“And did they? What was it?”
“They couldn’t track it; it disappeared like smoke, and no one could say with any confidence whether it was man or gree or the Night god himself. The Hunters found another dismembered body at the east end of Guild Row, and there’s a fruit merchant gone missing. You’re lucky to be alive. I’d tell you to send a thank-you note from the House to the soldier, but in the commotion, no one knew who it was, and no one has stepped forward to take credit for saving you. Not that I blame them.”
Aren shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe, uncomfortable with the fact that he’d had two near-death experiences in one night—three in two days, if he counted the unicorn. There was also that mage who had tried to kill him…
“Stop lounging around and get to the forge.” Aren racked his brain to remember why he was supposed to be at the forge, but Elder interrupted his thoughts. “Your eldest brother called this morning to see if you could be spared for a few hours. He said Dane mentioned it to you last night.” Aren’s conversation with Dane came back to him, and he nodded. “I need you back before evening. I’m only allowing you to go because I have a great deal of respect for the Masters Gerrit.”
“Yes, Elder,” was all Aren could manage as his mind began to reshape the events of the previous evening.
“Make your beauty bath quick,” Elder growled. “I don’t know why you can’t use your private bath like a normal person.”
“Lord Vir uses the salt baths in the evening,” Aren pointed out before leaving. He headed down the hall towards the baths and was almost there when he stopped and turned back in the direction of his room. There was no time. He’d wash in his room, rush to the forge to see his family and help out, then hurry back to work.
Aren slicked his hair back as he hurried through the stone corridors in the lower level of the House, passing a few servants on the way and wishing them a good day. The girl who did his laundry—her brown hair tied up in a black ribbon, his only confirmation of who she was—gasped, then hid her face in her hands as he rushed past her. He came up at the stairway by the kitchen and was stopped by one of the cooks, who pressed a warm biscuit wrapped in wax paper in his hand, ignoring his protests.
“You’re late this morning!” she said. “Everyone’s heard the news, and I’m just so thankful you’re alive!”
He gave up on trying to argue, smiled, and thanked her as she giggled and pushed him on his way. Not realizing how hungry he was until the smell of the biscuit wafted up his nose, he tore open the paper, devouring half the biscuit in one bite.
He strode down to the other end of a long hallway and up a set of stairs that most people overlooked because it was tucked into a strange, old alcove that let out next to Lord Vir’s bedchamber. He finished off the biscuit and wadded the paper as he took the worn, stone steps up two at a time. As he crossed outside of the room, he noticed that one of the large double doors was ajar, and he caught the scent of the sea on a breeze that drifted in through the room’s large windows. He crept across the hall, not wanting to call attention to himself. As he passed, he heard Geyle’s voice, and it sounded as if she were crying. He paused and listened while part of his brain told him to keep moving.
He really had to stop ignoring his brain.
“I’m so tired of this, Vir!” Geyle said through sobs. “I want to visit my family. I need some time for myself, away from Tiede.”
“You’re being overly dramatic about this,” Vir said. “It’s not safe to travel, and what would people think if I had my wife sent away? They’d think it wasn’t safe in Tiede. You’ve heard what’s going on out there.”
“Why is it okay for Illithe to visit?”
“It’s just my aunt and grandfather.”
“Your grandfather is as fragile as a butterfly wing! He’s the most ill-equipped to make the journey!”
“I’m not going to waste time arguing over this. My family will be here this evening.” Vir’s voice sounded a little more agitated, and Aren wondered if that was his cue to leave, but he didn’t move. “Freshen up and go for a walk with your ladies in the garden. If it pleases you, I will even go so far as to ask Elder to release his Apprentice to you for a few hours since all your talk earlier leads me to conclude that you enjoyed his company, however brief. Maybe he can calm your nerves.”
“You were in Council, and he stopped to talk when I asked him to.” Her voice was quiet now, and Aren had to strain to hear her. “He was a complete gentleman.”
“I only noted how happy you sounded when you brought it up, and I prefer it when you’re happy. Have I not given you whatever you’ve asked for?”
“I don’t ask for much.”
“And what you do ask for, I always try to provide.”
“I’m sorry, Vir.” Her tone was submissive. “I’ll take a walk as you suggest.”
Aren bolted for the corner, slowing once he had turned it, telling himself to look natural. He walked the rest of the way to his room, then paused at his door. Stars, what had she said about him to Vir?
He thumped his head against the door to his room, winced from the pain, and looking down, noticed a slip of paper on the floor just under the door. He glanced around, and seeing no one, stooped to retrieve it. It was a small piece of parchment, folded and creased neatly in half. He opened it and was surprised to see it was written in Ancient. He frowned as he worked out the translation:
Keep your distance. I only saved your life for her happiness.
Aren looked around again, wondering if this was some sort of joke, but a shiver ran down his spine. In the House, only Elder was fluent in the old language, and this neat, precise scroll was the opposite of the old man’s ragged script. Also, whoever left the note knew that he had a decent understanding of Ancient and that writing it in the old language would serve as a sort of secret code.
“Kiakt’i’ko,” Aren cursed under his breath.
SIX
Selina panicked when she woke up, the veil of dreams that had shrouded her during the night dissipating in the lamp-lit room. “Aren!” she cried out, gripping the covers and looking around.
She was in a generous bed in a large room with a carpeted floor and plain walls. There wasn’t much to the room: another bed, two white wardrobes, a desk, a little sitting area with two chairs and a small table. She remembered that she was in the House of Tiede and that she had fallen asleep and dreamed of the goddess talking to a blind man on the Laithe.
A door opened and a girl came out, toweling her hair. “I’m glad you’re awake,” said Nianni as she tested her hair’s dampness. “The washroom is through here. Be quick because we need to attend morning worship.”
The worship room, dedicated to the goddess of Light, was located on the second floor on the eastern side of the House and was significantly smaller than Alaric’s worship room. There were several windows, but one was much larger than the others, taking up a majority of the wall. The window provided a distant view of the glimmering Laithe Inlet.
Selina took her time taking everything in. The room was sparse and smelled of leindra flower and the woods. In the middle of the room was a wooden altar on top of which was a gold bell and hammer and various other golden objects she couldn’t identify. Four large clay urns full of dark, rich soil sat beneath the altar.
The stark white ceiling was high, and there was an opening on the slope, large enough for a man to slip through. Selina wondered what they did about the hole when it rained. Several strings of tiny gold bells showered from the opening in the ceiling, and she imagined the glittering sound they made when the wind whispered by. Right now, the bells were silent.
The three Priestesses from Syrn knelt before the altar. Tiede’s Head Priestess Crina stood behind the altar, her eyes closed, her palms facing upwards. House Priestess Min stood beside her and stirred a mixture in a clay bowl, causing tendrils of smoke to twist and rise from it.
Nianni led Selina to the white bench under the big window. Selina took a seat, her whi
te-slippered feet dangling above the pale stone floor. Then, Nianni took her place on the other side of Crina.
As she watched the morning rituals, Selina tried not to fidget. She had seen them before when attending holy day rituals with the Gerrit family, and it had been hard to keep still then too. The Priestesses rang golden bells to announce the dawn. They sang songs with strange words and melodies that reminded Selina of summer flowers and birdsongs and the whispering of the wind. It made her heart ache and yearn for the soil between her toes, fresh-picked berries, and the embrace of trees.
Selina tried to focus, studying the unique vine markings on each Priestess as they went through the rituals of honoring the gods of Light. Selina could see the markings through the Priestesses’ sheer gowns. Dark-green vines had been inked into their skin, winding up from the toes of one foot, up leg and thigh, and then wrapping around both hips before snaking up their waists, around their backs, and then draping over a shoulder, where it seemed as if a brooch of tiny flowers held the whole piece in place over a collarbone. The twirling petals of the silver-white moonflower on Crina. The yellow-orange fringed petals of the fervor flora on Min. The layered, blue-violet hued petals of the water lily on Teyna. Bursting white peonies with pale-pink centers on Estelline. An exotic, single, blood-red flower with eight distinct, long and slender petals and a dark center that Selina had never seen before on the Seer.
The Priestesses spread the mud over their gowns, on their breasts and bellies, chanting in low tones that Selina couldn’t make out. She wondered what the point of the mud was, finding it odd that grown women would dirty themselves in this way for the goddess Sabana.
Nianni came forward with a pitcher of water and an arm loaded with small white towels to assist with cleaning as the rituals continued. They would honor Geir, the god of air and wind, next, but Selina couldn’t recall what was involved. Tossing leaves out the window? Min took hold of one of Crina’s hands and raised her arms as well; they looked as if they were ready to catch something. It took all of Selina’s self-control to keep from laughing. The sound of her snorting popped into her head, and an image of Aren laughing at her accompanied it. She bit her lip hard and continued to bite even as tears rolled out of her eyes.
Spotting Selina, Nianni furrowed her brows, a look of concern and exasperation on her face. The look pushed Selina over the edge, and air escaped from her nose, causing an odd khrnnkng sound to come out. Laughter wanted to follow, so she clapped her hands over her mouth, turning to face the window as her body convulsed, the giggles tickling her from the inside.
“Little sister needs assistance,” Teyna said.
Selina gulped and turned back to face the altar, her face red, hot, and tear-stained. She pressed her lips together, trying to conceal the smile that was fighting to take center stage on her face. Teyna didn’t sound angry, but the look on Nianni’s face as she walked towards Selina was one of annoyance and embarrassment.
Crina and Min lowered their arms, and all the Priestesses were staring at her. She knew she should feel guilty. She was old enough to know that these worship ceremonies were serious, but she couldn’t help herself. Mud was everywhere and the Priestesses were trying to catch something that might fall from the sky. A bubble of laughter managed to escape her.
“Is something funny, child?” Crina asked. The silver was still swirling in her eyes, and the strangeness of it was enough to scare Selina’s giggles away. “We are calling on the gods. I fail to see the humor.”
“No one was answering,” Selina blurted.
Nianni cringed and gave her a pained look that no one else could see.
“Eight lashes,” Crina said, her voice low.
“Oh, come now, she’s just a child,” Teyna said, a wide smile on her face. “She’s the youngest we’ve ever had, by far. She has no idea what any of it means; of course she would think it silly. She’s Unblessed, remember?”
Estelline shook her head, the movement small, abbreviated. “Crina is Head Priestess of Tiede; she will do as she pleases.”
Teyna cocked her head, her large, brown eyes wide and questioning. “And we are of Syrn, and our authority supersedes—”
“I hear the wisdom of Syrn,” Crina said. “Four lashes, then. The other four shall be transferred to the Priestess Minor, whose responsibility it was to instruct our Initiate.”
Nianni kept her chin high and showed no emotion, save for closing her eyes for a heartbeat. She turned towards the Priestesses and bowed her head, her hands over her chest. “Yes, Priestess,” was all she said.
“No!” Selina cried out, slipping off the bench and standing next to Nianni. “It’s my fault; please don’t punish her!”
Crina came around the altar. There was a strange aura around her that reminded Selina of a dark blanket of clouds around a full moon. She took a step back, but Nianni remained still. Selina felt a chill run down her spine, and she wanted to run and find Aren. At the same time, she couldn’t just leave Nianni. It was Selina’s fault for not listening. That’s what Nianni should have said, but she didn’t. Selina’s heart beat hard in her chest, and her mind raced for a way out of this mess. She wished Aren were here; he would have stopped it. He wouldn’t care if they were Priestesses. Tears filled her eyes and her ears rang. Everything looked blurry, and she wanted to hold onto something to steady herself. The room was getting darker and her legs felt weak.
“What’s the matter, child?” Estelline’s voice.
Selina tried to turn her head but felt dizzy. Hands took hold of her, supporting her as she began to slip into the darkness. “Sabana mentioned a stone,” she heard herself say. “It was that time—when the mage rebellions were starting to break out.”
“What are you talking about?” Crina said, her voice muffled by cotton.
Selina’s eyes closed and in her mind she saw a room filled with books. Windows opened up to deep night skies and an inky sea, and in the middle of the large room was a desk bigger than any she’d ever seen, covered in maps and papers and tiny glass jars. Something sparkly coated the surfaces and the floor like dust, but it glowed with a brilliance that lit up the otherwise dark space.
A woman sat at the desk rifling through papers, and Selina blinked several times when she realized that the woman’s body seemed to flicker, and Selina could see through her as if she were a ghost. The chill of night was in the air, but an extraordinary warmth was nearby and she looked around to find the source of it. In a large chair sat the most frightening man she had ever seen. He had more muscles than Gerrit Gryf, the strongest man she knew, and this stranger was much, much taller. He had skin the color of shadowed bronze and hair the color of ink; his changing eyes were orange and red and yellow, as if a fire raged inside him. He wore black from head to toe and sat slumped in his chair, his feet spread wide in a pose that reminded her of Dane.
When the man spoke, she thought she could feel the rumble of his voice vibrate in her own chest. She was trapped somewhere between terror and curiosity. “Kaila, when did you speak to Sabana?” the scary man said.
“Earlier, before I came home,” a woman’s voice responded. Selina lit up and looked around when she heard the voice. She was dreaming of the Lady from the Wood! She wondered why she had fallen into this dream now, but was a little thankful for it since then maybe she wouldn’t feel the lash of the whip.
“And what did she have to say about a stone?” the man said, interrupting Selina’s thoughts.
The Lady, the goddess Kaila, sat on the settee across from the man, her bare legs stretched across the length of it, looking playful and at ease. A short, shimmering dress of aqua draped her petite form like water flowing over a riverbed.
“She said that you left a powerful token with the Priestesses during one of the mage uprisings a long time ago and that Aalae wanted it. Did you really leave something? That’s so unlike you, Tanghi.”
Tanghi’s brows furrowed as he tried to remember. He adjusted himself on his seat, leaned his head back, and closed his
eyes. “I don’t recall.”
“She said you left it with a Priestess from Syrn. It’s a stone smaller than my fist, the white kinds you can find at the twin lakes of the Relythaun. Sabana said it has your symbol burned on it.”
A slow smile crept onto his face as the memory resurfaced. “Ah, I remember now, and that’s between me and the priestess.”
Kaila’s eyes widened. “Tanghi! Were you involved with—”
“By Mahl, Kaila!” His face contorted in disgust and he threw a handful of stardust at her. “How could you think such a thing? Absolutely not!” He nodded towards the woman at the desk, then put a finger to his lips. “It was the priestess who found your sash. It was a thank-you gift.”
“It must be imbued with a great deal of your power if Aalae wanted it.”
“It will give off heat until the day it’s shattered. I’ve no idea what Aalae could do with it, but seeing as it belongs to the Priestesses, that’s no worry of ours. They’re very protective of the holy relics, and Aalae can’t touch what belongs to them.”
“Well, it was a nice gesture,” Kaila smiled.
Tanghi lowered his voice. “Alaric would thank them too if he had known. Speaking of Alaric…”
The thump of boot heels on stone announced another presence entering the room, and Selina watched as a man came through the open doors. He was tall and regal—more so than even Lord Vir—and he wore his straight, black hair loose and long in the same style as they did in Kaishar. “Now this,” the man said, his arms opening as if to encompass the room, “is what I like to see: my Knights and my mate safe at home.”
Kaila swung her legs around so that her feet were on the floor. The man came over and placed a kiss on her head. “Did you know that Sabana gave Tiede Wood to Geir?” Kaila asked.
“I heard that a long time ago but didn’t think much of it,” Alaric said, walking to the desk and touching Taia’s cheek. He took the papers she handed him. “I prefer Geir to be lord over Tiede Wood. He doesn’t care for it and will leave it be. Sabana is much more clever, and having her so close to Tiede made me a little nervous.”
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