  She nodded, her shoulders slumped as she turned her attention to the myriad of blue diamonds embedded into the bottom of the clear pool. Her dress slipped off her shoulder and before she could move it back, he caught the silver markings of the magic wielder.

  “I will reward you for this.”

  “I serve the House, my Lady,” he replied with a slight bow, then walked away.

  NINETEEN

  It only took a few minutes for Aren to run to his room and change into a dry pair of pants. Then, he picked his robes up off his bed, threw them on, and secured the silver clasp that held the heavy, black velvet over his shoulders and across his collarbones. He pulled the hood over his head, emphasizing the shadows that had darkened his eyes since last night, and smoothed out the House crest that was embroidered in fine silver threads on the upper left arm.

  He felt the Lady’s key hot against his chest as he walked the cobblestone streets. It was a constant reminder of the clandestine task he had accepted, and he decided that her errand would be the last one he completed before returning to the House. A key was nothing on its own. If for some reason he was robbed or searched, it wouldn’t signify anything.

  The street outside of the Mermaid’s Song glowed with the soft bioluminescence from the lamps that stood at regular intervals down the road. Music spilled out into the night, chunky guitar chords and dancing piano arpeggios, intermingling with laughter and the off-key singing of drunkards sloshing their beers. The people made way for Aren to enter the tavern without fuss or hassle, and Aren spotted Dane seated at their usual spot, a pitcher of amber beer on the table and a guitar against his chest. He was singing along with the musicians on the stage, strumming with such energy that his hair whipped forward and backward, throwing sweat into the air.