by Sarah Dalton
He did not seem to know yet that Stefan was gone. The mortal soul had sunk deep into the recesses of the body, held easily at bay by the Lord. This was his body now.
“Tell me,” the Lord said to the crowd. “Why are you here?”
“Reyalon failed us,” one man whispered. There were tears in his eyes. “They betrayed us. They sent the plague, and they have done nothing to stop it. That king—he said he’d build temples to Anios, but that did nothing to save us!”
Brother Mikkel started forward angrily, but the Lord gave him a warning look.
“They failed you,” the Lord agreed. “You suffered while those in Nesra’s Keep dined on fine foods and wore silks. What do they know of your struggles, except that they are pleased to add to them?”
There was an angry murmur of assent.
“Did you know,” the Lord said, “that King Stefan no longer holds the throne? It is his brother, Luca, who controls Relayon and the Keep now.”
The men looked among one another in confusion.
“And since Luca arrived, have you heard even one word about those temples? Have you seen medicine or food? Luca arrived in the middle of the worst plague Estala has ever seen, but he came with an army to capture the keep and defeat his brother. While you were suffering, he played a game of crowns and armies.”
They were furious now. On the dais, Mikkel settled back with a look of contentment.
“It does not matter who sits on the throne,” the Lord told them, “as long as it is merely another human, a mortal who can see no further than his own pride. But what of the Prince of Truth? What of the one who revealed himself to you here, tonight, who was moved by your piety to cease the plague and walked among you once more? What then?”
The calls came from all over the room. “Peace!” shouted one man. “Wealth,” said another. Someone, to roars of sudden laughter, called out, “Women!” The Lord allowed himself to smile at that, knowing they would see the unburned side of his face
“You will see a realm such as there has never been,” he told them when they ended their calls. “There will be no foolish wars, no heresy and decadence in the capital. Estala will grow until it stretches to every corner of the earth. All other nations will bow to us—forever. Will you help me?”
They were willing. They were more than willing. They surged over one another to touch him, to pledge their loyalty, and he pointed them to his followers at the dais who could give them their assignments. When they moved on the next day, the Lord knew that their ranks would be much larger.
When they reached the next town, these same men would spread the word of their own conversion, and of the Lord’s return. The Lord would use their discontent as fuel for the fire in Estala.
What these people wanted of him, he would be…for now. After centuries of being the little brother of the Enlightened God, he needed their adoration to become stronger. He would promise them anything they wished. They would learn the cost later, but he would not let them back away from their deal. They would pay him what was owed.
They would help him build his kingdom.
As he walked back to the platform, the Lord’s eyes caught on a strapping youth. Unlike the others, he had come in alone, and he did not seem to speak with anyone around him. He held himself tall as he pledged his service to the Lord, and even from some distance away, the Lord could feel the heat of him, hear the blood coursing in his veins, the life and the power within him. He looked at the man for a long moment before he returned to Mikkel.
“That one,” he said, nodding to the man. “Have him brought to me later.”
It was all he could do not to transform here. He could not do that, he knew. His seasoned followers would accept the blood sacrifice, but not these new recruits. They needed longer to understand. So this sacrifice would be private. Waiting for it would be a sweet torment. The Lord knew he would savour the look of fear in the man’s eyes. He was a proud one. He was not used to being powerless.
Mikkel seemed to think of protesting, but then he nodded and murmured something to one of the followers from the cave. They called themselves the First Followers now. The Lord let them do so. It was nothing to him.
He left the barn and went to his tent. He had a makeshift army camp already begun. When he had gathered enough followers, they would crawl over the land like locusts and strip it bare. An unfortunate necessity, but kingdoms were not won without armies.
Would he seek to attack Nesra’s Keep first? The Lord was not sure. He stripped off his mask as he went into his tent. He would go for the ripest fruit first, be that Xantos or Estala. It did not matter in the end. When his kingdom stretched to all the ends of the earth, it would be of no consequence which city had been first conquered.
He was sitting, pondering a map, when the door hangings rustled and Mikkel came into the tent with the young man from the barn.
“My Lord.” Mikkel bowed deeply. “This is Howit Dinn, a blacksmith from a village north of here.”
“Howit.” The Lord remained seated. Anticipation was sweeter in a mortal body, he decided. He could feel the bloodlust rising in him, the tempo of his mortal heart rising in a pleasant thrum. “Tell me about yourself.”
“I heard about you from a merchant on the road,” Howit said. “He told me he’d passed you in the south, said there was something strange about you but that you weren’t afraid of the plague, and you had many followers. I was curious. I wanted to help my country, but I didn’t know how.”
“Ah. And I see you decided to join the ranks of my followers.” The Lord inclined his head. “I am pleased.”
“So am I, my Lord.” The man nodded. “I want to serve a Lord who will change Estala. I want to make a difference. I want to help you build your kingdom.”
The Lord smiled as his anticipation reached a fever pitch. He gave a languorous sigh as he stood. “I’m so glad you said that. So very glad. For I need something special from you, Howit. Something only you can provide.”
Far away, in the camp, the new followers heard the scream. But it was only one scream. No similar sounds came after, and in the morning, there was not so much as a single drop of blood in the Lord’s tent to suggest anything untoward had occurred.
Serena
“Hurry up.” Carolina almost stamped her foot, glaring at Serena with a ferocity that made her stomach flip. “I would not have come with you if I had known you would walk so slow.”
Despite the frightening wilfulness of that stare, Serena had to hide her smile. She had finally managed to coax Carolina out of her room, ostensibly to come walking in the gardens, and Carolina’s usual infuriating attitude was in full evidence. Serena would normally be frustrated by this behaviour, but Carolina had not shown so much stubbornness since Stefan had threatened to marry them off.
Perhaps, finally, Carolina was beginning to feel like her old self again. Serena allowed herself that smile.
“What?” When Serena did not answer, Carolina’s eyes narrowed. “What is it? Why are you smiling?”
“I missed you,” Serena said honestly. “Even the part where you sneer at me for walking so slowly in my skirts. Even the part where you are rude and unmannerly, entirely unbefitting of a princess. Even the part where you sneak off to the stables and feed apples to the warhorses because you think someday you will be at the head of the army.”
“Someday, I will be at the head of the army,” Carolina declared. “Luca will let me. He is different from Stefan.” And you. The accusation in her words was clear.
Serena wanted to assure Carolina that she had meant only to keep the two of them safe, but instead she found herself awash in bitterness.
“Maybe he will let you,” she said. “If Tinian allows it.”
Serena watched as Carolina paused, uncertain. Her little sister’s insult had not landed as it usually did, and she was confused. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, it is nothing.” Serena shook her head angrily and sighed before quickly looking around to make sure they w
ere not being followed. Without Stefan in power, and without Cato to guard her, she had chosen to go on this walk alone. There were still guards at the corners of the gardens, of course, but there was no one to overhear what she would say to Carolina.
Serena detoured into the centre of the garden. The rows of hedges and flowers, knee-high and carefully maintained, formed an interlocking pattern around the fountain.
“Serena,” Carolina said when they reached the centre. “What is it?”
Serena forced herself to sit and trail her fingers through the water before she answered. It was a worthwhile exercise, making sure that one’s mannerisms were normal and unhurried. Otherwise, a mood could lead you to do very unwise things. Her mother had taught her that.
“I do not want to scare you,” she said finally. “Luca is our brother, and we are much safer now that he is here instead of Stefan.”
“Stefan did not care about us at all,” Carolina agreed. “He was just worried you would overthrow him because you would be a better queen than he was a king.”
Serena stared at her. She had never heard Carolina say anything on the subject of politics before. Carolina, however, only shrugged.
“It is true,” Carolina insisted. She kicked against the rim of the fountain. “Everyone knew it. If it had been Papa choosing whom to make heir—”
“He would never have chosen me,” Serena said bitterly. She remembered Brother Raphael’s words the other day. Did her bitterness shine through for everyone to see? “I was a woman. Father did not believe women are good for anything.”
Carolina watched her gravely for a moment. “Luca cares about us,” she said finally.
“Luca does care about us,” Serena agreed. “And he is not going to marry us to people we hate.”
“And he would never hurt Alberto,” Carolina added.
“What? Was Stefan planning to hurt Alberto?” Their brother was only seven. Fury rose up in Serena’s chest. She should have brought Alberto with them today. She had been so focused on Carolina that she had not paid much attention to Alberto lately.
“He would have, once Alberto came of age,” Carolina said. “But Luca will not.”
“No,” Serena agreed. Luca had arranged for Alberto to have a new Governor so he could study. To be my heir was the implied message behind his words, and Serena had, at the time, felt a pang of sympathy. Alberto had once been a far from likely heir, but then, so had Luca. Luca wanted to make sure that if Alberto ever sat on the throne, he would not feel unprepared.
She bit her lip as she considered the situation.
“But, Carolina, you know Luca cannot make all the decisions he wants to make.”
“What do you mean?” Carolina pushed herself up to begin walking around the rim of the fountain. “I am still listening,” she called. “What did you mean?”
Serena stood up so that Carolina could have the fountain all to herself and watched in amusement as her younger sister decided to try hopping on one foot.
“Luca would never have taken Nesra’s Keep had it not been for the Xanti helping him,” Serena said.
“Yes.” Carolina was still hopping, her brow furrowed in concentration. “But that is good, is it not? You were working with them too. And it made Stefan angry, which is also good.”
“Yes,” Serena said cautiously. “That is true. But now it means that Luca cannot always act in the best interests of Estala.” Horrified by her own candour, she checked again to ensure they were alone. She let out a relieved breath when she saw that the gardens were still empty. Even so, her paranoia was so high that she backtracked slightly. “Or, just in the interests of Estala. He has to act in a way that benefits Xantos, too.”
Carolina, who had come back around again, paused on one foot to stare at Serena. “How?”
“Like with the Gardens of Anios,” Serena said bitterly. “Papa did a very bad thing, Carolina. A very cruel thing. Luca was going to stop it—he said he would during a council meeting—but Tinian stayed afterwards and convinced him to change his mind. At least, I am convinced that is what happened.”
“Oh.” Carolina looked, understandably, a little lost. “So—”
Serena shushed her hurriedly as two men made their way through one of the other doors to the gardens. “Get down,” she said, holding her hand up for Carolina.
Carolina folded her arms and gave Serena another fearsome glare, then stared at the two men. “It is just a Brother and…I do not know who that is.”
She should have brought guards. Serena reached up quickly and yanked Carolina down from the fountain, hissing at her to stay silent. The guards were not so far away, and once she could signal to them—
“Princess Serena.” A familiar voice called her name, and she turned in surprise.
“Brother Raphael.” Her cheeks flamed, though she was not sure why. “I did not expect to see you here. These are our private gardens.”
“I was given leave by Lord Tinian to examine any part of the palace,” Raphael said. “These gardens contain many herbs I thought we might use.”
“I…oh.” She realised that Raphael was right. This was one of her favourite gardens, in fact, because of the herbs growing in it. Their green and purple leaves gave the gardens a more unique appearance than some of the others, and the scent in the air was spicy and fresh instead of just sweet. “I had not thought of that.”
She took a moment to examine Raphael’s companion. He was tall in the way of a man who had not yet finished growing. He managed to be a little plump and somehow also look underfed. His round face was framed with a mop of light brown hair.
“I do not believe we have met,” she said pleasantly. “I am Princess Serena.”
“I—I am Nico.” The boy stammered out his name. “I came here with your brother. From Xantos.”
One of the Menti. Serena’s curiosity spiked, and she wondered suddenly if Raphael knew who Nico was. Probably not, she guessed. Brothers of the Enlightened were rarely pleased by the idea of Menti. Brother Axil was an anomaly in that regard.
“I see,” she said simply, with her best smile. “We are all grateful to have Luca back. We thank you for keeping him safe. And how did you meet Brother Raphael?”
“He was speaking with some other priests about the plague,” Nico explained. “I was curious to know more.”
“Nico is most knowledgeable about healing,” Raphael said gravely. “He has a natural understanding of how to heal the body, and a knack for how to expand our efforts on a wider scale to combat the plague.”
“I see.” Serena looked at Nico with a new appreciation. “Would you like to take a walk with us, Nico? Brother Raphael?”
Nico nodded, a flush coming out blotchy on his fair skin, and Raphael said, “I would like that very much, Princess.”
Did he have to stare at her quite so intently when he said things like that? It made her feel strange. Serena took a deep breath and fell in beside them with a glance back at Carolina. She expected a tantrum from her sister, or for the girl to go running off along the paths on her own, but instead, the girl seemed intrigued by the two men.
After all this time of criticising Serena for having been too “girlish” when she learned about herbs and healing, perhaps Carolina was beginning to see that healing was an important art in its own right.
“Are you coming, Carolina?” Serena asked. “If you are going to command Luca’s armies someday, you will need to learn about healing.”
Carolina flushed slightly at that, but then she raised her chin and gave her sister a decisive nod.
Seeing Raphael’s startled look, Serena smiled elegantly. “Brother Raphael, this is my younger sister, Carolina.”
“I see.” Raphael clearly wanted to ask more about Carolina serving as a general, but he had too much tact. At any rate, he was always pleased to talk about the business of curing the plague. “Princess Serena, Nico has put forth a most interesting question: how does a plague spread?”
Serena looked to Nico for the ans
wer.
“It is just a question,” Nico said miserably. “I do not know the answer.”
“Mmm,” Serena said, already adrift in this conversation.
“I was intrigued when he asked that,” Raphael said, “as I realised that we have done so much work to find medicines that ease the plague, and yet, we do not know why those medicines work. It would be easy to say that they work because the Enlightened God wills it.”
Serena nodded. At the mention of the Enlightened God, her body had tensed. From what she had seen on the streets of Reyalon from her chambers, the mix of religion with the plague had only made things worse. She shuddered at the thought of the procession flagellating themselves in the street.
“Are you all right, Princess?”
“I am rather warm, that is all.” Her cheeks flamed as the Brother’s gaze rested on her. “It is quite a hot day.”
Raphael gazed at the muted sun above with a frown on his face.
What was it about this man that seemed to make all the words fall out of her mind? It was not a particularly hot day. She hastened onward before Raphael could comment on that. “Please, go on.”
“Of course.” He nodded to her. “As I was saying, that would be an easy explanation, but I do not think it is the right one. Why one herb and not another? Why a tincture and not a balm?”
“So, there might be herbs that would not only save a sick person’s life, but also stop the plague from reaching someone new?” she said, concentrating on Raphael’s words.
Raphael gave her a startled look, but he nodded. “Yes. I think you are right. What if people could take medicine before they even thought they were sick?”
“People already hang herbs over their door to ward off spirits,” Nico opined.
“That is rank superstition,” Raphael told him firmly. “And heresy.”
Nico opened his mouth, closed it again, then lifted his chin resolutely. “What if there is something to it?” he asked finally. “There are many things we do not know. We do not know why our medicines work. What if these herbs, taken a certain way, could stop the spread of the disease—not only curing the sick, but preventing others from falling ill? Would that not, then, be the will of the Enlightened God?”