by Talya Andor
Blaise brought a hand up to cover his mouth, and his eyes slid away.
"Oh," Thaniel recalled, and shook his head. "Not like that's mine to promise, huh."
That provoked a weak chuckle. "Just come with me," Blaise told him, and took a sharp turn, making Thaniel pinwheel and hurry to catch up again.
He was committed now. Simply for pure curiosity's sake.
Thaniel was walking a fine line, he knew. He wasn't allowed to love, yet he'd formed the bonds of friendship with Blaise over the past four years. If he let it get too close, he was risking disaster.
He tagged along with Blaise through the crowded center square, the two of them weaving their way through the people crossing from one stand to another, lining up along rows and milling about. Several times he caught himself reaching out, wanting to grasp the back of Blaise's outer robe, but clenched his fingers and quickened his step instead. He'd have to follow without holding on.
It was rather like his entire situation.
Thaniel snorted quietly to himself as they made their way through the crowd. It was densely packed enough that it tripled the time it would normally take to reach the far side of the square.
Once they made it to the opposite side of the square, they still had to pick their way through the streams of people coming and going. Thaniel was staggered to see how many people had thronged to the capital city; it was all for the ceremony, he knew. He experienced a flicker of guilt for dodging his attendants but brushed it off. It was his day to do as he liked, and he would make the most of it.
Blaise glanced over his shoulder every so often, and it warmed Thaniel each time, knowing he was being looked after.
At last, they reached a turnoff for the courtyard to the gardens, and Thaniel had to smile. Now he knew where they were going.
Thaniel pushed his hood back once they'd left the crowded streets and entered the garden, and raised a brow the next time Blaise looked over his shoulder at him.
"The gardens?" he questioned, though it brought back fond memories of the hours the two of them had spent playing in the labyrinthine hedges when they were younger.
"You'll see," Blaise told him demurely.
"Mm," Thaniel responded, knowing after long association that it was futile to press Blaise on any point before he was ready to reveal the details.
He followed in Blaise's footsteps as they re-traced the paths from younger days. He reached out to touch the withering green leaves of the inside hedge. The plants that were used to create the hedges were the most deeply rooted in the land, and even they were coming up dry.
It was time. Everything craved renewal.
"Here," Blaise said, reaching a gap in the hedges and waiting, poised to enter but lingering on the verge for Thaniel.
Thaniel hastened his steps to reach that same place, turning his head to glance through the gap. "Oh," he murmured. He never should have been surprised.
They had reached the center of the hedge maze, and stood across from the stone fountain. It ran brimful of water during times of plenty for their nation, but right now its stone basins held the barest trickle of water. It was a barometer for the state of their prosperity, and right now that was scarce.
"A reminder for tomorrow?" Thaniel murmured. We met here; we part here.
Blaise's light brown eyes barely flickered in his direction. "You know how the renewal happens, Thaniel?"
Thaniel nodded, moving closer to the fountain and running a hand along the rim of the lowest basin. It was dry, chalky, and rasping against his fingertips. He had to clear his throat before he could respond. "The young god comes to earth, to meet our sacrifice with one from the divine."
Blaise's head turned. "The phoenix goes up in flames, so that the sun's vengeance is dimmed for a little while," he added, elaborating on the legend that was the fabric of their very culture.
"That's it," Thaniel agreed, seating himself on the rim of the fountain.
"That is it," Blaise agreed, dusting his hands off. "The gods weep for the fallen."
"Do they really?" Thaniel wondered, pushing up from the rim and turning around to look at the empty basins. He tried to remember freely-flowing water; it hadn't been so long ago. He and Blaise had scampered around these very same gardens, and he remembered flicking water into Blaise's face. Blaise had squeaked and crouched down next to the fountain, hiding his face, until Thaniel had gone in to console him and been pounced, ambushed for his cares.
"That's what they say," Blaise said, sounding wistful. "The skies pour down for days after the ceremony."
"Were you at the last one?" Thaniel wanted to know. He'd met Blaise here in the city, so he assumed Blaise had always lived here.
Blaise's head jerked up. "The last ceremony? No," he said, quick and dismissive.
Thaniel bit his lip. "And … will you be at the next one?" He tried to picture seeing Blaise's face in the crowd from a great height.
Blaise's mouth quirked. "You'll be there, won't you?"
Thaniel turned an unamused look on him. "What do you think? Of course I'm going to be there."
"Then I will be," Blaise said, as though deciding it just now. He tipped his head to one side. "I should leave you to it."
"What—" Thaniel started, and heard his name in the distance. His attendants were calling for him. He scuffed a shoe over the dusty path and swore. He shook his head, denying the pull of the diminishing hours. "What did you bring me here for, Blaise? To remind me of what's at stake?"
Blaise gave him wide eyes, putting his head to the other side in a quick gesture. "Is that what you think?"
Thaniel replied tiredly, "It's what I'm thinking now."
Blaise pressed his lips together. "I only wanted to say, there's a beauty and purpose to everything."
"Oh," Thaniel said. He had gone in a different direction entirely. "The fountain?"
"It provides water for the birds," Blaise observed. "And beauty for all who gaze on it. Don't you think?"
"Well … I guess so," Thaniel said, looking over his shoulder as the voices of his attendants drew closer. He wanted to carve out an instant in time where there were no demands on him, where he could do as he liked.
Since that moment he'd been spoken for those four years ago, though, Thaniel's time was not his own. Today was no exception. Even spending the morning with Blaise was being cut short.
"It's a reminder to all of us," Blaise continued. "The water of plenty runs out, but it can return again. At a price."
"That's more like what I was thinking," Thaniel murmured, heading for the gap between the hedges. There was only one entrance to and from the fountain; at least, only one in the hedge labyrinth that he'd ever found.
"Thaniel," Blaise said behind him.
Though he wanted to keep walking, Thaniel paused to look. He was acutely aware of each moment now, in a way he'd never contemplated it before.
Tomorrow was the ceremony, and with it came a sacrifice.
Blaise's eyes were inscrutable, the lightest brown that Thaniel had ever seen as the sun touched down at the right angle for it, rendering them almost amber-colored. "Is it worth it?"
"What?" Thaniel answered, distracted. He was so focused on looking at Blaise he had to pay proper attention to the question. "The … price?"
Blaise nodded gravely, as though he truly wanted to hear the answer.
Thaniel gathered his thoughts and gazed past Blaise at the fountain. This was so much greater than him, and had been ever since the moment he'd reached his hand out to touch the crest the priest had wielded and it had kindled with its golden glow. There was a nation of thirsty people out there, which was far more grave than a fountain running dry. Water rationing had been in effect, Thaniel had heard in the streets, for over a year but he'd never lacked for however much he'd desired. He was spared the privation that everyone else had endured.
He had been chosen, but in a way he had made the choice, too. He'd been old enough to remember his mother's drawn face, her feeble pleading at her
most fevered, when she had sickened during the last drought.
"No one else should have to die for lack of water," Thaniel said aloud. It was the first thing he'd told himself when it had fully sunk in: what the crest's effulgence meant for him. "Yes. It's worth it."
Blaise nodded. He lifted a hand, curling it until his fingers were tucked under the thumb and kissed it in Thaniel's direction.
Thaniel smiled faintly. "Goodbye," he said.
He didn't linger long enough to listen for Blaise's farewell in kind. He struck out through the twisting paths of the hedge maze for the place where he'd heard his attendants calling. Before he was out of sight, though, he had to slant one last glance over his shoulder.
Blaise was seated on the rim of the fountain, dark red head bent, one arm lowered to try to trail down to the scant water settled at the very bottom.
Thaniel hurried through the fastest path that would take him to the entrance of the gardens. He didn't want to think too long on that last image. The next time Blaise returned to this place, the water would be overflowing.
And Thaniel wouldn't be by his side anymore.
He reached an intersection and rounded the corner, starting with a guilty twitch when his name was called, closer than any of the others. He swung around.
"Thaniel!" exclaimed Dorothea, a petite southern blond with large, grave blue eyes that always seemed to be chastising him for something, whether he'd been on good behavior or bad. "Where have you been?"
"Slipped out for some pastries," Thaniel mumbled, ducking his head in sheepish apology as Dorothea looked sorrowful. He could never stand up to her disappointment the way he could the scolding of some of the others.
"You know we'd be more than happy to get anything for you," Dorothea told him.
"I know that," Thaniel said, and added with a lift of his chin. "Maybe that's why I wanted to, for myself."
"Thaniel …" Dorothea began.
Knowing he was in for a lecture, Thaniel had to cut that off swiftly. "I wanted to see the market one last time."
Dorothea's eyes filled up and Thaniel knew he'd won.
"Let's get you back to your rooms," she murmured. Another white-robed figure appeared at the end of the hedge lane, and to Thaniel's right, yet a third. One of them turned and called to the rest that Dorothea had found Thaniel.
It gave him a brief pang of shame, but as much trouble as he knew he'd given the attendants during the past four years, he also knew it was something they'd gladly taken on.
"Did I put you very far behind?" Thaniel asked as he walked in between the two women who flanked him.
"Nothing we can't recover," black-haired Andrade reassured him.
Thaniel looked over his shoulder as they left the gardens for good.
He wasn't sure what he'd expected—a last glimpse of Blaise, perhaps? Instead, a wink of color caught his eye and he saw a cardinal winging to a perch atop a hedge in the distance. It opened its beak and trilled its high, clear call.
Thaniel smiled and restrained the urge to lift his hand and offer a landing perch. There was no saying whether it was the cardinal that greeted him every so often in his quarters. He couldn't help but feel his spirits rise at the sight of it, nonetheless.
Upon leaving the gardens, Thaniel was hustled back to his chambers. From there his attendants left him alone in the bath, albeit with strict instructions to bathe and attire himself in the undergarments they left for him.
For the first time since leaving his suite that morning, Thaniel was alone.
He reveled in the silence for a moment. He was on a schedule, ushered along its adherence by the well-meaning scoldings of his attendants, but they were women and therefore not allowed into the bathing chamber with him once Thaniel was ready to disrobe.
There were a series of preparations to undergo, and though the ceremony wasn't until tomorrow, Thaniel knew there was a great deal of prayer slated for his afternoon. He wanted to savor this moment, free from any other person or the expectation of conversation, and pretend as though he wasn't on a timetable. It was that schedule that ultimately broke down into an accounting of Thaniel's last minutes of life.
Everyone looked at him with that knowledge in their eyes.
He had hoped, when he'd escaped that morning, to enjoy a day on his own terms where he could play as he had when he'd been a youth. Back then, four years had seemed like a long time. He'd had forever, especially when there were no constraints on his time and he could do whatever he liked, within reason. It was only due to his desire to please high priest Anatole and his well-meaning attendants that he'd never run wild or become spoiled as others might have.
Today, though, the sadness or recognition had followed him everywhere. Even Blaise had looked at him a certain way, as though memorizing Thaniel's face, storing it up against the time he would no longer meet him in the market or lure him into the maze of hedges to pretend they were lost.
Thaniel walked around the echoing emptiness of his expansive bathing chamber. Even this was a reminder of his station. He had grown up in a tiny house filled with five people: his father and mother, his little sister, and his grandfather. Back then, his grandfather had been a vague presence, all white hair and wrinkles, filmy blue eyes, and the same five stories from his youth that he told over and over, regardless of who had heard them or how often. Thaniel's first experience with mortality had been his grandfather's passing, and it had been when he was so young he could remember no tears of his own, though his mother had wept for days. That had been the first time he learned what it meant for someone to leave him, someone who could never come back. It changed everything.
Life could never be the same. Life had limits, when before all things had been possible. As all things had a beginning, from that moment Thaniel became aware there was always an end.
When his mother had been taken with the fever, he'd been old enough to remember that, as well as how poor they were. She had died for lack of water, and that had been days before the ceremony of renewal.
If she could only have held on for a few more days …
Thaniel found himself gripping the edge of his marble counter as he glared at his white-knuckled hands. He couldn't look at his own face. His father had been a wreck after his mother's passing, a shell of a person, and he never did look at Thaniel again until the day he'd been chosen. Thaniel favored his mother, while his little sister had always looked more like their father.
That's two now, that the gods have taken from me, was all his father had said.
If I must have an end, then I'm going to make it count, Thaniel had replied.
His little sister had been so young that he wasn't sure how much she took in but he'd hugged her hard and whispered to her to take care of their father, hoping she would understand. He'd been glad for the compensation that would keep them well off. They, like he, would never endure water rations again. She would have the chances the rest of their family never had, and Thaniel knew she would do well. She had given him huge, solemn eyes and nodded, whispering I promise in return.
He turned away from his reflection and stripped off his robe. There was no point in dwelling on the past. It was what had brought him here today, but none of it could be changed. He'd had four years to really learn and appreciate that as he'd lived here, in the luxury of the temple grounds, but a prisoner in another sense. One could not unmake the choice, after all. Thaniel had wondered many times if it had been that secret desire to make a difference, to matter, as he'd not been able to matter for his mother.
Though he'd wanted to be alone, away from looks of pity or sadness or mere resignation at the limit of dwindling hours, Thaniel found himself acutely lonely. There was no one left between him and the silence.
He wondered what it would be like to die alone.
In that moment, Thaniel was keen to hurry through his cleansing and seek company once more, no matter how bittersweet. He piled his locks high on his head and sank into the tub. Scented oils lay on the surface of the
water, eddying around him as he took a seat on the marble bench underwater. He wrinkled his nose at the traditional scents of resin for the firebird and frankincense for mortality; those had never been his favorites.
Thaniel wanted to lay back and take his ease, but his desire to be with others again spurred him to set about scrubbing his skin after a moment of resting in the water. He gazed up at the ceiling; it was a mural of the sky, vast blue without a wisp of cloud, the sun's rays seeming to sear across the available surface.
He wondered if they'd repaint it when the gods' tears fell.
All he knew was that the suite was remade like new for every chosen. The skies turned, the rain coursed down, and the gods chose again. What was one life against so many years?
Long before his skin could begin to wrinkle, Thaniel rose up from the water and wrapped a sheet around his hips, walking around the perimeter of the room and surveying it from every angle. The pool of water in the bath represented an entire month's worth of rations for one person, Thaniel knew, and he felt guilty doing nothing more than soaking in it despite the fact that it was part of the preparations for tomorrow.
At last, done with cleansing, he wiped himself dry and pulled on his undergarments to return to the outer chambers.
Dorothea and Sabine were waiting for him, and silently they guided him to his dressing table.
Thaniel bit his lip as he met his own eyes in the mirror. He looked pale and resolute. He had to drop his gaze and focus on his slim hands, folded one over the other in his lap, because he couldn't look at himself any longer.
He favored his mother, his father had always said. Right now, Thaniel recognized the look in his own eyes. He'd seen it on her face before the end.
To distract himself from the waning hours, Thaniel focused on the preparations as his ladies bustled about him.
His attendants draped him in flame-bright cloth, a red bolt of fabric shot through with iridescent orange depending on the angle, and flickering winks of blue at the edges, outlined in silky yellow fringe. It was the traditional ceremonial garb he would wear tomorrow.
Tonight, Thaniel had hours of purification to look forward to—prayers and the swing of a censer of incense, all of the worship of a nation's worth of priests and faithful concentrated on him so that he could become the vessel for their salvation.