by Viola Rivard
“I have aurasight, and yes, it is the reason I was sent to the tower. It is also why I should still be there. I am still a novice in the study of truth.”
All of the acolytes in the tower possessed the same ability as Eloisa, though some could see more than others. Most came from Atolia, where it was accepted that if a girl was born with aurasight, she was to be sent to the tower in her tenth year. Some came from families of means in other nations, their parents possessing the luxury of being able to smuggle their daughters to safety. For every foreign girl that made it to the tower, a least a dozen more were executed.
Lidia leaned forward in her seat. “Can you see my aura, Ma’am?”
Eloisa nodded, and then sensing that she was expected to elaborate, she said, “It’s brown and black with curling tips.”
Lidia blinked, he aura flickering with orange flecks of insecurity. “Black? Is that bad?”
“No. A common misconception. Black is simply the absence of light. It usually surfaces when you’re confused about something.”
“And the brown? And the curling tips? What is the significance?”
Eloisa hadn’t expected an outsider to be so interested in her ability, and it was strange to explain something that was so natural and commonplace where she was from.
“I suspect that brown is your primary. That means that it’s the color you hold when your mind is at rest. Different shades hold different significance, as is true across the entire spectrum. Yours is umber. It means that you’re creative and intelligent. The way that your aura curls inward tells me that you’re subservient and comfortable being inside your own head more than out. I suspect you spend a lot of time dreaming, or plotting.”
It was the color in Lidia’s cheeks, not in her aura, that told Eloisa that she’d gone a touch too far. She could remember being a Child and forced to endure readings with Daughters. Her partner would steer the conversation, leading her into increasingly personal topics, and detailing her emotions as they spoke. It had been extremely invasive, and she’d learned quickly to become stoic, though the trait had clearly escaped her tonight.
“I can see why you might not be welcome at court,” Lidia mumbled, before adding a reluctant, “Ma’am.”
Eloisa didn’t take offense. She certainly wasn’t interested in attending the royal court. The great irony was that all she wanted was to return to her bed in the tower. She said a silent prayer to Phaeda, whom she was almost certain had forsaken her, promising the goddess that she would never again bemoan her studies or pass time in class by daydreaming of a husband.
“Tell me of my brother,” Eloisa said, breaking a long silence. “How has he fallen into such an arrangement with Lord Caleth?”
Lidia appeared taken aback and struggled with her response. “King Philomen, he… After the death of his—your father, he did the best he knew how to, to keep the kingdom in order, but there were circumstances that influenced the situation in such a manner that he was unable to keep the coffers in a state of equilibrium. As such—”
Eloisa cut her off. “I mean minimal offense, but is it necessary for you to speak like that? Can’t you speak plainly, and more quickly, too?”
Once again, she seemed to have embarrassed Lidia. The maid looked down at her feet as she spoke. “Apologies, Ma’am, but what you’ve asked me has no easy answer. At least, not one that I can speak without fear of losing my tongue.”
Was she sensationalizing, or would someone actually cut out her tongue for speaking the truth?
“It is only you and I here, Miss Lidia. To my ears, the truth is always the correct response, and merits mercy, not punishment.”
Lidia considered her, her aura flickering with her doubt. While she was unaccustomed to being doubted—anyone she’d known could identify lies plainly by her aura—Eloisa remained calm and composed under the scrutiny.
Finally, Lidia spoke. “King Philomen has a penchant for gambling. It’s what started the war some eight years back. He gambled away a minor piece of territory that was under his princedom. When the late king found out, he asserted that the land was Philomen’s in title only, but that the ultimate authority was to himself, as king. The new owner of the land, Prince Re’saul, attested that he'd won the land fair and true, and his father, the king of Redura agreed. War was declared. May I state my opinion?”
Eloisa nodded.
“To my mind, it seemed that the war was more for sport than for the land. Myself and many others were of the mind that King Kiryos was simply bored, as the declaration had followed an extended period of peace, some eighty years with nothing but minor conflicts.
“No one expected this war to last more than a few weeks. Redura was such a small nation, compared to Atolia, with no formal military to speak of. King Kiryos decided to underline this point by going into battle alone to face Redura’s militia. What he didn’t anticipate was that the Reduran king would not only put himself on the frontlines, but all three of his heirs as well. King Kiryos defeated all four, but his injuries were too extensive to recover from.”
Again, Eloisa could find little emotion when she considered her father’s passing. She had no memory of being close to him, or of disliking him. He’d stood in her mind as little more than a neutral figure, and any sadness she felt was impersonal, as it seemed his loss was significant to his kingdom, if not for her.
Lidia went on to confirm her assumption, explaining that following her father’s death, Atolia was beset on all sides by enemies. The early attacks were not on the battlefield, but at the game tables, where foreign kings and princes manipulated Philomen, exploiting his vice and chipping away at the kingdom he’d inherited. By the time he wised up to what was happening, he’d lost several crucial pieces of territory and was forced to wage war to get them back.
Lidia didn’t say this in as few words. In spite of Eloisa’s insistence that she speak plainly, Lidia frequently demurred to euphemisms, as if the truth were a foreign language she couldn’t quite grasp the mechanics of. Thankfully, her speech was not so convoluted that Eloisa couldn’t read between the lines.
“At present, it would be easier to tell you who we are not at war with,” Lidia said. “Vultures peck at us from every direction, rebellions threaten us from within. The situation is quite dire, Ma’am. That is why we are all hopeful for this alliance with Cal’dara. With their army behind us, the war could be over in days.”
“I don’t see how,” Eloisa said, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Their army is nothing but frost dragons. Coming this far south may not kill them, but they certainly can’t fight effectively, not even in winter.”
Lidia’s aura flared black, and then white with revelation. “You must not be abreast of current events, being so isolated, Ma’am. The sovereign has made many gains in his holdings over the past few decades. Lord Caleth took Stravea some twenty years ago, and has since used it as a platform to wage war against other central territories. He’s built up a considerable army of red and black dragons, but they aren’t his real threat.”
Lidia went on to explain that since gaining a foothold in the central territories, the mere presence of Caleth’s armies had inspired the surrounding kingdoms to pander to him. It wasn’t Caleth’s army of frost dragons that would be defending Atolia should the alliance go through, but the combined might of six central kingdoms that were eager to prove their loyalty to him.
“How does Lord Caleth get away with this?” Eloisa said. “Instead of feeding his lust for conquest, why don’t these nations, Atolia included, band together and resist him?”
Lidia shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. Such machinations are above me.”
She looked at Eloisa from the corners of her eyes as she spoke, likely trying to see if Eloisa could tell that she was lying. Eloisa gave no indication either way. She had no doubt that the maid had plenty of opinions about what could and should be done, but didn’t consider her opinions worthy of consideration. Eloisa knew that feeling well, as she often tried
—and miserably failed—to debate scripture with a Sister.
“No good will come of this arrangement,” Eloisa said, more to herself than to the maid. “Cal’dara is a heathen kingdom, cursed from its inception. This union will well and truly doom Atolia. The gods will turn their backs on us.”
She didn’t know if she was painting, sensationalizing, or both. Perhaps she was doing neither. Eloisa knew her own aura must have been black as pitch, because she’d never felt so baffled. Truth was a ribbon that was knotted many times over, and to right it she had to first see past her own grievances.
“Begging your pardon, Ma’am, but I fear they’ve already forsaken us.”
Lidia nodded towards the window, where morning light now filtered through the glass. Eloisa glanced out, at first surprised to see dry land, something she’d seen only in pictures since coming to the tower.
She remembered the day she departed for the tower, perhaps in that very same palanquin. It had been morning then, as well, and she’d stared out at the land, drinking in the sprawling fields of green and the townships nestled between them, certain she’d never see them again.
And perhaps she’d been right.
It was autumn, but that did not account for what she saw. Even in the coldest months, most of the trees held their leaves and the grass turned yellow, not black. There were no birds that she could see, not even a flock of gulls trying to keep pace with the fliers. All that rose in the sky were coils of smoke from distant brushfires.
Lidia said, “Our enemies can’t hold the innermost regions of Atolia. We’ve manage to push them out every time. This past year, when they pressed in, they didn’t try to hold the land. They simply torched the fields and left. It’s done more damage in a single season then the past five years of warfare. The famine has been acute, particularly amongst the humans. I’ve heard that in some places, there are not enough able-bodied people to bury the dead. They just heap them into piles.”
“Philomen isn’t able to heal the land?” Eloisa asked.
“From what I’ve heard, he’s tried. They burn it twice as fast.”
Eloisa wanted to turn away from the scorched earth, but she forced herself to take it in. She refused to believe that marrying Lord Caleth would solve any of these problems. She would help Philomen to see this, and then she would help him to find a true solution to this senseless destruction.
When her stomach growled, she felt a spark of shame. People were dying in droves for lack of food, and she felt near to starving for missing breakfast.
She managed to quell her shame, reminding herself that she’d gone nearly a week without eating when she’d been in The Dark Room, and her body was still recovering from the deprivation.
“Here, Ma’am,” Lidia said, reaching for the platter on the table.
While she’d been aware of the platter since early on, Eloisa had made no move towards it, even when hunger had begun to claw at her belly. As Lidia removed the cover, she confirmed what Eloisa had already smelled. The tray held fruits, cheeses, and sliced sweet bread.
Her stomach urged her to partake, and memory told her that it would be delicious, but she couldn’t bring herself to indulge. Food was meant to sustain the body, not bring it pleasure.
If Selia could see me now.
How insane was it that only hours earlier, she thought Selia was being overly pious? Now, here she was being presented with a platter of luxurious foods and she feared that even a nibble would further condemn her soul.
“Is there water?” she asked, weariness now evident in her voice.
Lidia was quick to serve her, and a moment later Eloisa had filled her stomach. Water wouldn’t give her the energy she needed to confront the day to come, but going against her teachings any more than she already had would be her undoing.
“What happens now?” Eloisa asked.
Kryta, the capitol city, had begun to come into view. Eloisa recognized the six pointed spires of the palace where she’d been born, and where she’d spent the entirety of her youth.
She experienced another memory, one of her father telling her that he would keep her room as it was, for when she returned. Once she was a Maiden, he would take her on as a conscript in his legislative courts. It wasn’t a hope she’d held onto long, as she’d learned in her first year that even the most pragmatic and pious of the Maidens were not permitted to serve where they might have conflicts of interest. The role of a Maiden of Light was to observe and to report her findings with unimpeachable objectivity.
“At the palace, we’ll be met by the king and queen,” Lidia told her. “Lord Caleth is expected to arrive by nightfall.”
So soon…
“May the gods have mercy on me,” Eloisa whispered.
In her memory, the palace was a bright, vibrant edifice of unparalleled majesty. As they started their descent onto the atrium, Eloisa saw that the walls were ashen and pocked. The marble floor of the atrium was scarred, and clumps of foliage grew in the cracks.
There were more soldiers outside, wearing the same burnished gold armor as the other men she’d seen. With their helmets on, it was impossible to tell what they looked like beneath.
Near the center of their formation were two women in flowing robes. One was tall, with blonde hair and a robe of gold. The other appeared to be of average height, with orange hair and a purple robe. Both appeared ghostly pale, but Eloisa knew it was probably powders that made them appear as such. Powdering was a stubborn tradition among Atolian nobility, Eloisa now recalled.
Lidia was the first to exit the palanquin. Eloisa reluctantly followed, noting that the air was stale and unfamiliar to her. The two noble women were quick to approach them, their auras rose-colored with anticipation. Eloisa kept close to Lidia, while the women looked past them.
“Where is she?” asked the shorter one impatiently.
The taller of them had approached the palanquin and was peering inside, her aura darkening. Something about her was familiar to Eloisa, but she couldn’t place it.
Lidia motioned towards Eloisa. “Right here, my lady.”
Both heads turned in their direction.
The blonde spoke first, and Eloisa was jarred to find that the voice was distinctly masculine. “Eloisa? Dearest sister, is that you?”
Eloisa had been so preoccupied with staring at auras that she’d failed to notice the crown atop the blonde’s head.
Her father’s crown.
Hesitantly, she said, “Philomen?”
A smile broke out over her brother’s painted face. He approached her with arms open, seemingly intent on embracing her. Eloisa was quick to sidestep the embrace, and was relieved when he didn’t try for it a second time.
“Philomen, you’ve grown so…tall.”
By his scent, she could now tell that he was a man, but nothing else about him indicated as much. His robes might have been styled for a man—Eloisa hadn’t the faintest idea as to what was in fashion—but his hair was longer than her own, and his bone structure was more delicate than that of some of the girls she knew in the tower. She would think that a man, particularly one in such a position of power, might want to minimize this attribute, yet he wore makeup that accentuated his lashes and shimmering powders above his eyes and on his cheeks. Even on a woman, Eloisa thought it would be too much, but on a man it appeared plainly absurd.
Philomen said, “I didn’t recognize you with this, um, drapery?” His accent was even more pronounced than Lidia’s, and it grated on Eloisa’s sensibilities. “Here, allow me.”
Eloisa felt as though she might be sick as Philomen lifted her veil, exposing her face and her nightclothes to all on the atrium.
“There you are!” He proclaimed. “You are the very image of mother. How dearly, I’ve missed you.”
Later, she would wonder how Philomen could know such a thing, given that he’d seen their mother’s face only in poorly rendered paintings, but at the moment it was all Eloisa could do to keep from vomiting. As soon as Philomen released
his hold on her veil, she scrambled to put it back into place so that it covered the upper half of her body.
“What are these clothes?” He asked, addressing Lidia. “Is this truly what they sent her in? They couldn’t find anything more befitting her station?”
Eloisa answered for herself. “Until quite recently, these clothes were perfectly suited for my station.”
It was meant to be a barb at him for wresting her from the tower, but it went over Philomen’s head.
“Ah, yes. Well, we’ll not speak of that anymore. That horrid place father put you in is in the past. Now, you can move on and live a proper life. I’ve arranged a very good match for you. A husband of incomparable means. I think you will be quite pleased.”
Eloisa looked between Philomen and Lidia. “I don’t understand. I was told that it was Lord Caleth I was meant to wed.”
Philomen’s smile stretched to the point of straining. “Sovereign Caleth,” he said. “And as his wife, you will be monarch of all the northern lands. I’ve asked my scholars and they are of agreement; never has there been so much to gain from a marriage. You are most fortunate.”
Eloisa had heard of how artful Atolian nobility could be in their painting of the truth. If the king was the pinnacle of said nobility, then she’d been terribly misinformed. Dishonesty dripped from every stretched syllable of his words, and Eloisa didn’t need to read auras to know as much.
“This is my wife, Milara,” he said, redirecting Eloisa’s attention to the purple-clad female. “We also have a son, Kiryos, named after father. I hope you’ll have time to meet him before you depart.”
“About that—”
Eloisa was cut off as Philomen put his arm around her. Though she’d often fantasized about the touch of a man, her brother’s heavy arm made her skin crawl and intensified her sense of wrongness with the whole, terrible situation.
“How was your journey?” Milara asked, walking alongside them. “Did Lidia serve you well? You must take her with you, when you depart. It will be good for you to have someone from your own nation. She’s proficient in the Cal’derache language.”