by AC Ellas
Malachite snares for iolite lightning.
S’Rak, a young priest of the Lord of Night, meets S’Avetina, a young priestess who is Loftoni, just like he is. Soon he finds himself embroiled in her family’s plot to see her married—and he’s the intended groom. Can he set a snare for his huntress before she has him entangled?
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Malachite and Iolite
Copyright © 2013 AC Ellas
ISBN: 978-1-77111-744-9
Cover art by Martine Jardin
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Emerald Envisage
Malachite and Iolite
By
AC Ellas
For the romantics lurking within.
Rak stood on the eastern wall of the temple, watching as the sky lightened with the coming dawn, and the stars faded one by one. He was tired, a bone-deep weariness that a few days, or even weeks, could not erase. For five years he and his soul-bonded dragon had been assigned to the army, attached to a nondescript fort on the Aemyrna Line. For five years, he had suffered, and fought, and bled. More than once, he had nearly died. More than once, he had been close to being captured by the enemy, a fate far worse than mere death. His robes had grown nearly as frayed as his nerves before the end.
He’d been forgotten, although such a thing seemed near impossible to him. After he’d sworn his final vows and become a full priest of the Lord of Night, he had been specially assigned to the Strazi, the sect that led the army. Such cross-assignments were common enough, especially amongst the fighting sects, and Rak had been pleased to put his talents to work so thoroughly. But somehow the paperwork had gotten misplaced and the Ekli, the administrative sect, had no record of a Thezi being assigned to that fort. As a result, they had refused to resupply him. War was hard on uniforms…and waistlines, when rations ran short.
Rak had forgiven the absent-minded Thezi high priest for forgetting he’d seconded the newly sworn priest to the Strazi. And he’d forgiven the overtaxed Strazi high command for leaving him in place for five long years without mentioning his existence to the Thezi. But he would never, ever forgive the Ekli, for they had refused to help, denying his presence on the line even when he was standing right there before them. It had been another Thezi sworn Loftoni, the wingleader S’Frai, who had brought her dragon wing down to the fort seeking shelter from a killer sandstorm, who had found him.
He had only been in Okyro for three weeks. Memories of the war were still vivid in his mind. He had but to close his eyes and he could see them, the monstrous creatures of the Unmaker, pouring through a breach in the wall, weapons stabbing and slashing and smashing, the screams of the injured and dying echoing, the stench of blood and offal filling the air—Rak opened his eyes with a gasp.
Soft sounds, barely detectable—leather on stone, a rustle of silk—came from below. He turned his head enough to see a priestess ascending the steps. She was short and winged—Loftoni. But her robes were hemmed with purple glyphs, not green. She was Arrai, a mage, not Thezi. Not a dragonrider. That was so unexpected that Rak had a hard time not staring. He turned his attention back to the dawn. Streaks of rosy light now spread across the horizon.
Even with his gaze on the sky, he was still keenly aware of the woman. When she gained the wall, he slid over to give her space. For a moment, he contemplated jumping off the wall to make good an escape. But then did he really want to escape? He remembered what Tyll had told him.
“Getting married is a duty,” said Tyll, blue eyes smiling at him. “So is having children. Think of it this way, my dearest. We lose hundreds, perhaps thousands, of young people every year. The war is costly. If these young men and women haven’t left children behind, before long, there’d be nobody left to fight.”
“I want to marry you then,” replied Rak, taking Tyll’s hands in his.
“I cannot give you children, my dearest. You can marry me, but you must find a wife as well. A Loftoni wife.”
“What? That is unfair! I not only have to marry, but I have to marry a woman? A Loftoni woman?”
“It is what it is, my dear Rak. Loftoni are rare and precious because dragons are worth their weight in water when it comes to battles. You know how few of your offspring would be winged if you took a human woman to wife. No, she must be Loftoni.”
In the east, the rosy glow strengthened, transmuting to fiery orange as it touched the ground. The incandescent brilliance of the sun broke over the horizon, sending shafts of light that appeared at first a dazzling white, and softly golden further out, as the periwinkle sky lightened several shades to palest blue.
“Good morning, siflion. The sunrise is lovely, is it not?” The woman’s voice was a husky contralto, neither too high in pitch, nor too low. She had called him brother, which was not inappropriate since she was a priestess. Had she been a layperson, sεravion would have been more appropriate, but both terms were denoted by the shortened, honorific S’ placed before the spoken name of all who’d sworn holy vows to the Lord of Night.
Rak looked at her and was surprised to see that her almond eyes were purple-blue. Iolite, he decided. He was familiar with gemstones, for he’d once been adorned with a wide selection of them himself. Her hair was burnished copper, like a freshly minted royal penny. Her face was pleasing to him, delicately built with the slanted cheekbones, jaw, and narrow chin of the Loftoni race. Her wings were her crowning glory—crimson along the leading edge and spars. The sails were the same iolite hue as her eyes, and malachite diamonds, each with a smaller citrine diamond nested within, sprayed across the sails in a distinctive pattern.
“Yes, siflion, the dawn is nearly as lovely as you,” Rak said.
The woman blushed, as if unused to being complimented. “I am S’Avetina, of the Arrai,” she said, almost too quickly. Rak resisted pointing out that her sect was perfectly obvious. It wouldn’t be polite. The Arrai glyphs on her robes were a very close match in hue for the iolite of her eyes, he decided, while the glyphs on his robes matched the malachite diamonds on her wings. He decided to take all this as a sign.
Withholding a smile, but letting his mirth shine through in his expression, he arched his eyebrows, then inclined his head with as much gravity as he could muster, “Well met, siflion-sεravion Avetina,” he said with mock-formality. “I am S’Rak, of the Thezi. And if I could be so bold as to ask, how is it that a lovely Loftoni lady, with such marvelous tesserine wings as I see you have, ends up an Arrai and not a Thezi?”
Ave sighed. “I’m only a quarter Loftoni, my sweet Thezi. My half-Loftoni mother married for love and not for race and, as a result, I inherited my father’s talents and her wings, but no dragon ever came for me, for that ability is one I lack.”
“Surely that is on
e of the only lacks you have.” Rak looked at her for a silent moment, making up his mind. “May I ask something of you, S'Avetina?”
“Of course…and call me Ave as my friends do.”
Gravely, Rak told her, “You may call me whatever you wish, since Rak is so short that it cannot be shortened further, siflion Ave.”
Ave pressed her fingers to her mouth as she tried not to giggle, but the muffled titter gave her away. “What did you wish to ask of me, Rak?”
Rak stepped closer and held out a bare hand, palm up. “I wish to ask your permission to court you, siflion.”
She drew in a deep breath as if surprised, though Rak doubted that, given all the tales he’d heard about Okyran females on the hunt for a husband. She grinned at him and placed her hand palm down in his. “You have my permission to do so, siflion-sεravion Rak.”
Rak smiled at her, trying to communicate his happiness at her response. “Have you had supper yet, m’lady Ave?”
“No, I have not. I just came out of the Temple and saw you up here again, and I couldn’t resist finding out who you were.” Ave glanced at the eastern sky with the wariness of a desert-born creature, and Rak followed her gaze with his own, equally wary. Yes, the Hammer was fully risen now, ascending into the washed-out blue vault of the heavens. Already it was growing hot. Ave looked back at Rak in silent inquiry.
“I know a very nice little public house,” Rak offered, challengingly. “Their food is excellent, and a refreshing change from the standard Temple fare.”
“I accept your invitation, siflion.”
Rak stepped into S’Ravinia’s office and waited for the Thezine to acknowledge him. She was the priestess in charge of all the fighting dragon wings and currently his direct superior, until he was deemed fit enough to return to the fight and assigned to one of the dragon wings.
Ravinia finished writing her notes on the bottom of what looked like a Strazi patrol report and set it aside. She peered at Rak, her fingers steepled before her. “Young S’Rak. You’ve been here how long? Three weeks?”
“Yes, ma’am, in two nights, it will have been three weeks.”
“Have you met S’Tevia yet?”
“S’Tevia? The Syllomeh? No, ma’am. I have heard of her—she is a legend, after all.”
“I’m well aware of that,” said Ravi, dryly. “She’s also my mother.”
Rak was surprised. He blinked at Ravinia, then glanced at her four-colored wings. There were so many tesserine winged Loftoni here in Okyro that he had begun to doubt that four colors was as rare as the slavers had always believed. But S’Tevia had been a princess, the daughter of the King of Loftos. She and her brother, S’Torel, had fled Loftos, bringing their households and retainers, hundreds of Loftoni, to Okyro, to forge a new life in the desert, serving in the brotherhood of dark servants.
Rak wondered then if the tesserine winged Loftoni here in Okyro were all descendants of Tevia and Torel. He wondered what branch of the Lofton Royal Family he came from. Was he related to Tevia? Undoubtedly, since they were both tesserine, but how closely? That was the key. He worried that perhaps he was too closely related to Ave, but without knowing who his parents were, there was no way to know if he was a distant cousin or a close one.
“You are dating a young woman named Avetina, are you not?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Rak warily.
“Tevia instructed me to tell you that Avetina is a good match for you. You have the leave of the family to court her and win her hand. But you cannot tell her that we support the match.”
“Why not?” Rak was totally confused. He was allowed to court Ave, but he wasn’t allowed to tell her that he was allowed to court her? It made no sense whatsoever.
“Because my daughter is stubborn and willful and intent on choosing her own mate without any interference or help from the family. A mate of her choice, not ours. Therefore, if she thinks, even for a moment, that we support her choice in mates, she’ll break it off with you.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because you are too obedient! If I ordered you to stop courting her, you wouldn’t even think twice about defying my command.”
Rak opened his mouth to protest, then closed it with a snap. Ravi was right. He would obey such an order, no matter how much it hurt. “So you are ordering me to win her hand? Without telling her anything?”
“Without telling her anything of this conversation, or of S’Tevia’s words. You can tell her anything you like about yourself, of course, and expect to have some uncomfortable conversations, because I will do my best to convince Ave to break it off. That’s the best way to ensure she turns even more firmly towards you. She’s too smart to fall for a half-hearted effort on my part. I have to seem like I am dead set against this match. Please don’t take offense.”
Rak could only shake his head. He felt rather like a token in a game of tabliv. “Yes, ma’am, I will do my best, of course.” He wondered how he could possibly pull this off.
The Celebration of the Fall of Night was informally known as the Evening Service, or Evensong for those in a real hurry. Rak arrived well before the start of Evensong, while the light of the westerly sun still streamed through the smoky glass dome to illuminate the black marble nave. Few priests came into the nave this early so Rak had only the most devout of the Movai, the sect of the monks, for company. The Movai made no protest as Rak stepped up onto the raised siastrion, the sanctuary space which held and protected the vomosion, the Altar of their God.
In a show of respect, Rak bowed to the altar, fisted arms crossed before him. Then he went to one knee, bowed his head, and prayed for guidance. Zotien didn’t answer in words, but He did answer. Rak felt the dark power sliding over him in a celestial caress. With that sensation came feelings of belonging, of support, and of love. Rak took comfort from that. No matter how impossible his duty might seem, Zotien was with him. Rak murmured a prayer of thanks, then stood and carefully stepped back from the altar. Once he was off the siastrion, it was safe to turn and walk to the section of the nave designated for the Thezi.
There was no actual written rule requiring a priest to stand in the section below the sigil of his sect, it was merely custom. But in Okyro custom often had the force of divine law. Rak didn’t mind the custom. He preferred the company of his siflion’aerεsia, the brothers of his own sect, to the sifliona of the other sects. Thezi priests were all dedicated to the same purpose—the rearing, training, and healing of the sacred beasts of night. Rak loved all the marvelous creatures that had allied with the Storm Lord, from the smallest mastigi to the biggest dragons and basilisk.
A powerful healer, though young and dragon-bonded, Rak had already earned the respect of his brothers. He was more welcome amongst the Thezi than he had ever been welcome anywhere in his entire life. Surrounded by his siflion’aerεsia was like being surrounded by the family he’d never had. It was acceptance and belonging, and Rak’s devotion to his brothers was only eclipsed by his devotion to his God. Rak stopped just short of the invisible line that separated the Thezi section from the Arrai.
He thought it was very convenient that Ave’s sect should stand so close to his, for it meant he could stand beside her without breaking with custom. If her sect’s glyph hadn’t been placed next to that of the Thezi, Rak would have been forced to break that unwritten law to stand with her. He would have done it, he had no doubts about that, but he was just as happy that it wouldn’t be necessary.
When Ave arrived, the nave was already half full and filling fast. Nobody cared to come late to Evensong, though attendance at any rite wasn’t mandatory. Ave stopped beside him, just on the Arrai side of the line. She had lovely purple ribbons woven into her hair, holding the copper tresses back from her elfin face. Rak forgot to breathe for a moment when she turned a brilliant smile on him.
He mentally shook himself as Ravinia walked into the nave. The humor of the situation was suddenly apparent. He’d been ordered to do exactly wh
at he wanted to do. He hid a smile and asked, “M’lady, did you sleep well?”
Ave nodded. “Yes, siflion, thank you.” She glanced at Ravinia pointedly. Rak followed her gaze and wondered if Ravi had started trying to warn Ave off yet. He glanced back at Ave in inquiry. Ave grimaced and flashed a hand signal that translated to later. Rak nodded his understanding and turned his attention to the altar. It was the Perrai’s turn to officiate tonight, so the Perromeh was at the vomosion, paying his respects before Evensong began.
His hand found Ave’s as the chant began, and they sang the praises to the Lord of Night together. Rak enjoyed the sound of her lilting contralto, and she seemed pleased with his tenor tones. When the service came to an end, he turned to her, still holding her hand. “M’lady, are you doing anything this hour?”
“No, I’m not…I won’t be needed until the third hour.”
“Then let us go enjoy the evening together.” Rak tugged gently on her hand, oblivious to the glare Ravi was now sending in their direction.
“We’re being watched, Rak. Or at least, I am. Is there someplace private where we could go to talk?”
“This way, siflion.” Rak led her through one of the side corridors of the temple, then down a staircase to the first sublevel. The complex layout of rooms and corridors beneath the temple defied rational explanation, and most of the priesthood didn’t venture too deep, for the further down one went, the more dangerous it became. He navigated this maze with ease. As a Thezi, he knew most the maze’s secrets and had explored many of the deeper sublevels. Rak didn’t descend very low tonight, in part because Ave was with him and in part because he didn’t want to waste the time.
Reaching a particular cross-corridor, the intersection marked by the dragon’s eye glyph, Rak turned, heading back up on a different stair. The landing field wasn’t far now. As he opened the door that let out into the outside, Rak glimpsed the surprised expression on Ave’s face. Many of the brethren had no idea exactly how extensive the maze really was. Rak knew, but her surprise still amused him.
