by Jayne Faith
Toric
WHEN AN URGENT summons came from the Master of War toward the end of my meeting with Akantha and the Priestess, I was more than happy to leave the women and let my attention move to other affairs. Still, it took the entire trek to the War Room before my pulse calmed to a reasonable rate. Akantha had never inspired any warmth in me, but her recent actions had dissolved any sense of courtesy I’d ever upheld toward her.
The Priestess was a whole different matter, and one that weighed upon my heart. Had she already gone to Jeric for a blood sample? Had she already discovered something that I wasn’t sure I could ever accept?
I put both women from my mind as I arrived at the War Room. Master of War Xavier and his top men were waiting. The guards stayed outside and closed the door behind me. Inside, the military men bowed and murmured their greetings. None of them made a move toward the chairs, so I remained standing.
“My Lord, I believe our news is best presented via the battle map,” Xavier said.
The lights dimmed slightly, and one broad wall illuminated with the familiar diagram, the pictorial representation of the war for Earthenfell.
My jaw dropped. The red areas, which represented areas of the battle where we were losing ground, were gone. Green patches showed where we’d gained the upper hand, and white represented our victories.
I blinked a few times, taking one last hard look to make sure my eyes did not deceive me and then swung my gaze to Xavier. “Could it be true?” My voice was hushed with awe that I made no attempt to hide.
He gave me a triumphant nod. “By the grace of the stars and the might of the Calistan forces.” His battle-hardened face, usually sharp-eyed and creased with focus, almost seemed illuminated from within.
I looked back at the wall. “And the momentum of the remaining battles?”
“All heavily in our favor.” He described each one, giving a brief summary of Calistan strategy and how we were exploiting the weakness of each enemy. It was information I could have read later in the daily war report, but hearing it from Xavier with the battle map’s soft white glow of victory made it feel much more real.
When he finished, the room was silent for a long moment.
There was a logical next question, but I hesitated, as it seemed almost too momentous to speak aloud. I licked my dry lips. “What is your projection for the end of the war?” My words seemed to grow and hang in the air around us, almost as if they took physical form.
“Within the half year, my Lord.”
The sound of my own heartbeat seemed to fill my head and my ears, and my eyes misted. I had to take a breath or two before I could respond. “Then you are a living legend, Master Xavier.”
He inclined his head. “It is my honor to command such brave fighters in the quest for our true home, and it is my honor to do so in your name, my Lord.”
Xavier was an aggressive commander and merciless when it came to our enemies, but his battle fervor was born of deep religious conviction. He managed to embody a rare combination of humbleness and audaciousness that stirred extreme loyalty in his soldiers. I did not understand war and fighting—not like my father had—but I’d always admired Xavier.
We spoke for a few more minutes about the next steps in the battles, the release of the information to the public, and the state of the fighting forces.
When I left the War Room, my guards for the morning shift—Calvin and North—gave me long, questioning looks. I couldn’t tell them what I’d learned, but surely my face betrayed something of the news. I felt as if I walked an inch off the ground. Even Camira’s reminder that I had an appointment with the Office of Royal Social Affairs could not bring me down.
Yauna, the head of Royal Social Affairs, greeted me with a broad smile and a curtsy. “My Lord, this is an exciting day. You will narrow the pool to five women with whom you will meet. You’ll be able to interview them as well as spend some informal time together.”
When I returned her smile, her face brightened even more. She didn’t know, of course, that my brilliant mood had nothing to do with the process of choosing a Calistan wife. In fact, if things went very well with the war, I might escape taking a wife at all. At that thought, I nearly crowed with happiness.
My mood dampened considerably when my mother arrived. “I apologize for my tardiness.” She leaned down to plant a kiss on my cheek, and her perfume wafted over my face.
I could tell by Mother’s demeanor that she did not yet know of the war report I’d just received.
Yauna went through the ten remaining candidates in detail. She had recorded statements from each of them, and the videos were my first glimpse of the women beyond the headshots that accompanied their profiles. I watched them with feigned interest, listening with one ear as Yauna commented upon various characteristics of each woman.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I watched my mother. Did she really carry Pirro blood? I’d thought I did not want to know but realized that wasn’t entirely true. It wasn’t so much her lineage that interested me, but whether—if she was indeed part Pirro—she was aware of her bloodline. If she was, it meant only one thing in my mind: my mother was an enemy.
I’d already considered her dangerous and untrustworthy after discovering she was the one behind Maya’s abduction and poisoning, but if she were some sort of Pirro agent . . . it was hard to imagine such treachery.
Her mere presence put me on edge, and each time she made a remark about one of the candidates, I searched for any hint of manipulation. Any sign that she was trying to guide my selection to ensure that another woman of Pirro blood would bear the Lord’s children.
She didn’t know that so far I’d chosen the women totally at random. Next, I planned to deliberately pick the ones she appeared to disfavor. For all I knew, every candidate left was part Pirro, but either way it gave me a tiny zing of satisfaction to go against my mother’s preferences.
By the time I was finished choosing, my mother sat quiet and sullen. I’d been perhaps too obvious in ignoring her advice and comments, but I didn’t much care how she felt or how it appeared.
I bid her a cool goodbye and retreated to my private prayer room in my quarters. I needed time to absorb Master Xavier’s news, to pray for complete victory, and some quiet meditation to calm the suppressed anger brought on first by Akantha and then by my mother.
As I sat in peaceful solitude after my prayers, thoughts of Maya drifted to the forefront of my mind. I’d known from the first moment I saw her that she was important. In recent days, all of Calisto had learned it, too. Part of me longed for the days when she was just another Earthen Offered in the eyes of the public. Back when she was only a few rooms away and I could feel her energy reaching invisible fingers out to me, surrounding my heart and igniting my passion.
In her Temple quarters, she was too far away for me to sense.
I couldn’t help thinking of the various scenarios, the handful of branching paths before me. If the Return began before I had to take a Calistan wife, perhaps Maya and I would have a chance. On Earthenfell, everything would be different. Instead of producing Calistan heirs, I would be required to have children with Earthen mothers—with the harem. I’d read the transcripts of the passages, and they were clear: the harem was to bear my children. The Lord was never meant to be with one woman alone. That would be a problem.
Even if I could choose just one woman, there was the complicating issue of my needs—the torment that was too deeply ingrained to ignore.
I pushed those concerns from my mind. One thing at a time.
I believed Maya was safe from the flame, and by Akantha’s agreement, I should not have to worry about Maya in the Tournament either.
I knew she could not stay in the Temple guest quarters forever. What, then, was left for her? It was another issue to negotiate. It suddenly occurred to me that with Maya’s disqualification from the Tournament, and with her possible divine status, she’d passed from Akantha’s purview to the Temple’s. I would need to consult wi
th the Priestess to determine the best place for Maya. My first choice was, of course, with me. But there were many layers of opposition, many obstacles . . .
I closed my eyes again, and prayed for a way that Maya and I could belong only to each other.
*
The next challenge of the Tournament took place a day later, and I felt as if I watched it from a great distance. It took me a while to recognize the feeling—it was the detachment I used to experience during the Tournament, before Maya had come to Calisto. It was the detachment I had to feel.
I’d never been a boisterous fan of the Tournament like so many of the nobles and citizens. I tolerated it because it was required—ordered by the sacred texts. With Maya disqualified and Orion gone, I had little interest in who won, and I could not allow myself to become emotionally caught up in who survived and who perished.
I’d been tempted to invite Maya to watch the Tournament with me, not only because I wished for her company, but also because I thought it would help her cause by demonstrating how far removed she was from the remaining Earthen Offered. Bringing her to the viewing party might have helped to cement her as someone special and apart in the minds of the attending nobles and royalty.
She would have gone along with it, I was sure, but to ask her to watch the Tournament as entertainment just seemed too much. Cruel, even. And I wanted to protect her from the public eye when I could.
I couldn’t help imagining her watching the challenge in her Temple quarters, safe for the moment as her former competitors fought for their lives. Or maybe she’d decided not to watch. In her position, I wasn’t sure what I would have done.
There hadn’t been time for Akantha to devise an elaborate challenge. The setting was similar to the first challenge—a wilderness where the Offered were tested against the elements and bloodthirsty wild animals.
The Mistress of Tournament sat at a table with her cronies. Jeric had elected to join me at the Lord’s table.
When our sister Cassi excused herself for the sixth time at least—the late stage of her pregnancy demanded frequent trips to the ladies’ room—Jeric moved into the seat next to me that she’d vacated.
I arched a brow at him and propped my elbows on the table, using my clasped hands to block my mouth from curious lip-readers. “How are things with your betrothed?”
He snorted. “The only thing I care about is that my threat seems to be holding. She didn’t give you too much trouble about Maya and the Tournament, did she?” He barely moved his lips as he spoke, a skill everyone in my family knew well. We all learned at a young age that someone was always trying to listen in, and the craftiest eavesdroppers were those who could read lips at a distance.
“She made a weak attempt but rolled over easier than I’ve ever seen.” I tipped my mug of brew to my lips and took a long drink. “It would make me nervous, suspicious that she was scheming something, if I didn’t know what had transpired between the two of you.”
“She very well may be scheming,” he said. “I wouldn’t put anything past her. After the business with Maya and the miracle commission is settled, I’m breaking off the engagement.”
I turned sharply to him. “I wholeheartedly support your decision, but the fallout . . .”
I flicked a glance to where my mother was chatting with some noble ladies at a nearby table.
“Mother doesn’t know,” Jeric said. “No one except you will know until it happens. I plan to do it suddenly and publicly.”
I eyed him. “Are you going to try to strip her of her title?”
He gave a slight nod. “Yes. Try being the key word. She’s very crafty, and she has a loyal network of spies. It won’t be easy to pin her crimes on her in a way that’ll stick.”
“Mother will expect you to find another woman, someone higher born this time,” I said. “Especially once I’m wed.”
“I’m through with that. I’ll be with who I want.” He said the words fiercely, his eyes flashing.
I couldn’t help a faint smile. “Ah, you’ve already set your sights on someone new?”
He flicked a glance at me and then looked away, but not before I saw how his defiance had softened to warmth.
“You have,” I said with a chuckle. I examined his face again. “And it’s not a fling, no . . . this is something real.”
“I’ll say no more on the topic,” Jeric said shortly, but his mouth widened into a tiny secretive smile as he lifted a tumbler of ginger-infused water for a sip.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen my brother pass up brew and wine. I took in his pressed clothes, freshly shaven face, and the vital color on his face. He was a changed man. Not just recovered from his earlier madness, but truly a different man than he’d been before.
“I envy you,” I said, my words low and soft.
He regarded me solemnly for a moment. “That is quite a turn,” he said. “I’ve always envied you. Cursed you for being born first. Hated you for returning to Calisto and taking back the throne when I thought it was mine. But now, for the first time in my life, I’m finally realizing how lucky I am.”
“I’m glad for you.” I meant it. I found that my brother’s peace gave me an unexpected joy, and that reaction in itself made me happy.
Shouts and exclamations went up around the room, and Jeric and I turned to the monitors. Two of the women had perished. I quickly averted my eyes and said a silent prayer for their families.
Kalindi, the blonde vixen, and Britta, the tall athletic women, were the only competitors remaining in the women’s competition.
The party continued late into the night, and some of the revelers would stay up until dawn when the challenge ended. I had no desire to take part, so I retired well before midnight.
When I awoke, the Tournament was the big news of the morning. It was over, and Kalindi and Amet were the winners. The video clip the commentators were gleefully playing over and over showed Kalindi climbing up to Britta’s spot of safety in a tree. The two women struggled for several seconds, and then Kalindi finally loosened Britta’s grip and shoved her off her perch. Britta tumbled fifteen or twenty feet to the ground.
The news feeds at least had the decency to cut off the clip before it showed the savage eight-foot clawed lizards falling upon Britta.
It was a vicious move by Kalindi, one that would have lost her enormous favor earlier in the Tournament. But as the commentators pointed out, with only one other competitor left Kalindi could get away with such calculated brutality as long as it left her as the last survivor.
The blonde Earthen woman would enter the harem. And the Earthen man who had won, Amet, would enter the ranks of my personal servants. Akantha would not get the satisfaction of sending any Offered to the sacrificial flame.
It was done. I no longer had to worry about Maya dying in the Tournament.
But there was little time for relief. I received a message from the Priestess stating that we needed to find a more suitable place for Maya. The Temple could not continue to house her indefinitely, as only ordained priestesses were allowed to live there permanently.
I hated to think about it, but the Priestess was right. There were strict laws about where foreigners could reside on Calisto, and the laws were very specific about Earthens. We’d bent the law for Maya already.
I responded to the Priestess’s message, telling her I wanted to personally break the news to Maya. I knew I should be happy—she was safe for the moment, and I’d be able to see her often—but frustration stirred my emotions. I wanted her with me, not closeted away with the rest of the harem. She belonged with me.
But what could I do? In a matter of weeks, I’d have to take a Calistan wife.
My only hope was complete victory over our enemies.
I’d never imagined I would have such personal reasons to pray so hard for the Return.
15
Maya
WHEN THE TOURNAMENT challenge began, I wasn’t sure if I would watch it, but in the end I did because it somehow felt d
isloyal not to do so. Not watching seemed too much like a denial of the fact that not long ago I was one of them. One of the young Earthens fighting to survive in an alien land. It was as if I had a responsibility to bear witness to the event.
I stayed up late, into the early morning hours to watch.
Britta’s death was a stab through my heart. She’d been kind to me, and she’d never tried to sabotage me. Of all the women in the Tournament, she was the only one I might have considered a friend. I bowed my head in prayer, asking the stars to send strength to her family. I wished I could let them know their daughter had battled well. Britta was a good person, and yet in the end it seemed her downfall was her unwillingness to stoop to her competitor’s level. Kalindi’s ruthless aggression had won her the Tournament. It was an ugly, brutal victory, but there was nothing to be done about it.
Thoughts of my sister constantly haunted me, lurking around the edges of my mind like a ghostly whisper. Where was she? What was she feeling? How was she getting by in a strange place without anyone familiar to help her?
I couldn’t deny my lingering anger toward Jeric for bringing Lana to Calisto. It was a terribly rash thing to do, and as he’d said, it was something that could not be undone. So, what did it mean for Lana’s future? She couldn’t live out the rest of her days hidden away in a closet, keeping out of sight for fear of being discovered. No, she did not deserve such a life, and I couldn’t bear the thought. I would keep pressing Jeric until he came up with a better solution.
But first, I just needed to see her, to confirm with my own eyes that she was alive and unharmed.
My fingers itched to tap out a message to Jeric on one of the small tablets stacked in a drawer of the desk, to ask him for an update, to demand to see Lana. He’d warned me that I should contact him only in the case of an emergency because he worried about messages getting intercepted, even confidential ones that required a fingerprint to access.
But I didn’t have to wait long. I’d fallen asleep around dawn after the end of the Tournament and woken to a soft chime.