She reached up and touched her glowing arm bracelet. “When I use magic, does it make you feel jealous?”
He nodded. “Yes, it does. But I’ll help you anyway. I’ll help you grow your new forest. Your own personal forest, and I’ll cheer you on as you learn the arts of your people. I’ll help you bond with them, even if it’s something I can never be a part of.”
“But if it hurts you that much, why would you do that?”
He looked up at her fondly. “Because I want you to be happy.”
* * *
The Glimmering Caves of Reinala were a brilliant white, the kind that would make even freshly fallen snow look grey. Agaprei had to squint at times, but forced herself not to, so as to drink up as much as she could. This was the grand event of the season, and she didn’t want to miss a moment of it.
The great opal walls mirrored fractal colors, the walls so deep it almost felt like they were liquid pearl with metallic pigments suspended in them. Agaprei almost felt like she could reach out and submerge her arm into those flawlessly carved walls. The hall was so impossibly large, that she couldn’t make herself believe they were actually in the heart of a mountain. So tall that up towards the ceiling small clouds formed.
Great chandeliers of blossoming flowers hung from the ceiling, stepped terraces like crystal platforms, leading up to the uppermost point where Reinala’s throne sat, wreathed in golden flame and pearl wings.
Nearly every godfather and godmother in Agadis was present, dressed in their finest tailcoats and ball gowns. It was a riot of splendor, with hundreds of servants flittering about like they had forgotten how to stand still.
Agaprei felt like she was floating on air as she moved from group to group, introducing herself to each godfather and godmother with a deep formal curtsey. Her limbs felt supercharged, her head giddy with the opulence around her. She indulged in a little twirl, enjoying the way her own gown fanned out around her. Her dress had the poofy sleeves she had always wanted as a little girl. She felt like a princess, and she hoped the night would never end.
~
Up on one terrace, Delia, Godmother of Poetry, reclined in a gown that looked like an army of artisans had worked on nothing else for a year. Which was not far from the truth. She looked on with ill-concealed disgust as she watched the gaunt and awkward Godmother Mónos hiding behind a stalagmite, pretending to be interested in the tool marks along the wall, practically shivering as she prayed that no one would come up and talk to her.
“Ugh, would you just look at that?” she scoffed. “What is she doing here?”
Celia, Godmother of Song, grabbed a fresh glass of champagne from a passing tray, and gave a superior sniff. “Would you just look at what she’s wearing? It’s like someone put a dress on a stick.”
Thelia, Godmother of Theater, gave a curt smile as she swirled her glass in her hand. “I’ve seen her bathe, I know she does, yet her hair always looks so oily and stringy. How is that even possible?”
“I wonder how much ambrosia it would take to clean her up?”
“Not even a miracle could untangle that mess.”
The trio watched as Mónos waited for an opening at the banquet table. Checking to make sure no one was around, Mónos scuttled over and began scooping and dumping whole plates of food into her bag. Checking one more time to make sure no one had noticed, she returned to her hiding spot behind the stalagmite.
Delia threw back her glass then tossed it aside, letting the servants swoop in to clean up the broken shards. “Oh would you just look at that? It’s disgusting.”
“Who could possibly eat that much foie gras?” Celia asked.
“It’s like someone let a little homeless lady in here. It’s so pathetic.”
“And sad,” Thelia added.
“It’s pathetisad.”
Delia rolled her eyes. “Stop trying to make pathetisad a thing, it’s not going to happen.”
“Why is that hobo even here?” Celia wondered, plucking up a fine chocolate from her plate.
“Didn’t you hear? Lichas brought her into his familia?”
“Ugh, out of pity, I’m sure.”
Delia sucked on her teeth. “And just look at her stupid little champion. Talking to everyone like she belongs here. Doesn’t she know she’s a laughingstock?”
They watched as Agaprei gave a formal curtsey to Lichas and spoke to him. All of the other champions in the room knew their place and huddled together on the lowest platform. Only Agaprei dared to move around and mingle with the deities themselves.
Delia leaned in. “Did you hear? Mónos hasn’t even given her a celestial weapon yet.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“That is so embarrassing. I would die.”
Celia covered her mouth. “I bet when she finally does, it’ll probably be a helmet with cat ears and a belt with a tail.”
Thelia laughed out loud.
Delia looked around warily at the servants nearby. “Careful what you say, some ailuros might hear you.”
Thelia quieted down. “Yeah, you’re right. “If I have to go through beastman sensitivity training one more time I’m going to wipe a city off the map.”
“Not one of mine I hope. I just had the roads cleaned.”
Thelia smiled, a twinkle in her eye. “No promises.”
Celia sat up straight with an idea. “One of us should challenge Mónos to a duel just for fun. Since her champion has no weapon, it’ll be a slaughter.”
Delia concurred. “I’d like to see a siren beheaded.”
“They probably sing even when they scream.”
“I’d like to hear that, actually.”
Celia cocked a well-plucked eyebrow. “Wow, Delia, you are vicious today.”
“It’s not her fault. She’s upset.”
“About what?”
“You didn’t hear? Someone killed her nephew.”
“Half-nephew,” Delia corrected, downing a fresh glass of champagne.
Celia blinked. “Wait, what? Are you kidding? I thought that was just a rumor.”
“I wish it was. We found his body yesterday, along with one of his lackeys who was there when it happened.”
“But, he’s a demi-god. Demi-gods can’t die.”
“Well, apparently they can, and here’s the scary part. The one who killed him was a human.”
Celia covered her mouth. “How?”
Thelia’s eyes went wide. “Wait, you don’t mean THAT human?”
Delia nodded. “Yeah, that monster that destroyed Nisi; it’s the same guy, the champion of Ambera.”
Celia looked sick to her stomach. “By the Fates…”
“Yeah, everyone in my familia is terrified of what Ambera might do next.”
“Well, now I’m scared, too,” Thelia added.
Celia placed her glowing hand on Delia’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry about your nephew. This has never happened before. I don’t even know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything,” Delia said, grabbing a sumptuous hors d’oeuvre and sniffing it. “Skótadi was a creep. I hated his guts. He was obsessed with his lame little experiments, trying to distill curses and make them more potent, or something stupid like that.”
“What a waste of time. Like that’s even possible.”
“Exactly. Still, the whole thing has me scared. Like, really scared.”
Thelia sat quietly, her glowing eyes distant. “What if Ambera comes after my familia?”
“I know, right?”
Delia teased the tips of her glowing braided hair, which flowed like water. “Right now, we still don’t know what we’re dealing with. My father is looking into it. He has spies everywhere. For now, whatever you do, don’t go to duelist court with her.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“Totally.”
Delia grabbed Thelia’s wrist when she saw Agaprei walking towards them.
“Oh, please don’t tell me she thinks she can talk to us.”
Agaprei gave a formal curtsey and politely introduced herself.
“Oh, it is so wonderful to meet you,” Delia said brightly. “I love your dress.”
“Oh, thank you,” Agaprei responded happily. “I made it myself.”
“Did you?” Celia gushed happily. “I would never have known, that is so wonderful.”
“I am so happy that Mónos finally got herself a champion,” Thelia praised. “And such a young and pretty one at that.”
“Thank you, everyone here has been so nice,” Agaprei said happily.
“We need more girl champions, don’t you think?” Delia suggested.
“Oh definitely,” Thelia agreed. “I’m going to get one myself later today.”
The brand on Agaprei’s neck began to flash. “Oh, my godmother summons me,” she said with a bow. “I must excuse myself.”
“It was so nice to meet you,” Delia said happily.
As soon as Agaprei skipped off, all three of the godmothers frowned.
“Did she really just come up and talk to us?” Delia hissed.
“Who does she think she is?” Thelia snarled.
“I spoke to a champion of Mónos. Eww. I need to burn these clothes.” Celia fretted.
“Ugh, I hate her so much.”
“Did you see that clip in her hair? Who wears a waterfall clip?”
“So tacky.”
“It’s not even enchanted. It doesn’t move, it doesn’t flow, it doesn’t make noise. Why even wear it?”
“She probably made it herself.”
“It’s pathetic.”
“And sad.”
“It’s pathetisad.”
Delia gave Celia a venomous glance.
“Sorry.”
~
Mónos emptied a plate of éclairs into her bag as Agaprei stepped up and bowed reverently.
“How are you holding out, Godmother?”
“Not well,” she snapped, licking her fingers and closing up her bulging bag. “I told you this was a bad idea. I want to leave.”
“I know, but I’m only allowed to be in here as your attendant. If you leave, then I have to leave.”
“Then let’s go.”
“I’m almost done, I just need a few more signatures.”
“Signatures?”
Agaprei pulled out a glowing contract. “Tah dah! I’m putting in a motion to change your celestial title.”
Mónos nearly dropped her bag. “Wha…”
“You will no longer be the godmother of shut-ins and cat-ladies. Instead you will be known as the godmother of private introspection and animal companionship.”
“But, isn’t that the same thing?”
“That’s the beauty of it. You’ll still have the same authority and territory, it’s just a more customer friendly package this way.”
“But…I like my title.”
“You may like it, but beastmen don’t. Shut-ins and cat ladies connotes images of cages, isolation, animals as pets. I did a focus group yesterday. Believe me, you would not like the results. Beastmen aren’t going to worship someone who sees them as a pet. They want dynamic partnership, thoughtfulness, a godmother who treats them on equal terms. If we’re going to bring in beastmen followers, you’re going to need a total rebranding.”
“R-rebranding?” she stuttered.
“Oh yeah. Just imagine it, ‘Mónos, the godmother to beastman and human alike.’ It’s got a very inclusive ring to it, don’t you think? We’ll put a huge marquee over your temple, illuminated by torchlight twenty-four hours a day. We’re going to hold festivals, outdoor pledge drives, advertising campaigns, a book deal with an inside exclusive into your private life…”
Mónos let out a sound somewhere between a squeak and a death moan. Black fire began to flicker up around her feet.
Agaprei clapped her hands. “Oh, in fact, I was going to show you this when we got back, but I’ve already secured a pavilion. Your uncle Lichas said we can use his stadium in Corono to host your first games.”
Mónos looked like she might pass out. Her black fire rose up higher around her ankles. “Games?”
“Yeah, it’ll be great. Your current followers can come out and get to know you, and you can draw in a whole crowd of new followers. The best part is, beastmen can attend for free.”
“B-b-b-but, my followers like me because I don’t hold festivals. They like me because I never host games and I don’t have any holy days. They are cat ladies and shut-ins; they don’t want to go outside and mingle, and neither do I. Why do you think my temple only had a mail slot on it and not a door? They could just drop off their tribute, and be left alone. I asked little of them, and they asked little of me, and that’s how we like it.”
“Godmother, you put me in charge of bringing on beastmen followers.”
Her fire burned higher. “Well, find another way to do it, because you are ruining everything! You made me dress up, you made me go outside. You made me go to a gala. You made me talk to people. You made me wear this new dress and shoes.”
“But you look great in the shoes.”
“But they’re not me. They make a clickity-clack sound that draws attention. I like going barefoot. Quiet, silent, unassuming. No one notices you.”
“You can’t go barefoot. No one respectable goes barefoot.”
Black fire rose up around her in great gouts. “Maybe I don’t want to be respectable. I’m going to need a year of solitude just to recharge from this, but I can’t, and do you know why? Because you bring so many visitors to my temple I feel like I can’t walk around my own sanctum anymore. I have to hide in the cellar just to have time to myself. You are driving me crazy! Do you hear me? Crazy!”
It was then that Mónos realized that everyone nearby was staring at her. Mortified, her flames died out and she jumped beneath the banquet table, banging her head as she attempted to hide.
Agaprei looked around and laughed nervously. “Don’t worry, everyone, she just dropped her spectacles. I’ll…help her find them.”
Agaprei crawled under the table as well, finding Mónos curled up in the fetal position.
“Godmother, give me a moment to think. This is a problem, but I’m positive I can overcome it.”
“Please just leave me alone,” Mónos whimpered.
Agaprei twirled a lock of her lavender hair, her long ears twitching thoughtfully. “Okay, if you don’t want to recruit from the local population, then the only other option would be to send an emissary to a beastman tribe and try to recruit them directly. The problem is, proselytizing rights to all the beastmen tribes in the Confederacy have already been claimed by other deities in the pantheon, which leaves Erotan, and I think the only beastman tribe they still tolerate there are the ailuros.”
Mónos looked up hopefully. “The cat-people?”
“They don’t like to be called that, but yes.”
Mónos sat up, bonking her head against the table again. “Good, great, let’s do that. You can leave immediately.”
“I’d be happy, to, Godmother, but I’m not sure we have the cash available to fund a trip like that.”
“I don’t care. Just go, right now. I’ll take out a loan or something. Just, please, go and leave me alone!”
A chorus of silver trumpets rang out, and everyone in the cave bowed in reverence. Mónos and Agaprei barely managed to scurry free from underneath the table and bow themselves before the gates opened.
Reinala stepped in. The Elder Godmother, Queen of Earth and Master of Mountains. She carried herself regally as she passed, pausing to give each deity a chance to place a kiss on her ring. Her purple eyes were deep with wisdom, looking over each member of her familia, searching for any signs of excess ambition or treachery. Her long green hair flowed back behind her like a long bridal train of leaves and vines as she ascended the steps up to her throne. At the predetermined moment, her servants signaled the choir, and they stepped forward, singing an angelic oration to her reign and glory in the old tongue.
She turned around at her throne, waiting for the crescendo of the song, then sat down at the final note.
The music concluded, the choir was shooed away, one of the younger members tripping on her unnecessarily long choir dress and falling with a splat to the floor. Many of the guests winced in embarrassment to see it, but Reinala gave no indication of noticing. A guard swooped down and scooped up the fallen chorister, whisking her off to an ante chamber while everyone else in the hall stood at attention.
She opened her mouth, her voice lovely, like the ringing of crystal bells.
“Too long have we sat in our halls drinking, while the foul gods of Erotan remain unconquered…”
Delia covertly set down her wine glass and slid it behind her.
“…too long have we lounged in our beds, smoking and feasting, while the treacherous Sirend mocks us by sitting on his false throne…”
Lichas stealthily sucked his cigar into his mouth and swallowed it, the burning ember visible as it swirled around inside his body.
“…four and a half centuries since the breaking of the heavens we have made war, and what do we have to show for it? Do we own a single acre of Erotanian territory? No, not one. What’s worse, several of our coastal cities are under the control of Nisi, giving them a foothold into our lands.”
She looked over the assembled deities and champions, each one averting their gaze in shame.
“Whom shall I blame, then?” she asked curtly.
Shoulders tightened and faces winced, awaiting the punishment they knew was about to come.
“I blame myself,” Reinala stated clearly.
Many present were so shocked by her declaration that the looked up in surprise.
“I have not done all I could to sustain and encourage you. I have not done all I could to help you defeat our enemies. I have accepted your tithes, but have not given you value in return. And for that, I ask for your forgiveness.”
“No, Godmother, the fault lies with us,” Lichas spoke aloud.
“You have not failed us, we have failed you,” shouted another.
Many more spoke up, begging her pardon and swearing to redouble their efforts. Still more added their voices, until it became a choir.
Reinala covered her mouth to try and hide her satisfied smirk. Once again, they had played right into her hand.
Ambrosia Page 38
