by Vela Roth
“I have heard tell of Lord Tyran’s activities, and I would hardly call them weak-willed. Are not the ranks of his men-at-arms swelling by the day? Does he not have a pair of liegehounds at his side at all times?”
“The man can’t hide behind his dogs if he wants to be a leader.”
“He already has a reputation as a leader among his men. They are thirsty for battle and ready for him to name the opponent. He claims his intended target is the Hesperines, but the nature of his forces calls that assertion into question. Who forges swords to fight magic?”
Flavian gave a surprised laugh. “I see the grievances of the garrison have intruded upon the pleasant gossip of the weaving rooms. I’d like a word with the louts whose lax tongues have put such a furrow upon my lady’s brow.” He brushed his thumb between her eyes. “Lay down your worries, my dear. The matter is my responsibility, therefore you have no cause for fear.”
“I do worry what Lord Tyran may do when your back is turned.”
“I treasure your concern for me.”
Cassia tightened her hand on Flavian’s bracer. “When Tenebra faces such threats from without, we cannot afford for restless lords to stir up trouble from within.”
“Fearful gossip has a way of blowing these things out of proportion,” he said patiently. “If you knew of the changes stirring among the free lords, Lord Tyran’s actions would not seem amiss. With all the troubling talk, I’m sure it’s difficult to understand, but the truth is, this a very good time for Tenebra. You see, the Council of Free Lords has actually drawn together of late. In the coming weeks, you may be very surprised indeed at the unity we show.”
Cassia clenched her teeth on a retort.
“Tenebra’s truce with the Hesperines is a very old tradition,” Flavian explained. “Did you know it’s as old as the Council itself? When faced with a common enemy, we hold fast to our common love for tradition. The free lords can find it in themselves to be of one mind. My father and Lord Hadrian certainly won’t be tossing back a pint together anytime soon, but they are setting an example for everyone by placing the common good above their grievances against one another. Their leadership has inspired the rest of the Council to do the same.”
Cassia fixed the Smile on her face. “What reassurance, to know men of such stature as your father and Lord Hadrian have the situation under control. I see I can relax and leave the course of events in their capable hands.”
“Right where they have always been.” Flavian lifted her hand to his mouth once more. “And that is quite enough talk of lords and heretics. All my lady need think of for the rest of the day is dancing.”
Anthros's Sickle
All morning long, someone had labored to bedeck the Temple of Anthros in flowers and boughs. Cassia could scarcely breathe for their fragrance. Scattered petals of Anthros’s fire covered the floor. Bushels of fertility herbs hung over every rounded arch. No one could set foot here without getting blessed by Anthros, who made the seed of summer yield an abundant harvest from gardens, fields and wombs.
Good riddance to summer. If only that did not mean autumn must begin.
Just inside the entrance, Cassia hesitated, letting earnest worshipers sidle around her. The celebrants hurried between the sandstone pillars to take their places in the swathes of sunlight that reflected off the vast bronze sun disk that levitated overhead. The lords at the front of the temple cast brazen glances at the ladies gathering at the back. The ladies glanced in return, then looked away to murmur and laugh with their mothers, sisters and friends.
Cassia did not know where her place was today. The king had told her she must accept Flavian, but had said nothing of where she should stand while she waited for her suitor.
At the head of the temple, Lucis watched from the royal chair that gave him a view of the entire gathering. He had not put away his liegehounds for the occasion. The whole pack of them crowded around him with his human retainers. Prince Caelum sat at his right hand and looked bored. When she was thirteen, Cassia would also have wanted to be elsewhere than watching a lot of lovesick grown-ups and religion.
At this moment, she wanted to be anywhere else but here.
Familiar faces in the crowd caught her gaze. Lady Hadrian and her daughter Sabina. As Cassia watched, they stepped aside to make a place next to them for her. Lady Hadrian smiled at her. Sabina smiled, too, before her gaze slid away. To the garlands on the nearest pillar. To the embroidery on her mother’s hem. Not to the men at the head of the room.
Plenty of male gazes sought her, though. Her father’s power was temptation enough, but Sabina also came with long, wavy brown hair, expressive gray eyes, and full breasts and hips that promised both pleasure and healthy children. With all this and poise like her mother’s, men overlooked the facts that she was nearly thirty and had her father’s temper.
But they had best not try her patience with any unwanted attention today. The heir of Hadria was putting on an admirable act, but Cassia knew Sabina was the only person here who dreaded the coming dance as much as Cassia herself did.
Cassia thanked Sabina and her mother with a deep courtesy, then turned toward the stairs that led to the gallery.
She passed the entrance to the royal crypt where, on more solemn holidays, people went to mourn over Solia’s bones and were heard only by an empty tomb. Cassia did not dignify the door with a glance. She fisted Solia’s skirts in her hands and ascended the steps, turning her face up toward the sun.
All the light that ever was in this world remains and always will, Lio had taught her.
Cassia took her place in the gallery among other bastard daughters and the concubines who had borne them. Where her mother, Thalia, had once stood.
Mistress Risara looked at her in surprise. Lord Titus’s companion of two decades always appeared as if she were smiling, thanks to the natural upturn at the corners of her mouth. “A better place awaits you today, my dear. You may have your choice of where to stand.”
“Thank you, but I shall present myself where I always have. If everyone saw me in a different place, they should hardly recognize me. I will not have them see me as anyone but who I am.”
Mistress Risara’s mischievous eyes lit with approval. “It takes strong legs to stand in the gallery.”
“When I have achieved your years of experience, I too hope to still be on my feet.”
“It doesn’t get any harder with age…just with indulgence.” She winked and patted her waist, which had reputedly been rather smaller when she was Cassia’s age. But if anyone found fault with her ever more buxom figure, it certainly wasn’t Lord Titus. In fact, he was the happiest widower in the kingdom.
But as the concubine of a leader with so many vital decisions to make, and so many enemies, she was certain to have earned the silver that encroached on her blond curls.
Cassia smiled. “I should think a little indulgence is warranted after such endurance.”
Mistress Risara gave a laugh that still made other men jealous of Lord Titus. “A woman must see that her man makes her troubles worth her while. Don’t ever forget what you deserve.”
Cassia had no answer for that. She could not stop to consider what she might deserve—it might make her think of what she wanted. Today she could only afford to think of what she had to do.
Mistress Risara leaned closer. “I assure you, your knees won’t buckle anytime soon. Take my word on it.”
Cassia smiled her thanks and hoped that was true.
She had such a long, long way to go and the first steps, today’s dance, would take all the strength she had.
She studied the crowd. This was her last opportunity to observe the court from her customary position, which had served her so well. The lords and ladies below had once been lips to read and glares to avoid. In the last six months, they had become antagonists and acquaintances, enemies and potential allies—and in a few rare cases, something akin to friends. After today, they would, for the first time in Cassia’s entire life, be her peers
.
She disagreed with Mistress Risara. It was much harder to stand below than in the gallery.
By the time the royal mage and his procession emerged at the front of the temple, the entire scene was fading into a blur. Cassia hardly saw the Tenebran geomagus’s round face and barely heard his pompous invocations in the Divine Tongue. Chrysanthos and his war circle were hazy specters behind the new royal mage, standing in silent support of their Tenebran brother, waiting in readiness.
It was not the fate they had in mind for her that would catch up to her first. Cassia’s usual careful attention escaped her grasp, and all her powers of concentration turned themselves upon what she was about to do.
What a time for the reality of it to hit her. It was no longer an idea, a possibility or a future event. It was really going to happen.
The royal mage droned on and on, providing Cassia’s silent panic plenty of time to work her over. The crowd stirred, and the celebrants’ restless movements seemed like a wave that would tow her under.
Then the king stood up, and her heart punched against her ribs. Her merciless senses chose that moment to sharpen into crystal clarity.
Lucis marched down from his chair and met the royal mage. Spell and sword, divine voice and royal hand faced one another. The mage hefted the sickle that represented Anthros’s power over the harvest and, with great ceremony, surrendered it to the warrior king, the Champion of Anthros.
Lucis lifted the sickle high without effort, then swung it down in a smooth, practiced motion. The blade and his gaze pointed to one man in the crowd, one young god among gods. The Champion had chosen the crown’s official Anthros, who would lead his fellow males in the ritual today.
Cassia could not see his face from here, but Flavian’s chestnut hair and broad shoulders were unmistakable. Not dressed for the road, now. As he came forward to receive the king’s blessing, he was a flash of golden velvet and snowy white linen before her eyes. What a pretty package for her doom to come in.
He accepted Anthros’s sickle from Lucis and held it to his breast, saluting first the king, then the crowd.
Flavian strode between the men to cheers and calls from his comrades, but when he reached the ladies, he slowed to an agonizing stroll. He glanced here, bowed there, making a great show of his search.
Matriarchs loyal to Hadria kept their pouting daughters out of his way, while maidens loyal to Segetia dared face him in invitation with their mothers looking on hopefully. Flavian’s admirers were making their last effort to protest his imminent attachment, their last gesture of denial that he would waste himself.
At last he reached the back of the crowd empty-handed, except for the god’s blade. Halting there, he looked up. His gaze found Cassia. He saluted her with the sickle and swept her an elaborate bow. Then he bounded up the stairs.
The crowd below had gone silent. But in the gallery, the paramours’ expensive skirts rustled, and the bastards’ threadbare slippers pattered on the stone. The women grinned and tittered and parted to make way for Flavian, just barely. Weaving between their close bodies and welcoming gazes, he came to stand before Cassia and offered her his hand.
He was just Flavian. Cassia had betrayed Dalos to the Hesperines, thieved the glyph stone from under Chrysanthos’s nose, and committed treason upon treason against the king. She was certainly equal to this task. She rested her fingers lightly upon Flavian’s.
He lifted their joined hands for the crowd to see, raising the Sickle in his other. Now she put on the Smile, for nothing less would keep her from grimacing at the pain in her hand.
Somewhere below, a boot hammered the floor, and Cassia would have wagered Anthros’s Sickle it was Sir Benedict’s. The silence broke, and the expected foot-stomping and hand-clapping commenced. Flavian’s friends bit their tongues and applauded him, and the whole court offered up the noise the king had requisitioned for the occasion of yoking his ill-bred daughter to Tenebra’s favored son.
Cassia found her voice and another measure of conviction to be forthright. “You passed by many ladies who sat much nearer to you. You do not find it a burden to venture so far to choose your partner?”
“No, I am not ashamed to come to the gallery to get you. Two of the women I admire most in all of Tenebra sit here.” He lowered Cassia’s hand so he could take her arm, then offered a parting bow to Mistress Risara.
Her answering look of encouragement was the last thing Cassia saw before Flavian escorted her down from the gallery. They descended into the thundering rhythm of the crowd. Drummers took up the beat, and the minstrels embarked on the music that would not end until long after the sun set. To trumpets and harps, Flavian and Cassia led the crowd down the temple steps and out onto the greensward.
Her confrontation with Anthros was at hand.
Kyria's Bounty
Even the Mage King’s throne was covered in flowers. For generations of Autumn Greetings, the four-sided stone chair and ivy-covered dais in the center of the greensward had served as the boundary marker between Anthros’s and Kyria’s sides of the festival.
At least Cassia would now have a moment of reprieve. The mages of Kyria waited for her on the green’s open western end. Flavian delivered her, then retreated to join the men in front of the Temple of Anthros, where the king sat in state.
For once, Lucis did not occupy the throne, for it must stand empty on this day as an invitation to the gods. That was the extent of his display of humility. Spell lights and important men decorated his purple pavilion. Chrysanthos looked right at home in the ostentatious gathering. While visiting mages and married lords played a game of who could get closest to the king, men who were neither celibate nor attached followed Flavian’s example, selecting their Kyrias and delivering the ladies to the goddess’s mages. Music and laughter echoed all the way to the ramparts of Solorum Palace on the south side and the grim walls of Solorum Fortress to the north.
Perita broke through the crowd and came to Cassia’s side. “Well, my lady. Who’s the royal today, hmm?”
“Perita, there is something we haven’t discussed, and I shall not wait a moment longer to reassure you. Whatever happens, I wish for you and Callen to remain with me. Folk may say whatever they like about Flavian’s wife being the sort of lady who gets served by other ladies, but I will have no one but my tallow chandler’s daughter, and that is that. Flavian may take all three of us or none at all. If that’s what you and Callen want, that is. I know he is Lord Hadrian’s man to the last, and I would expect nothing else of him. However he may feel about Segetia, if he can find it in his heart to be loyal to me, that is all I ask.”
Perita preened Cassia, straightening a ribbon here and a brooch there. “What a thing for you to be thinking about right now, my lady.”
“I know you and Callen will need to discuss the matter.”
“The first day Lord Flavian came courting you, we discussed it, and we decided while the porridge water came to a boil. I don’t trust anyone but me to get the gardening stains out of your gowns properly, and Callen isn’t about to let you be taken off to Segetia without one of Hadria’s men to look out for you.”
Cassia gave Perita her first genuine smile in hours. Perita smiled back and straightened Cassia’s gloves one more time before standing aside.
One of the mages put a hand on Cassia’s arm and ushered her forward. Cassia recognized the friendly eyes that smiled at her over a pale blue veil. Deutera’s magic had seen Cassia through greater trials than the Autumn Greeting.
Cassia found herself before a short figure in gleaming white robes. The Prisma of the Temple of Kyria at Solorum peeked out from under her hood at Cassia, and a web of wrinkles spread across her face as she beamed.
“Prisma,” Cassia cried. “It’s so good to see you again.”
“The last six months have felt much longer than half a year, haven’t they, daughter?”
“The longest of my life.” One of the last times Cassia had seen the Prisma, she had introduced the mage to
Lio.
“We’ve felt your absence keenly. But what a blessing from our Mother of the Harvest that such a happy occasion brings us together again.” She lowered her voice. “Much happier than last time.”
The Prisma might regard it as an unhappy event when she had resorted to meeting with a Hesperine in secret to obtain the herbs she needed to heal the dying children she harbored. But that night when Cassia and Lio had smuggled the medicine into the temple had been one of the best of Cassia’s life.
“So much has changed,” Cassia said.
“That is what this day means,” the Prisma replied. “Do not fret. In time, you will ease into your new life as naturally as summer gives way to autumn.”
“Thank you for your kindness to me.”
“I rejoice in the knowledge you have a future full of kindness ahead of you. I have prayed the goddess would guide you into a life that befits the woman you are.”
The Prisma began to recite the Equinox prayers to Kyria in the Divine Tongue, and all around her, the goddess’s other maiden mages echoed her.
Cassia was fortunate in those few who genuinely cared about her. Their happiness for her was a sign of their support. She must try to draw strength from that. They would be at her side in her future, although it would take on a far different shape than they imagined.
There came one last chorus of prayers, and a young mage proffered a large basket, from which the Prisma withdrew a sheaf of wheat. She lifted it high and said a final benediction, then put it in Cassia’s hands.
With the other ladies of the court, Cassia recited the ritual response she had learned for the occasion. It was probably some nonsense about submitting gracefully to Anthros’s leadership.
While Anthros was listening, Cassia added her own personal greeting. Well, well, Anthros. It has been some time since I sent your mage Dalos back to you. You’ll be seeing Chrysanthos next.
Armed with her sheaf of wheat, Cassia took her place at the foot of the Mage King’s empty throne.