by Effie Calvin
She was pale, far paler than Ioanna would have expected anyone in this region to be. Her hair fell into large chestnut-copper ringlets, and her eyes were so dark Ioanna could not tell where her irises began and ended, even though they were only inches from each other. She was dressed in a rust-red robe.
But unlike most priestesses of Reygmadra, the robe this woman wore was long, ankle-length, and she did not have a weapon at her belt. That and the lack of obvious armor ought to have been a reassurance, but to Ioanna, it meant she had enough magic that weapons were only a secondary concern.
Ioanna stared at the priestess, and the priestess stared back at her. But she was not a priestess. It was impossible to put into words, but Ioanna knew immediately that this woman’s body was as much a garment as her robes. It was the same as it had been with Acydon, and the same with Aelia.
This woman, though, was not Aelia. Aelia had been happy, though erratic, and her warmth had shone through her mortal body. Nor was she Acydon, languid and calm and so very, very indifferent. This woman was cold and angry.
“Who are you?” asked Ioanna. She meant to sound assertive, but fear seized at her throat, and the words came out in a whisper. Could it be Reygmadra herself, come to kill Ioanna with her own hands? But if Reygmadra could do such a thing, then surely she’d have done it years ago?
“You don’t need to be afraid,” said the woman. Lie. “I’m not going to hurt you, unless you give me no other choice.” That was not a lie, but still hardly reassuring. “All I want is for you to remain here in Oredia. So long as you do, I will not trouble you, and all will be as it should. Will you agree to that?”
“No,” said Ioanna. “I won’t agree to anything until you tell me who you are.”
The woman laughed, a strange and cold sound. “So small,” she said, raising one hand as though she was considering clasping Ioanna’s chin in her fingers. “So very small.”
Ioanna reached for her magic. Even without looking, she knew golden light was gathering at her hands. “Who are you?” she asked again.
“Cytha,” said the woman. The goddess of revenge, Ioanna knew from her reading. Like all chaos gods, her worship had been outlawed. But that never stopped Men from whispering her name when they felt they’d been wronged—and that made Cytha more powerful than many of her siblings.
Ioanna knew from the priests, and her reading, that the most practical way to deal with a chaos god was to bind them to their body before destroying them. If she destroyed Cytha’s body without performing the binding ritual first, her spirit would be free to return to her plane in Asterium to recover. Then, as soon as she was strong enough, she could manifest on Inthya again.
By binding her to her mortal body before destroying it, Cytha’s recovery would be slowed significantly, and it would be months—perhaps even years—before she could manifest again.
Ioanna had never fought a chaos god before, but she was confident she remembered the binding words. She was less confident about her ability to destroy Cytha’s body. Immolating it in celestial fire would probably be the easiest way, but Cytha looked so much like a woman that Ioanna wasn’t sure if she could bring herself to do it.
It would feel so much like murder.
Cytha must have sensed Ioanna’s thoughts because she took a few, drifting steps backward. “I must warn you. If you destroy me, she’ll send someone with far less restraint to replace me.”
“Reygmadra?”
“Who else?” replied Cytha. “Remain here, if you wish to live.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Ioanna caught sight of something—a figure moving toward them. Ioanna turned instinctively to face it, but it paid her no mind, rushing past to stand between Ioanna and Cytha. At first, Ioanna expected to see Knight-Commander Livius, but this shape was a woman.
Just as Ioanna realized this, the woman drew one arm back and struck Cytha in the face, hard enough to send her toppling backward.
“Get out!” screamed the other woman. “Get! Go! Go! Or I’ll do to you what I did to Edan!”
Cytha hissed in fury and raised a hand to her nose, which was leaking something dark, but she did not stand back up. Instead, she vanished as though she had never been there. Ioanna stared at the empty spot in shock.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” said the other woman. “I’m always late.”
“Aelia?” said Ioanna.
“Get back to the villa, now,” said Aelia, pointing in the direction of Grandmother Irianthe’s home. “You can’t run off like this ever again. It’s dangerous.”
Ioanna only nodded rapidly, too shaken to speak yet.
“Here, I’ll take us. It’ll be quicker,” said Aelia. She took Ioanna’s hand in hers, then reached out and grabbed Vitaliya as well. Before Ioanna could ask what she was doing, the world around her vanished.
Then, with a sickening jolt, it reappeared. Vitaliya screeched—but the sound weakened and died a pitiful death once she realized they were back in Grandmother Irianthe’s garden, surrounded by measured hedges and sleeping flowers. Ioanna tried to take a few steps but stumbled as the ground shifted beneath her feet. Vitaliya caught her, but she stumbled too, and they both toppled to the ground together.
“They’re both fine,” announced Aelia. “But Cytha’s lurking. Seems Reygmadra’s talked her into supporting her.”
Ioanna lifted her head and realized her grandmother and the paladins were all gathered there with varying degrees of concern on their faces.
“They’re just disoriented,” explained Aelia. “Give them a minute.”
“We’ll go after Cytha,” said Orsina. “She can’t be allowed to—”
“No,” interrupted Ioanna, staggering to her feet. “Don’t kill Cytha. She said there were others—ones with less restraint—she’ll send if Cytha is gone.”
“I’m not surprised. Reygmadra’s three steps away from being a chaos goddess herself these days.” Aelia ran a hand through her hair.
“Do you think she’d come herself?” worried Ioanna. “Reygmadra, I mean. If she wanted to kill me…” If Reygmadra wanted to kill her, nobody would be able to stop her.
“No,” said Aelia. “There’s rules. If the Ten went around smiting one another’s champions from Asterium, nothing would ever get done, and eventually we’d run out of people on Inthya. But they’ll both be sending smaller gods in their place to try to tilt things.”
“If Reygmadra has Cytha, then who are we getting?” asked Vitaliya.
“Well, you have me,” said Aelia.
An uncomfortable silence descended upon the garden.
Someone touched her shoulder, and Ioanna realized it was her grandmother. Her hand was comfortably cool and smooth, far smoother than Ioanna might have expected from a woman who once had Reygmadra’s magic.
“Ioanna, I would like you to come with me,” said Grandmother Irianthe. “There is something I must tell you.”
Ioanna had never been in her grandmother’s bedroom before, but, unlike the study, she’d never even caught glimpses in the past, nor had she thought to try to get inside. Curiosity overtook anxiety as they stepped through the doorway.
The room was nearly four times the size of the one Ioanna had been given to stay in. The floor was a polished mosaic, and one entire wall was nothing but shelves, which held yet more books and scrolls and writing utensils. In one corner was a bath, not unlike Ioanna’s, but this one was twice as large.
“Sit down,” said Grandmother Irianthe, and Ioanna sank onto a low stool. “Where were you when you were attacked?”
“I’d hardly call it an attack. She just wanted to warn me not to leave Oredia. But we were in town near the river.”
“I’ll tell the guards to be more vigilant,” said Grandmother Irianthe. Ioanna had a feeling the guards would be helpless against a chaos goddess, but she said nothing. If it made her grandmother feel better, she wouldn’t try to stop her.
“I hope you’re not too angry with me,” said Ioanna. “What happened in the meeting
—you know I respect your judgment. I only—”
“I know,” said Grandmother Irianthe. “And I feel perhaps I communicated my intentions poorly. If nothing else, understand I am not trying to keep you from Vitaliya because I find her objectionable in some way. Nor is it because I wish to see you unhappy for the sake of strengthening your character. My fear is that, should the worst happen, you will spend the rest of your life mourning her.”
“What?” Ioanna had not been expecting any of this and found she had nothing to say in retort.
“What will you do if Vitaliya is captured?” asked Grandmother Irianthe. “If your sister demands your surrender in exchange for her life? Could you put the empire above your feelings for her?”
Yes, Ioanna wanted to say, but the lie would only give her a headache. “I don’t know,” she murmured.
“I do,” said Grandmother Irianthe. “I know you, Ioanna. And I know you’d place the lives of our citizens over the life of a single woman, no matter how much she means to you. My hope was to prevent you from having to make such a choice.”
“It might not happen,” said Ioanna. “She might never be captured at all.”
“She might not,” agreed Irianthe. “But what if she is killed in combat? We both know she isn’t capable of defending herself against trained warriors. If you fall into an ambush, or if we encounter too much resistance at Xyuluthe…would you blame yourself forever for her death?”
Tears sprang to Ioanna’s eyes. Not for Vitaliya and that terrible hypothetical future. Not for any single reason. She had not cried at the news of her father’s death. Nor had she cried that first night away from Xyuluthe, hidden away in a forest and listening intently for the sound of distant hoofbeats.
But now all the events of the past week were landing upon her like an insurmountable wave. She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, and allowed herself to cry.
“I’d hoped we would not have to go through this until you were older,” said Grandmother Irianthe, rubbing Ioanna’s back gently. “Much older. It is unfair so much has been placed upon you by Iolar—that one girl is expected to undo centuries of damage. I’d not blame you for running away. I’d be a hypocrite if I did.”
“I can do it,” whispered Ioanna. Deep down, she had always known it would come to this. She’d been preparing for it for as long as she could recall. Even before Aunt Livia tried to kill her, she’d known she’d have to fight her way to the throne. She’d spent her entire life being regarded with pity and then scorn by her father’s court. Too thin, too soft, too weak.
But Iolar wanted her to be empress, and she would not disappoint him. And even if he didn’t, things had come into sharp focus over the past week. Xytae was on the verge of collapse. It needed her.
But she needed Vitaliya.
She needed to not be alone anymore.
Chapter Ten
VITALIYA
They left Oredia three days later, just as Vitaliya was beginning to think she might die from boredom. After the confrontation with Cytha, everyone was confined to Irianthe’s estate, and Ioanna was so busy making plans with her grandmother and the paladins Vitaliya hardly had a chance to see her.
The carriage they traveled in wasn’t nearly as nice as the one Vitaliya had taken from Bergavenna to Xyuluthe, but still significantly more comfortable than Otho’s wagon. Vel was disguised as their driver, his identifying tabard stowed in with the luggage as to not raise suspicion, and Orsina rode alongside as a guard, similarly disguised. Within the carriage, Aelia (for apparently her name was Aelia, not Elyne) remained with Ioanna and Vitaliya dressed as a maid.
Ioanna would not discuss how she had convinced her grandmother to change her mind about allowing Vitaliya to accompany her on the journey. But Vitaliya suspected she knew the reason for the secrecy: Ioanna didn’t want to admit Irianthe didn’t think Vitaliya was good enough for her. She probably thought Vitaliya would be offended.
But Vitaliya probably wasn’t good enough for Ioanna. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind about that.
“What sort of things are in Metis?” asked Vitaliya as the carriage rattled along. Metis would be the first community they visited as they attempted to gather supporters for Ioanna’s cause. Vitaliya knew it was a midsized city a few days north of Oredia, but not much more. “I mean, what are they famous for?”
“The region primarily raises sheep,” explained Ioanna. “And Metis relies heavily on its weaving—or at least, it used to. They’ve been struggling with the loss of so many workers gone to war and have been forced to reduce the size of their flocks. So, productivity is low.”
“And who controls it?”
“The baron and baroness. Camillus and Sabina. I’ve never met them, or if I have, I don’t remember.” Ioanna unfolded a bit of paper from her pocket and examined it. “My grandmother says they’ve felt the effects of the war sharply, and they asked her for aid last spring. I wonder why they didn’t go to my mother.”
“Did your grandmother help them?”
“Yes, she’s put down a list of exactly what she gave them.” Ioanna turned the paper to show Vitaliya. The list took up most of the page. “I think she’s expecting me to hold it over their heads if they get difficult. But I don’t want to do that.” She chewed her lower lip. “I know that’s silly. I’ll have to do much harsher things if I plan to be empress. But they’ve already struggled so much. I don’t want to add to it.”
“If they’re doing so badly, do you think they’ll be able to give you any soldiers?”
“I don’t expect too much from them,” Ioanna admitted. “But I suppose it’s best to start somewhere small, so I can become more comfortable with requesting support. Right now, I’m terribly nervous.”
“Don’t be!” cried Vitaliya. “You’re the rightful empress, and they should be proud to support you. Especially if it means they’ll get their citizens back from the front.”
“Maybe,” murmured Ioanna. “I just can’t help but think…if it all goes wrong, it will be my fault if they’re arrested or killed.”
“You’re doing this for them,” Vitaliya reminded her not for the first time. “Once you’re empress, it will all be worth it.”
Ioanna laced her fingers with Vitaliya’s and said no more. She’d been so solemn since their encounter with Cytha—even more solemn than usual. Vitaliya wanted to do something to make her laugh. But it was difficult when they were confined to a carriage.
Still, Vitaliya rather liked traveling. Many nobles found it boring, she knew, but she liked to watch the world fly past from her window and daydream. It always made her feel as though she was on the brink of something new. She was glad they were not traveling with a procession of loud, rowdy soldiers who would attract attention and slow them down—though it meant they were more vulnerable to attack.
Vitaliya did not doubt Orsina and Vel were capable fighters, and she could only imagine how fearsome Aelia was when roused, regardless of the impression she gave off. But bringing a few more soldiers along, for strength in numbers, would not have been unwelcome. Especially now that they knew there were chaos gods after them.
As she thought this, she turned her gaze from Ioanna to Aelia—but Aelia was gone. Vitaliya jumped in surprise, for there was no way she could have stepped out of the moving carriage without them noticing. Ioanna made a curious sound.
“What’s the matter?” she murmured. From the tone of her voice, she’d been drifting into sleep just as Vitaliya moved.
“Aelia’s disappeared,” Vitaliya whispered. She reached out and waved one hand over the spot where she’d been sitting, half expecting to hit an invisible torso. But the space was empty.
“Oh.” Ioanna sounded more confused than concerned.
“Do you think something got her?” worried Vitaliya. “Cytha, or…” But if something was going to attack them, surely Ioanna would be the target?
Ioanna pulled the door to the carriage open, and Orsina immediately whipped her head around at the sound. �
��What’s the matter?” she called.
“Aelia’s gone,” said Ioanna. “We didn’t see her leave, but she’s not—”
“Oh, she’ll be back,” said Orsina, as though this was the most ordinary thing in the world. “She gets restless. Don’t worry.”
Ioanna and Vitaliya both looked at each other, equally uncertain. But Orsina’s assessment was correct after all because a few hours later, Aelia wandered out from the road ahead, somehow having managed to overtake them despite being on foot.
Overall, the journey from Oredia to Metis was uneventful. No attack came, whether from chaos gods or ordinary soldiers. Every night, they stopped in a city or town and stayed at an inn. Nobody questioned their story—surprising, considering two of the five members of their party were apparently incapable of telling lies, and Ioanna would only do it under duress. But paladins, she’d come to find, were very good at lying without lying. They could evade, imply, and obfuscate.
Vitaliya felt this was against the spirit of the Order of the Sun’s code if not the letter. But Orsina and Vel explained paladins frequently went into dangerous situations where revealing all they knew—or suspected—might spell disaster.
Vitaliya had not realized how anxious she’d grown over the last week until she caught herself marveling at the fact everyone they encountered seemed to have no trouble believing they truly were just minor noblewomen on an excursion.
They arrived in Metis late in the day. Vitaliya had been expecting a terrible, run-down place reminiscent of the very first village she’d encountered with Ioanna. It certainly wasn’t as wealthy as Oredia. But there were plenty of people around, and most of the fields were clear and well-kept even if they weren’t in use. She peered out the window curiously and wondered if the city’s good fortune was due to luck, Irianthe’s support, or the guardianship of another chaos god.
The baron’s villa was set on the edge of the city, surrounded by a low wall. Beyond it were the walls that surrounded all of Metis and past that, rolling hills. Vitaliya was not surprised to see how the city grew quieter and cleaner as they neared the estate.
