by Jenna Glass
“So, just how dangerous is this task?” Mother Zarend asked when she regained her composure.
“It’s hard to quantify,” Ellin responded. “The seer will be required to take a potion that works in conjunction with a seer’s poison. One of the Women’s Well seers volunteered to test it, and though she proved it was effective, she became gravely ill from the effects and passed away. The healers say it might have been the result of a weak heart, but they cannot say for sure that a fully healthy woman would fare better. I would recommend that no woman who is not young and healthy volunteer for the mission. And I would make sure she fully understands the dangers involved.”
Mother Zarend met her eyes. “Forgive me for saying so, but I’m not sure you fully understand what it is like to be imprisoned in the Abbey—even now when you have done away with the worst of the abuses. I suspect there are very few women here who would not happily risk death for the hope of freedom.”
Ellin was struck speechless, the words exploding somewhere in her chest and taking her breath away. She had thought that by doing away with mandatory service in the pavilion, she had taken a large step toward making life in the Abbey tolerable.
Mother Zarend’s voice gentled, although Ellin could not miss the steel that flashed in her eyes. “Before you became queen, you had some personal experience of what it feels like to have your freedom taken away by men. If you extrapolate from that, you might find my claim less…shocking.”
Ellin swallowed hard, surprised to find that the abbess knew how she’d resisted the forced engagement to Zarsha. At the time, she’d been very careful to voice her objections only to her parents and her grandfather, projecting the image of the dutiful daughter and loyal subject of the king whenever she was out in public.
But of course, the abbess was right, and Ellin did have firsthand knowledge of what it felt like to lose her freedom. If not for the Blessing and the terrible effect it had had on the royal family, Ellin would have been shipped off to Nandel to live as Zarsha’s property. No amount of begging had moved her father or the king, and as a noblewoman, her only choices were to obey or be sent to the Abbey herself.
She had lived under that terrible pall for only a handful of weeks, and yet she well remembered how many nights she had spent weeping into her pillow in despair. But even as horrible as it had been, she’d had more choices than the poor abigails of the Abbey of the Unwanted.
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Ellin nodded. “You are right, and I must apologize for my failure in empathy. I have improved conditions at the Abbey, but I see now that isn’t enough. I must work toward abolishing it altogether.”
To her surprise, Mother Zarend shook her head. “I don’t believe that should be the goal,” she said hastily. “Keep in mind that the women who reside here have been disowned by their families. Many of them were mistreated long before they set foot behind Abbey walls. They may hate their prison and long for freedom, but there is nowhere safe for them to go.”
Ellin frowned, puzzled. “What are you suggesting?”
“If I may be so bold, I might suggest that instead of abolishing the Abbey, you work to change it even more. Make it a refuge for unwanted women, rather than a prison. If the abigails were here of their own free will and could leave whenever they wanted to, the misery would be all but erased.”
Ellin chewed that over, trying to imagine how she could possibly make it happen.
“You could not make the change all at once,” Mother Zarend continued. “You would have to gradually chip away at our chains.” She smiled suddenly and unexpectedly. “But then you’ve already shown a distinct talent for such things. I believe that if you want to change the Abbey from a prison to a refuge, you will find a way.”
Ellin tried not to let the abbess’s confidence overwhelm her, for it was all too easy to see ways in which such a crusade might fail. But then the world had transformed in almost unimaginable ways over the past two years, so perhaps it was not unreasonable to hope she could make a change of that magnitude if she set her mind to it and moved carefully.
“I will think on it,” Ellin promised. “And I will call on you again to discuss any plans that come to mind to make sure I don’t accidentally make things worse.”
Mother Zarend rose from her chair and gave a deep curtsy. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said. “And I will bring your proposal to my seers. I suspect you will have more than one volunteer to choose from.”
Ellin smiled at her. “I will leave any choosing to you, if you don’t mind. I trust your judgment in this more than I trust my own.”
“Very well.”
* * *
—
Draios stifled a yawn as he sat in the antechamber outside the office of Lord Eldlin, the High Priest of the Temple of the Creator—and Draios’s mentor, at least in theory. As the son of the king, it was appropriate he accept mentorship from only the most exalted members of the clergy, but he couldn’t say he’d been overly impressed with Lord Eldlin. The man was in his dotage, constantly fretting about some new ailment or another, his temper and his patience always short. Draios had no doubt the man was wise in the ways of the Creator, and he adhered to the teachings of the Devotional with more diligence than many priests of Draios’s acquaintance. But he was otherwise most tiresome, with a droning, nasal voice that always made Draios feel sleepy and bored.
Draios shifted in his chair and crossed his legs. It wasn’t Eldlin’s voice that was making him sleepy at the moment. Since reading the letter that had been rescued from the flames, Draios had spent a great deal of time in contemplation, and last night had been his second nightlong vigil of the week as he prayed to the Creator for guidance. He was feeling the effects of those sleepless nights, and even his annoyance at Eldlin’s insistence on keeping him waiting was not enough to keep his eyelids from drooping.
He was halfway to sleep when the door to Eldlin’s office finally opened and an acolyte beckoned Draios to enter. Scowling at the lad who had caught him napping, Draios rose to his feet and stretched, his body stiff from having spent the night on his knees. The acolyte flushed and hurriedly looked away. Draios paid him no further heed as he entered his mentor’s study to find Eldlin poring over an ancient, illuminated Devotional spread out over his desk.
It was all Draios could do not to roll his eyes. He believed that, like his father, Lord Eldlin was a genuinely devout man; however, Eldlin made his devotion into a kind of ongoing performance that was—in Draios’s estimation—unseemly. Yes, as the high priest, it was certainly his duty to project an image of perfect piety at all times, but Eldlin took this duty to the extreme. Sometimes, Draios wondered if perhaps the excess signified an attempt to compensate for a faith that was not as flawless as it appeared, although he tried to stifle that uncharitable thought whenever it arose.
Draios stood in front of the high priest’s desk, hands clasped behind his back as he waited patiently for attention. Well, perhaps not truly patiently—his hands were clasped together rather tightly, and he had to consciously relax his face to stop his teeth from grinding. All postulants were meant to be treated equally within the temple—regardless of worldly rank—and Draios had the feeling Eldlin took pleasure in the freedom to treat his king’s son as if he were just an ordinary man.
Finally, Eldlin set the Devotional aside and turned his attention to Draios.
“What can I do for you, my son?” Eldlin asked in a tone of polite disinterest. “Should you not be preparing for morning services?”
“I am prepared,” Draios said, reminding himself not to snap at the man from whom he intended to ask a favor. Postulants were meant to spend the hour before the morning service in solitary meditation, but Draios hardly felt such was necessary after he’d performed an all-night vigil.
It was during last night’s vigil that the way had come clear to him. That the Creator had been behind the happenstance that
had allowed him to retrieve the fragment of letter from Delnamal, he was certain. Else why would the flames not have finished their work? He had quickly deduced that he must visit Delnamal to bear witness to whatever strange new power the man claimed to have, but there were two major impediments that stood in his way: his duties to the temple, and his duties to his father. Draios was certain he could gain his father’s permission to travel for a couple of days if he had already obtained permission from Lord Eldlin, so practically speaking, it was only Eldlin Draios had to convince.
He’d prayed long and hard on the problem last night, for postulants could only be excused from duty in the case of illness or death in the family. While Draios hadn’t been able to stop himself from fantasizing about creating a particular death in his family, he had managed to shove those fantasies aside and focus on a more practical solution. It unfortunately involved lying to Lord Eldlin, but over the course of the long night, Draios had found peace with that small sin. He had a much greater sin in mind should Lord Eldlin refuse his most reasonable request, but he had faith the Creator would not force him to sully himself in such a manner.
Lord Eldlin gave him a look of such skepticism that Draios could not help his hackles rising.
“I spent all of last night in prayer,” he said tightly, “and through that prayer, I have felt a calling.”
“A calling, you say?” Eldlin said, his skepticism strengthening. “I had assumed you had already felt a calling, else you would not have become a postulant.”
Eldlin massaged the fingers of one hand with the other, and Draios hoped he was not about to hear a tale of woe about how the old man’s joints ached. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist picking up the heavy tome on the desk and smashing it down on his mentor’s fingers to give him a taste of real pain. The disrespect in the high priest’s voice was enough to put Draios’s temper on edge, and some unworthy part of him wondered if it wouldn’t be best for all involved if Eldlin turned him down, after all. The man ought to have retired from the priesthood—or at least from the office of high priest—long ago.
“I felt a special calling,” Draios grated through his teeth. He forced himself to calm, knowing that his calling would hardly sound genuine if he could not hide the anger his mentor had spurred in him. If he’d been called by the Creator, he should feel nothing but awe and longing. And, he reminded himself, he had been called. Just not in the way he planned to explain to Eldlin.
“In the wee hours of the morning, a sudden…” He stopped, as if at a loss for words. He had practiced in front of the mirror before leaving the palace, calling up the feeling of wonder that had filled him when he’d read Delnamal’s letter and felt the hand of the Creator at work. He let that wonder shine in his eyes, staring at Eldlin with wide-eyed earnestness as he raised a hand to the middle of his chest. “…yearning in my heart. I have never felt the like,” he said a little breathlessly, shaking his head.
He had hoped that his performance would banish the surliness and disbelief in Eldlin’s face, but the old man frowned at him fiercely. “And what is it, precisely, you yearn for so desperately?”
Draios’s hand slipped into the pocket of the unadorned brown tunic he and every other postulant wore. The pocket held the miniature Devotional every acolyte, postulant, and priest was required to carry with him at all times, but it also held a simple gold band with a raised dome of embedded diamond chips. The ring itself was naught but a trinket in appearance and value—Draios would never think to wear such a thing. However, its plain appearance was designed to hide its sinister purpose.
Hastily, he pulled his hand out of his pocket, reminding himself that the ring was meant to be a last resort. If Lord Eldlin insisted on standing in the way of Draios’s calling, then whatever action Draios was forced to take against him was forgivable, even necessary. A few fasts and a night of penance would purge the sin from his soul, and he could continue doing the Creator’s bidding with a clean conscience. The same could not be said if he allowed himself to strike out of anger, and considering how Eldlin was regarding him now, it was best to keep the temptation out of immediate reach.
“I have been called to pilgrimage,” Draios said, aware that some hint of his temper had crept into his voice, spoiling the effect of his pronouncement. “I have never visited the Shrine of the Holy Penitents, and what I felt in my heart last night was that I must pay a visit there to formally shed my sins before continuing my education as a postulant.”
It was a pilgrimage that most postulants undertook before beginning their time at the temple, although it was by no means required. Draios likely would have undertaken it himself had he not indulged in the sin of impatience. He had been anxious to get out from under his father’s and his brother’s watchful eyes the moment he reached his majority—hence his decision to enter the temple the day after his birthday. If he’d known he’d be forced to return to the palace every night, he’d have made a different decision.
Eldlin somehow managed to look down his nose at Draios despite being seated. “The time to undertake the pilgrimage was before you dedicated yourself to the temple. When you have finished your first year, you will be allowed more privileges, but you are already absent from the temple far too often.” He held up a hand to forestall Draios’s protest. “I am aware that it was not your decision to reside elsewhere during the training, but even so…” He shook his head, already reaching for the gigantic Devotional to pull it back into place in front of him.
“I’m afraid taking a leave from the temple this early in your training is out of the question,” Lord Eldlin concluded, his eyes now on the page rather than on Draios.
Fury rose in Draios’s breast. Not only had Eldlin denied his most reasonable request, he was treating Draios with a deplorable lack of respect!
“You cannot mean for me to ignore the Creator’s calling,” he protested, his hand slipping back into his pocket. This time, he felt no qualm whatsoever about slipping his smallest finger into the ring.
“I’m too old to confuse a young man’s boredom with the Creator’s calling,” Eldlin said, not even bothering to look up from his Devotional. “You are dismissed, Postulant.”
Draios’s hand was shaking with rage as he withdrew it from his pocket, the ring on his finger with its dome of diamonds turned to face inward. If Eldlin hadn’t been so dedicated to making his show of indifference, he might have seen the error of his ways and reversed his decision. However, his eyes remained glued to the page, and he did not see the ring that ought not be on a postulant’s finger. Nor did he see Draios opening his Mindseye and activating the spell contained in the small reservoir of potion underneath the dome.
“Are you quite well, Lord Eldlin?” he asked suddenly, his Mindseye now closed as he leaned over the desk and brazenly put his hand on the old man’s arm.
Lord Eldlin started and tried to jerk his arm away—not out of any alarm, but in outrage.
“What is the meaning of this?” Eldlin hissed. “Unhand me this instant.”
“You are looking pale,” Draios told his mentor with what he felt sure was a sinister smile. “Is it your heart again?”
Lord Eldlin gasped suddenly as Draios activated the mechanism within the ring, piercing Eldlin’s skin and delivering the potion into his system.
For most men, the potion Draios had just administered would be harmless. It was nothing but a particularly strong version of a healer’s stimulant, meant to rouse the unconscious. But for a man whose heart had already twice attempted to fail him…
Eldlin rocked back in his chair, his whole body going taut as his eyes widened and sweat bathed his face. He tried to cry out, but the sound that escaped his lips was far too faint to carry.
Draios slipped the ring off his finger and returned it to the pocket of his tunic, crossing to the other side of the desk and loosening the collar of the high priest’s vestments.
“Ar
e you having trouble breathing, Your Grace?” he asked. “Let me help you.”
He used the edge of his tunic to wipe away the tiny spot of blood that was visible on Eldlin’s arm where the needle had poked him, although he did not imagine that there would be any particular inquest into a death that could not look especially suspicious with Eldlin’s history.
He waited a few moments longer, making sure Eldlin was close enough to death that a healer could not arrive in time to save him, before he began shouting frantically for help.
Part Two
VISIONS
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Draios dozed off and on throughout the carriage ride from Khalwell to the manor house where Delnamal resided. He had left the temple and returned to the palace in the confusion surrounding the high priest’s death. He’d hastily called for a coach and had his valet pack the bare minimum of necessities, then headed out immediately. He’d left a note for his father, claiming Lord Eldlin’s dying wish had been that Draios make the pilgrimage to the Shrine of the Holy Penitents and that he was on his way to honor that wish. It was unlikely the king would believe the excuse—and Parlommir would be livid at what he’d undoubtedly consider active disobedience that required punishment—but if Draios should find what he believed he would in Delnamal’s powers, then all would be forgiven.
And if he was wrong? Well, he could always continue on to the shrine and turn his lie into the truth. Even if his father didn’t wholeheartedly believe the lie, he would hardly say so in public, and Lord Eldlin’s successor would be in no position to disbelieve the king’s son without the king’s support.
Draios awoke from a light sleep when the coach bounced over an especially deep rut in the road. Rubbing the weariness from his eyes, he looked out the window. The coach lurched again, and he scowled at the rough and pitted road, which clearly did not see enough use to warrant regular maintenance. Forest loomed overhead, blocking out the light, while roots jutted from the ground and reached for the muddy track, seeking to engulf it and reclaim it for the wild.