by R. K. Thorne
“A slave,” Miara said coldly.
Gerana stopped short. “Pardon?”
Miara folded her arms across her chest, frowning back at her. “How do you feel about mages, my dear High Priestess of Nefrana?”
The woman tensed, but said nothing.
“And how about the Devoted? Are you fond of them?”
Gerana frowned. “Hardly. Their faith is admirable—”
“Is it?” Miara’s voice was sharp as the Great Stone itself.
“—but the goddess would never justify murder.”
“And what about slavery? Would she justify that?”
Gerana blinked, her lips parted but no words coming out. Finally she managed, “You are… a mage, I hear?”
“As is our king,” said Miara flatly. “I’m certain you’ve heard by now.”
The priestess swallowed and glanced around. Calculating her response? It had better be a good one. “I’d never heard of the Devoted practicing slavery,” Gerana said softly, “but how could anyone do anything but condemn it? Especially in Nefrana’s name.”
Miara eased slightly. The words sounded as sincere. Gerana could be a good actress, and what else could she say, with a mage suddenly king? But the words rang true.
Miara turned and restarted their walk, preferring to train her eyes on the marble instead of the priestess’s face. The priestess followed her lead, and they strolled out of the main court hall and onto the raised walkway that overlooked the barracks and its yard.
“I had the misfortune to be born in Kavanar,” Miara said. “When I was five years old, my mother gave me up to the Devoted upon discovering I was a mage. I was enslaved with magic, branded with fire, bound with a spell I couldn’t resist, even in my mind. I was forced to work as a healer. As I grew older, I began receiving other, more dangerous assignments.” She paused, waiting to see if Gerana was keeping up.
“I am sorry to hear you suffered at your mother’s hands.”
Miara frowned, caught off guard at the sudden lump in her throat. Were these sincere condolences or simply a way to tear open the first wound she could find, to throw Miara off-balance? She glared down at her feet and said nothing.
“Tell me, are all mages enslaved in Kavanar?”
Miara nodded, surprised but relieved at the factual question. “And any they can kidnap from neighboring lands too, via the efforts of the Devoted.”
The priestess covered her mouth with a concerned hand, and for the first time Miara realized Gerana was deeply disturbed, her brow furrowed and eyes crinkled almost as if in pain. A far cry from Alikar’s reaction, at the very least.
After a longer moment of silence had passed, Miara continued. “And that is how our paths crossed. My assignments started off trivial, spying on the Kavanarian king for the Masters, but eventually I was tasked with kidnapping a very prominent foreign mage. You might know him.”
Gerana caught her breath. “That… is a far cry from marrying him. Or courting him.”
“I did not intend to court him. I hoped he’d defeat me. I had no reason to hate him, and indeed every reason quite the opposite.”
“Apparently. How? How did you escape your task?”
“Long story, but suffice to say, I failed.” That was not precisely true, but it might be the more diplomatic and easier-to-accept story. “Aven freed me in the process, and I have been fighting at our king’s side ever since.”
She paused, but Gerana said nothing as they walked, sun streaming in and bathing them in warmth for a moment.
“I will continue to fight for him, as long as I am able,” Miara continued, softer now. “I owe him everything.”
“Well, that explains it.” Gerana was nodding now, although still frowning.
“Explains what?”
“How you attracted him.”
“You say that like I had some scheme to gain the throne, and nothing could be farther from the truth,” Miara said harshly.
Gerana smiled at her now. “I know. And it puts my mind at ease. Forgive the phrasing, force of habit.” She waved her hand as if shooing away a leaf on the wind. “But you must tell me more—these slaves. Something must be done.”
Miara’s eyes widened. “These mage slaves?”
“Yes.”
“Surely as a priestess of Nefrana you might have some… opinions about the use of magic. You’ve quite deftly avoided outlining them so far. I can’t say I blame you as you stare down a king and future queen clearly on one side of the debate, but…”
“But what?”
“But I would rather know your true opinion and respect it than deal in lies.”
Gerana’s jaw clenched. “The church’s opinion on… mages… is evolving,” she said haltingly.
“You can do better than that.”
Gerana raised an eyebrow. “You’re even more straightforward than he is.”
Miara smiled mischievously. “Straightforward, frank, blunt, lacking in subtlety… I think I will choose to take that as a compliment.”
“My personal opinion is not terribly relevant,” Gerana said. “The official stance of our church is weighed by six separate temples, each with varying exposure to mages and the Devoted. Here in Panar, I have the benefit of seeing many different types of people. Some of the more remote temples may not even hear of this war until it is nearly over. Our Panaran temple also has the greatest, oldest library of any of the city’s temples, even those temples to Anara and Mastikos.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“We have records that date back before the Dark Days. Personal accounts. Journals. Illustrations. The accounts of the Dark Days themselves vary wildly, but if you go back far enough, there are accounts of mages of great faith and service. I have read some of them myself.”
Miara frowned. “Mages who abstained from using their magic, you mean?”
“No,” Gerana said quickly. “They specifically recount using it in the goddess’s name. Alongside something they called the holy connection.”
Now Miara did not know what to say. If only Sefim were here. “I’ve never heard of that before in my life.”
Gerana waved it off. “My point is, the church’s stance has been evolving for decades, centuries even, and it continues to evolve. My personal opinion is I do not know what to believe. I don’t presume to know Nefrana’s will ever, except when she speaks through my conscience, through guilt, through kindness and charity. I do know that the future queen who stands in front of me has already bestowed remarkable acts of kindness on the Akarian people. And I also know my conscience clearly says enslaving anyone is wrong, and it is our duty to help them.”
Miara stopped abruptly and smiled at Gerana, who looked startled. “You are a refreshing change of pace, you know that? When you take the straightforward route.”
Gerana smiled back tentatively. “Thank you. I think?”
Miara nodded and began walking again, this time back toward the court hall. It was high time she returned to Aven’s side. “We are working hard already to free slaves. Progress has been slow to nonexistent. Our techniques are limited, but it’s better than the nothing we had this time last year.” Miara shrugged. “I do not know how this war will go, but I hope it brings an end to it all.”
Nodding sternly, Gerana stared down at the marble. “I don’t suppose there is much my temple can do to help.”
“You can follow our orders and send any willing mages to me. You can support our king and his war. And me.”
“There was no question of that.”
That had certainly not been clear from her first words, but Miara didn’t doubt it now. Why the word games, though? Maybe someday—decades from now—Miara would understand how these people worked. But for now, her first altercation seemed to have gone rather well. Had it been too easy? Miara had employed about as much subtlety as a battering ram. If she caught people off guard with blunt frankness, perhaps that was a courtly game in and of itself. In fact, now that she thought about it,
Aven and his parents had used it quite often, even on her. Verbal ambushes. Maybe Miara wasn’t as out of her element as she’d thought.
“I will keep your interest in helping in mind and advise the king to do the same,” Miara promised. “Anything you can do to ease the stigma against mages would be a boon. I have heard rumors your Third Temple is more friendly with the Devoted than you seem to be.”
The priestess paled. “You can’t be serious.”
“It may be only rumors. But it would certainly earn my gratitude if such collusion were stamped out.”
“I will speak with Ediama and do what must be done.”
Miara smiled as sweetly as she could. “Thank you for suggesting this walk, Priestess Gerana. It has been very thought provoking. And pleasant. And good for the blood.” While awkwardly stitched together, Miara thought that wasn’t a terrible attempt at courtly etiquette.
Gerana smiled and bowed, more deeply than before. “My sentiments as well, Arms Master. I will not keep you from your betrothed’s side any longer. Good day to you.”
“And to you as well.”
As Gerana led Miara away, Aven had to wonder if this was some kind of concerted effort by the holy women of Nefrana because, of course, Priestess Ediama stepped up next. He’d sent a stern warning to the Third Temple, also known as the Matron’s Tears, reminding them that working with the Devoted to kidnap or kill people was completely unacceptable, not to mention against the law. It would not be tolerated.
He didn’t know if they’d take heed. They might not understand the force of his conviction until the unit he’d left in charge of the matter had to arrest someone.
If any of this ruffled Ediama—or had even reached her ears—she showed no sign. She smiled and curtsied gracefully, radiating warmth, but also power. Young to be high priestess, she had always been a dark beauty, her olive skin and long, curling, black hair striking against the white robes of Nefrana. Somehow she had managed to finagle an audience with Aven every time he’d visited Ranok. All four of them. Not an easy thing to do.
“Priestess Ediama,” he said, giving the slightest bow and head nod in return. “How have you fared?”
“Your Highness,” she said a little too grandly. Her wide smile never slipped. “Congratulations on your ascent to the kingship.”
He blinked, then nodded again. “Thank you. How fares the Third Temple?”
“As Nefrana wills us,” she said dreamily.
His expression had hardened each time she’d spoken, and he glared now. “Does Nefrana will you into the arms of the Devoted?”
She tilted her head, feigning confusion while her smile remained firmly affixed. “Is this about that nasty rumor? Must we talk about such nonsense on such a momentous occasion?”
“Rumor or no, I’m happy to remind you of Akarian law.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
Don’t roll your eyes, don’t roll your eyes. “I’m also happy to enforce it,” he said, the edge in his voice so hard he could’ve sliced with it. She had by no means denied anything.
“Of course, Your Highness.”
Just how nonsensical of a statement could he utter and still get her to respond the same patronizing way? He was tempted to try it, but it likely wasn’t the best way to assert his authority as a new king. When he was gray in the beard, he could try stunts like that. If he lived that long. Still, he couldn’t crush the desire to punch through that smiling façade to the truth of her. He sighed. Maybe he did prefer Estun to this courtly sort of life, dark cavern or no.
“Did you know I recently had a run-in with the Devoted myself?” he said slowly, hoping to catch her off guard.
And indeed, her smile faltered. “N-no, Your Highness. I have heard no such news.”
“Of course. You are one of the select few I’m sharing it with.” He smiled even as he wanted to roll his eyes at himself now. That technique might turn his stomach, but it worked. “I had the misfortune of tangling with them in the Gilaren forest, not long ago.”
“Oh my,” she breathed. If her mix of concerned and impressed was an act, it was quite a good one. She flopped one hand over her heart. “Was anyone injured?”
“They were. All of them.” He eyed her hard, and she simply returned his stare, unsure how to respond. “So you see, this Devoted thing is personal. Listen. I know you may have mixed opinions on mages. Even within the temples of Nefrana, I know there are differences in thought on what the goddess approves and does not approve. But I’m a mage, and this is war. Dozens if not hundreds of mages are headed to our doorstep.”
Her eyes widened, but she remained frozen.
He lowered his voice. “You don’t have to agree with me. But if you want to survive this war with Kavanar, you better make sure no one in your temple is persecuting mages. Or working with the Devoted in any way. If I find out they are, I will hold you personally responsible. Understand?”
“Of course. Your Highness.”
He would have laughed at the same words again, but her tone had sobered and was now more frightened than smooth and buttery. Something about the words “if you want to survive” tended to get people’s attention. “If you hear of any mages, I want them sent to Ranok, to the future queen, as the proclamation said.”
Ediama glanced around, the sweet-fake smile tentatively returning. “Is she in attendance, sire? I had hoped I would meet her here.”
“If you don’t like mages, you won’t like her any more than me.”
The priestess grinned broadly, almost patronizing. “Your Highness, I never said—”
He had no interest being lied to. He cut her off. “Ah, there she is,” he said, gesturing to the back of the hall. “She’s just returned from taking a stroll with Priestess Gerana.”
For some reason, her brow crinkled at the sight. Didn’t like a priestess so familiar with a mage? Some kind of competition for favor or dominance?
“Ah, yes, I see them,” she said sweetly. “Sire, you have many others waiting to attend you. Before I take my leave, I did have two requests for you. Well, questions really. Your Highness.”
“Yes?”
“King Samul had been planning to support a winter feast in two month’s time for the orphans at the Matron’s Tears. And for the widows of Panar. Can I still count on your support?”
“Of course.” Assuming the city still stood and the war hadn’t utterly ruined the kingdom financially by then. He hoped he could assume those things, but he decided not to mention them. This time. He’d scared her enough. “And the other request?”
“One of my priestesses was at a royal function and has not returned. Do you happen to know the whereabouts of Priestess Niat? I’ve seen soldiers searching the city, but they’ll never tell us anything about what they’re searching for or if they found it.”
He frowned. Could he trust her with news of Thel’s kidnapping? Was there any reason to keep such a thing a secret? The guards kept confidence as a manner of protocol, but the woman did deserve to know where her priestess was. And she was probably with Thel, although he certainly didn’t know for sure.
“She is a seer, sire, of great power. Her talents are just beginning to develop. I’m concerned for her health outside of the temple. And she could be of great use to you in the war I’m sure in predicting future movements of your enemies.” The last bit sounded tacked on, as if she was scraping for a reason to motivate him to bother looking for Niat. Well, perhaps that was fair. He hadn’t been concerned about her until now, only his brother.
“A seer? What has she predicted?”
“Only small things so far. She is just beginning, as I’ve said, and it’s been a rocky start for her. I’ve heard…” She shook her head.
“What? What have you heard?”
Ediama looked down at his feet, no longer smiling. She let out the words grudgingly, although nothing seemed to drain the dreamy, almost sickly sweet quality of her voice. “I’ve heard she predicted seeing a city fall. Walls and roofs in flames.
I didn’t want to believe it. I’ve also heard rumors her father made a deal to marry her off and move her to Gilaren in spite of her vows to our temple.”
“Gilaren?” said Aven slowly.
“Yes, the rumors said— Perhaps they involved some sort of deal with Lord Alikar.”
“Lord Alikar is already married.”
“I know, sire. As you can see I have multiple reasons for being concerned, or I wouldn’t have bothered you. I’m sure your time is more valuable than this, but—”
“She may be with my brother Thel, who has been kidnapped by Lord Alikar. Alikar has also been charged with treason, you might be interested to know.”
She caught her breath. “Treason, sire?”
“He tried to bribe two other Assembly members with Kavanarian gold.”
“Oh, no. And you think Niat might be with them?”
“She was near them during the attack on the tower, after the function she attended. Her body wasn’t found among the rubble, and neither was Thel’s. I know Thel is with the Kavanarians, but we weren’t looking for signs of her specifically.”
“Surely you will send men to—”
“We have,” he said slowly, his voice darkening. “The unit we sent was wiped out. We are currently devising another strategy.” That sounded better than saying they had no idea what the hell they were going to do.
She stared, mouth open now. “Wiped out…? How? By whom?”
“By twenty Kavanarian mages, who burned our brave men and women alive.”
She went nearly as pale as her robes.
“So you’ll see why I am deadly serious about my first topic, Priestess. No Devoted. No persecution of mages. It is truly a matter of life and death that we find more to join our ranks.”
“I understand, sire,” she said very softly now.
“I will let you know if we learn anything of Niat. But I wouldn’t count on it. This war is bigger than one seer, or even one prince. Even if he is my brother. We’ve turned our efforts to the broader war for now. And you will let me know if you discover any mages. Deal?”