“I see you’ve been to see Trev, Vatar,” Avaza said. “Is anything wrong?”
Vatar’s hand tightened around Thekila’s. “Nothing that need concern you, Avaza.”
Avaza’s eyes glinted. “Then something is wrong. What?”
“Not in the least,” Thekila said, putting her arm around Vatar and leaning against him. “Let me handle this,” she said silently. “It’s just that I’m pregnant and Vatar is concerned for me. Trev has been reading the signs for us.”
“Oh,” Avaza said. “Nothing to be worried about, I hope.” She didn’t sound particularly convincing.
Thekila smiled brightly. “Nothing at all.”
They walked on. Vatar turned his head to look back briefly. “I’ve never lied to Avaza before.”
“You didn’t lie to her. I did,” Thekila said. “I don’t trust her and I don’t see any reason she needs to know our business. Let me handle Avaza, Vatar. I’m much better equipped for it than you are.”
Vatar stopped and looked into Thekila’s eyes. “I have no interest in Avaza, Thekila. I know her too well. She wouldn’t tempt me if she danced naked in front of me.”
Thekila laughed at that picture. “I know that, Vatar. But it’s still better if you let me deal with her. I can be as devious as she is, if I have to. You, my love, don’t have it in you.”
Vatar half-smiled at that. He looked back toward where they’d encountered Avaza. “I worry that she suspects something. She made a point of bringing up Zavar and the lullaby. She’s made trouble for me before by spreading tales.”
Thekila scowled. She had no intention of letting Avaza give Vatar one more thing to worry about. “Let me handle that, too.”
~
Vatar noticed with puzzlement that Mother cast frequent glances towards Thekila as they ate their evening meal together. “What is it, Mother? Why are you so distracted?”
Mother glanced at him and then away. “I heard in the women’s hut that Thekila is pregnant. Is it true?”
Vatar looked at Thekila. Neither of them had to use Far Speech to know they were thinking the same thing. Other than themselves, only two people here at Zeda knew she was pregnant. And any story originating from Theklan was more likely to have reached Mother through Kiara than the women’s hut. Avaza had been quick to spread that story. What else would she gossip about if she knew?
Thekila leaned against him and turned to face Mother. “Yes. We were going to tell you this evening.” Her arm around Vatar tightened. “I can’t understand how someone beat us to it. I’m sure I don’t look pregnant yet.”
“Our son will be born at the end of winter,” Vatar said, taking his cue from her.
Mother smiled. “It could be a daughter, Vatar.”
Vatar shrugged. “It could be, but it’s not, Mother. I can’t explain how I know that. But I do.” And it felt true.
Mother frowned slightly. “In fact, if the child isn’t due until late winter, it’s early for you even to know. Are you sure?”
“Quite sure. It’s not that early for a Valson to know. And I conferred with Boreala before we left Caere.”
Mother’s face relaxed into a smile. “Ah. Well, then. I’m very happy for both of you.”
Chapter 32: Epiphany
Cestus lit two oil lamps and settled at the table in the front room of the guest house. This quiet time in the evenings was perfect for studying. Jana and Arus were asleep upstairs and Lancera was still over at the main house helping Elaria clean up after the evening meal and prepare for tomorrow’s breakfast. Especially now that Arcas had left for Zeda—after many assurances that Cestus and Lancera would take care of Elaria and little Caslar—all meals were taken over in the main house, so he could spread the books and scrolls from the archives and library over the entire table. There was so much in these old records that most Fasallon never knew about. Fascinating histories, but few of them actually had a bearing on his search for more information about Abella’s early prophecies and the identity of the Fasallon who was not a Fasallon. More specifically about the secret that this Fasallon who was not a Fasallon was destined to reveal. That was the greatest puzzle. And it seemed to him to be the key. Nothing much could happen until he figured that out.
Lancera came through the door and came over to sit next to him. “You spend all of your time with those books, Cestus. More than you used to do to prepare lessons for your class. What are you working on?”
“It’s not for a lesson. This is personal research.” Cestus paused to think. Things were still tense between them. He and Lancera danced very carefully around one another, feeling their way back to each other, both afraid to say or do something that would break the delicate bond between them. So, would the truth be too great a strain on their relationship? Or would it be worse in the long term to lie or evade the question? It would be terrific to have her support. Even just to have someone he could talk things out with. But sometimes the very idea seemed crazy, even to him.
Lancera picked up the nearest scroll. “The prophecies of Abella? What made you interested in that?”
Cestus drew a deep breath before plunging ahead. “Because . . . Well, because I think at least one of them is about to be proven.”
Lancera’s face scrunched up in thought. “Which one?”
Cestus turned to look into her eyes. “The Fasallon who is not a Fasallon.”
Lancera’s eyes lit up with hope. “You think Vatar is the Fasallon who is not a Fasallon?”
Cestus shook his head. Naturally she would think that. To be fair, Cestus had thought it once himself. “No. Not Vatar. Father is certain that he is not the one spoken of in that prophecy. And, after my research, so am I.”
“Then who?” Lancera asked.
Cestus drew a deep breath. He’d probably gone too far now to prevaricate. “Me.”
“You?” Lancera looked at Cestus as if she was trying to decide if he was insane or merely an unrealistic dreamer.
Cestus smiled crookedly. It wasn’t flattering, but he could scarcely blame her for the same doubts he’d had in the beginning. “Why me? There are hundreds of others like me. What makes me special enough to be the Fasallon who is not a Fasallon?”
Lancera nodded.
Cestus managed a reassuring smile. “It’s all right. I thought the same thing at first. It’s easy to think Vatar might be the one. He’s always doing unexpected things. And, sometimes, he just seems somehow . . . bigger than the rest of us. Not like me.” Cestus’s voice became more earnest. “But, Lancera, that may be just the point. Maybe it can’t be someone like Vatar. Maybe it has to be someone unlikely.”
Lancera stood up, putting a little more distance between them. “When did you start thinking like this?”
Cestus looked toward the window and the dark courtyard beyond. “It started the day Caslar was born. Something Theklan said to me. He and I were the only ones up when Elaria’s labor started—except for Arcas, of course. I had to ask Theklan to contact Boreala for me. Not even enough Talent to reach my own sister with Far Speech from less than two miles away. Theklan said that it must be hard to be a Fasallon, but not really a Fasallon. That started me thinking.”
“That’s just one comment by a boy who doesn’t understand our ways.” Lancera gestured at the books and scrolls covering the table. “Hardly enough to justify all this. What makes you think it could be you? There are others with less Talent than you have.”
But not many. The unspoken thought hung in the air between them. Cestus swallowed his disappointment at her reaction. “But none with my experiences, Lancera. That’s the key, I think. All of the others have lived their lives insulated by the Palace or the Temple. Just like I had before Father sent me out with Boreala to save Vatar’s mother and then to try to help Vatar in his Ordeal. Because of that, I’ve seen what it’s like beyond the Temple. I’ve lived with the Dardani and seen what real freedom looks like. I know what life could be like for us. I’ve seen it. That’s the difference.”
Lan
cera sat down again, but not as close as before. “What are you going to do?”
Cestus searched her face, but he couldn’t tell if she believed him. Maybe it would just take a little time to sink in. It had for him. If she could believe along with him, nothing could stop him—or them. “Nothing, yet. I’m still researching. I haven’t told anyone but you.”
“Will you tell the Caereans about the Lie?” She asked.
Cestus shook his head. “No. The Lie isn’t the secret. Or at least not all of it. It can’t be. You could go to the main market square and shout that we’re all frauds, that our ancestors only pretended to be the Sea Gods, until the Guard came to arrest you. I doubt that more than one or two Caereans would even stop to listen to you. And even they wouldn’t do anything about it. Why should they? The system works for them. There has to be something more to it. That’s what I’ve been searching for. I’ve been studying all of the records from that time. I haven’t found anything, yet. But there has to be something.”
~
The next day, Cestus stepped out of the Temple library juggling an armful of old scrolls. As he passed through the door, he almost bumped into Miceus.
“C-Cestus!” Miceus said. “I’m s-sorry. I d-didn’t see you there.”
“My fault, Miceus. I just stepped into the hall without looking.”
Cestus started back down the corridor toward his classroom. “What brings you to this part of the Temple, Miceus?”
“M-Mother wanted me to p-pick up some scrolls for her at the library.”
Cestus paused and stared at Miceus. It surpassed his understanding. Only those who truly had no Talent at all were forced to serve the Talented. Despite his lack of Talent, Cestus had fought and worked hard to be taken seriously and become a teacher—even if an undervalued one. But Miceus was Talented. He shouldn’t have to even ask to be for respect. That was normally given to the Talented as a matter of course. “Miceus, you have Talent. Why do you let Gerusa treat you like a servant? I don’t have any Talent to speak of, but nobody uses me as an errand boy.”
“M-Mother d-doesn’t . . . .” Miceus looked away. “It’s no t-trouble. I was c-coming for some scrolls m-myself, anyway.”
Cestus shook his head. “That’s a bad lie, Miceus. You would have said you were coming to the library in the first place if that was what you were really doing.”
Miceus hung his head and didn’t answer.
Cestus drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Look, I don’t know why you let her treat you that way. And it’s your business. But, if you ever need to talk, or just to get away for a while, I’m still staying at Vatar’s farm. And I know Father would be glad to talk to you any time.”
Miceus looked up. “M-maybe . . . m-maybe I will c-come to the farm . . . sometime.”
“You do that, Miceus. I think you need to.”
After dropping the scrolls in his classroom, Cestus walked out through the Temple Garden toward the Healer’s Hall. He needed to borrow some kind of bag from Boreala if he was going to carry all of those scrolls up the hill. There were just too many to juggle for that whole distance. She was sure to have something he could borrow.
He slowed at the voices on a nearby path. One was his step-father, Dinus. He couldn’t immediately identify the other, though it seemed likely it was another petty bureaucrat like Dinus. Cestus hurried his step. He’d like to have a chance to talk to Dinus. He wouldn’t bring up the Fasallon who is not a Fasallon, except in very general terms. But Dinus had always been a very good sounding board for ideas.
“I know, Farus. But there’s nothing we can do about it,” Dinus said.
Cestus slowed. Farus was head of the servant corps in the Palace. It could be interesting to hear what he had to say. Cestus could catch up to Dinus a little later.
“Most of them don’t even know our names. We might as well be part of the furniture,” Farus said.
“I hear you,” Dinus said.
Farus snorted. “Gerusa is the worst. She looks right through you as if you’re not even there.”
“I could tell you things about Gerusa that would curl your hair,” Dinus answered.
Farus laughed unpleasantly. “Better tell her, then. She’s totally dependent on us, just like the rest of them. You should have seen the fit she pitched when Matia took ill and she had to do her own hair!”
“Yes,” Dinus agreed. “The whole system would grind to a halt without us. Not that they appreciate that.”
Cestus turned aside and sat on a bench, thinking. He totally forgot about talking with his step-father. Was this the key? The High Council—nearly all of the most Talented Fasallon—needed the less-Talented and the unTalented more than anyone realized. Not just, like Gerusa, as personal servants. The whole bureaucracy was run by people like Dinus, Fasallon with little Talent. The Temple Guards, who kept the peace within the city, were nearly all unTalented. Without them, the Fasallon couldn’t rule. Could that be the real secret? Cestus’s mind was whirling again. He had to go back to the archives. The scrolls he’d just gathered were useless—or nearly. He’d been looking in the wrong place. The secret he was looking for was not ancient, from the time of Abella. It had been right in front of him every day of his life. The vulnerability of the Fasallon was their dependence on the people they valued the least.
Chapter 33: Visit
Miceus paced across the main room of the apartment he shared with Athra and their children. It wasn’t the yelling. That was bad enough, but he’d deserved that. He’d let himself be distracted and forgotten one of the scrolls Mother had expressly asked for.
It was what came after the yelling that hurt the most, when Mother pretended he’d never been born, ignored him as if he didn’t exist at all. The shouting only lasted an hour or so, but Mother could look right through him for weeks. That was what Miceus couldn’t stand.
Usually, after four days he would beg for her forgiveness, implore her to hit him, even, just so long as he knew that she’d acknowledged his existence. He took another turn across the room. A long time ago, when they were both young, Selene had tried to shelter him from Mother’s anger. Not anymore. Selene always agreed with Mother now. And if Mother shunned him, so did Selene. Even Athra wasn’t much help. She didn’t ignore him, of course. But she would always get that disappointed look as she watched him crumble under his mother’s pressure.
Not this time. Cestus had said to come out the farm if he needed to talk. He wasn’t sure how much help Cestus could be, but it didn’t really matter. Just the walk, being away from all of them, would feel good. Maybe that would be enough.
~
Miceus paused at the gate, unsure whether he would actually be welcome or not. He was about to turn away and walk back down the hill when Cestus stepped out of the main house and started across the courtyard.
Miceus remained quiet but his shadow, made long by the lowering sun, stretched across the courtyard.
Cestus looked up and hurried to the gate, appearing to actually be glad to see him. “Miceus! What are you waiting for? Come on in.” He led the way over to the smaller house on the opposite side of the courtyard.
Miceus had never been inside this house. The table in the front room was covered in a double layer of books and scrolls and smaller sheets containing dense notes.
Cestus swept those on one end into a pile and offered Miceus a seat.
“What’s all this?” Miceus asked.
Cestus waved his hand dismissively. “Just some research. Nothing that would interest you.”
Lancera came through the door. She took one look at Miceus and then at the pile of books and her face turned pale. Well, women could be particular about tidiness when visitors arrived. Miceus knew that well enough. Cestus shook his head and Lancera left the room.
Cestus turned back to Miceus. “What brings you here? Was there something you wanted to talk about?”
Miceus fidgeted in his seat. “I . . . I guess so. I just c-couldn’t . . . I c-couldn’t stand it anymo
re.”
Cestus’s brow furrowed. “Couldn’t stand what?”
Miceus shrugged. “Oh, it’s just . . . M-Mother. She’s angry at m-me again. I f-forgot one of the scrolls she wanted.”
Cestus sat back and stared at Miceus for a moment. “That was what, four days ago? And she’s still mad at you? For forgetting a scroll?”
“M-Mother can stay m-mad a long t-time.”
Cestus let out a long breath. “Miceus, you’re what, about a year older than me? That’d make you twenty five. Isn’t it time you stopped worrying so much about whether your mother is angry with you?”
Miceus looked up. “You d-don’t know M-Mother. You c-can’t just ignore her. It d-doesn’t work.”
Cestus rolled a quill pen around in his hand. “No. From the little I know about Gerusa, I don’t imagine that she’s easy to ignore. But you don’t have to stay around her. Just go out with your friends.”
“I . . . I d-don’t r-really have any friends,” Miceus admitted, looking down. “M-Mother d-didn’t approve. When we were young, it was just S-Selene and m-me. Now S-Selene is just like M-Mother, t-too.”
Cestus set the pen down and gripped Miceus’s arm until he looked up. “You have friends, Miceus. You have better than that. You have brothers. You have me and Orleus and Vatar. And you always have Father.”
Miceus swallowed hard. He couldn’t speak through the constriction in his throat, so he just nodded.
Cestus let go of his arm. He blew out a breath. “What is it you do, Miceus? I don’t think we ever talked about that.”
Miceus blinked, unsure what to make of this turn in the conversation. “D-do?”
“What do you do with your time? Father is on the High Council. He also does some writing. I teach. Orleus is Captain of the Guard in Tysoe. Vatar is a blacksmith. What do you do?”
Miceus ducked his head. “I d-don’t do anything like that. M-Mother didn’t . . .”
Cestus rapped on the table. “I don’t want to hear what Gerusa doesn’t approve of.”
The Voice of Prophecy (Dual Magics Book 2) Page 23