He burst from beneath me like a loosed arrow, every stride, every heaving breath unwinding a tiny bit of the tension in my chest. I ran him ragged, fleeing the feeling of helplessness that had dogged me for months and now threatened to overwhelm what fragile composure remained to me. No matter how far or fast we went, I knew I could not escape the mess of secrets that had woven itself into the heart of my homeland, the fetid nest of lies and manipulation into which I’d willingly climbed. It would be there waiting when I returned, demanding our next move. But to feel the wind whipping my face, stinging my eyes as Valor’s hooves hammered the ground beneath me… it helped.
When he finally burned through the bulk of his energy, we slowed and circled back for James and his stout painted gelding.
“Better?” he mused with a raise of his brows.
We fell in side-by-side, Valor heaving noisily as he matched pace with the paint. The grateful smile I flashed James proved to be answer enough. My friend nodded sagely, scanning the horizon before eyeing me askance.
“How long have you been holding that in?”
“Few months,” I admitted. “Since we returned from Elas, I suppose.”
“I noticed that surly Tuvrian didn’t come back with you. Left him in Agorai?”
My smile faded. “He came back.”
“I’ve not seen him.”
“…He left.”
“Good riddance. Bet that was a relief.”
I didn’t reply.
“Unless I’m missing something,” he revised, and I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was staring at me, doing his damnedest to puzzle me out.
“He’s not so bad,” I confessed a bit reluctantly. “I mean, he is. He’s a stubborn ass on the best of days. But he’s Tuvrian, and I’m…well, me. That he never used that damned rope on me is a wonder.”
“Rope?”
The memory of his indignant threats brought a heavier version of that smile back to my lips. “Nothing. Never mind.”
James narrowed his eyes at me in suspicion. “I thought you hated him. He gave you more bruises than all the stable boys combined, by your own accounting.”
“And I’m far better with a blade for it. Pain is progress.” How many times had he hurled that stupid phrase at me? Now it was coming out of my own mouth? I shook my head, annoyed that I had to chase Quintin’s voice from my thoughts. “Things were just…easier, with him around.”
Something in the distance caught my eye, a small figure making its solitary way toward the Kingswood. Glad for a distraction, I spurred Valor across the field toward it, James trailing close behind. As we drew near, I made out the mist green robes and brown curls of the High Priestess.
She blinked up at me as we shuffled to a stop beside her. “I recognize you,” she commented curiously.
I bowed from my saddle. “Elivya fen Lazerin, my lady. I saw you at the palace this morning. You were incredibly brave.”
The priestess offered me a wry smile. “That is not the word I would choose, but thank you all the same.”
“Where are you going?”
“Back to my forest, as commanded by the heir of Adulil.”
I glanced at the Kingswood. “You live there?”
Technically, Priests of Adulil don’t live anywhere. They maintain a nomadic life, traveling around Alesia to offer aid and counsel to all the Mother’s people. Still, many often choose a wild place in which to build a more permanent dwelling, usually in extreme isolation and never revealed to anyone except their aspirants, should they take any. I knew Izikiel had such a place somewhere in the Laezon forest, but I’d never seen it and he rarely spoke of it.
“I spend much time there, yes,” Valia replied graciously.
“Have you seen a great stag?” There was an unintended edge of earnestness in my voice. I wasn’t sure why I’d asked; the question had just surfaced unwitting on my lips.
“There are many great stags in the King’s forest.”
“Not like this.”
She nodded slowly, brows knitting. “You’ve seen one of the Old Ones?”
Impossible golden eyes and a deep feeling of unease echoed in my memory. “I have.”
“You are most fortunate, then.”
“What does it mean?”
She ignored my query and lifted one hand to Valor’s muzzle. He snuffled her and pressed his nose into her palm.
“You’ve seen him too, haven’t you?” Valia murmured to him with a smile.
“Please, my lady. Tell me how to help.”
Her gaze returned to me, sorrow in her eyes. “It is not my place to gainsay the Heir of Adulil. If he bids me to go, I will go.”
“We can’t just stand by and do nothing,” I protested.
The corner of her mouth twitched. “I expect you won’t.”
With that, she left us and continued along the path toward the Kingswood. I made to follow her and press my case, but James stopped me with a quiet reproach. Relenting, I turned and kneed Valor back toward the city. My friend wheeled his mount around alongside, our horses plodding slowly down the road.
I could feel him watching me. When you spend half your life with someone, the feel of their presence becomes a subconscious thread, winding through your bones and whispering their thoughts into yours. Despite the scars we had left on one another, that cord still remained, tethering his soul to mine. One glance his way, and he quirked that brow at me in silent query.
“I thought she might have some guidance for me,” I replied, not bothering to hide my discouragement. “Some advice. Something.”
He adjusted the reins in his hands, a pensive, fidgeting gesture as familiar to me as his freckles. “When did you see a Fey Beast?”
“Just before I left for Elas. The King and Queen held a hunt and a feast for the spring equinox. We stumbled across it when chasing down a buck.”
“You and Adrian?” There was a hint of old hurt in his voice, but not so much as I had expected.
I turned to meet his brown eyes openly. “Yes.”
It took him a moment to decide whether or not to ask. “Is he good to you? Do you love him?” There they were, the questions that had hung between us, unspoken, for nearly two years.
“Yes.”
James nodded, looking away. “Good.”
“And your Leanne?”
His face softened at her name, and I didn’t need to hear his response to know. “Yes.”
Something in me settled, deep and final. “Good.”
Peace between us was a balm on my troubled heart. The rest of my world may be spiraling out of control, but this, I could fix. We chatted amicably the rest of the ride home, a nostalgic echo of long summer days in the fields and hills of Laezon. He told me about his new wife, who was pretty and kind, with wheat hair and hazel eyes. Apparently, in her pregnancy, she had a keen appetite for apples. He described her swelling belly with pride and I marveled at the entire situation. It seemed only yesterday that we were children scrambling around in haystacks and scrapping in the mud.
For my part, I told him of Adrian and the Van Dryns. He laughed at my recounting of our drunken nights at the Greyshor and my many adventures with Aubrey in Agorai. I didn’t tell him of the attack in Dockside, or that I’d killed one man and helped bait two others to their deaths. I kept the whole of our intrigues to myself, saying nothing of Tommy or the ships. In truth, there was a lot I didn’t tell him. Maybe I just wanted to pretend for a while, to preserve that one happy moment in the midst of so much darkness and uncertainty.
“Thank you,” I said when we dismounted outside the stable, fully aware of my mother’s displeased presence hovering on the front steps. James smiled and nodded her direction, taking Valor’s reins from me.
“I’ll see to him. Go.”
She scolded me briefly for my absence and ushered me into the study, where Father waited at the desk with a missive in hand.
“Tommy’s birds are reportin
g a mixed reception of your rumors,” he informed me. “It seems there are too many conflicting opinions on who exactly is spreading the sickness.”
My mother sank into a chair nearby. “Now that the King himself has openly declared the gezgin to be the cause, that particular play will no longer be effective.”
He gestured to a separate report. “There is news from Montar, as well. The Persicans are buying up every crop they can, offering exorbitant prices for grain and foodstuffs.”
“Can we waylay the shipments somehow?” I asked.
My mother’s voice sounded far away. “I’ll talk to Tommy. I have informants, but he has muscle.”
I paled. “You’d raid the caravans on the road?” House Montre was a Lesser House of Lazerin, our own distant kin.
She glanced my way. “It’s a dangerous time to travel.”
“People could die!” I protested in disbelief. “Innocent people! Our people!”
That cold, pragmatic stare fixed on me. “They will die nonetheless, and in much greater numbers, if those supplies reach the Persican army.”
I bit my tongue, knowing the bitter truth in it.
“I will write to Montar and Korent, and see if I can convince them to hold the shipments of their own volition.” My father watched me, sympathy plain on his face despite his flat, reserved tone. I could tell the idea sat as ill with him as it did with me. “You must understand, Elivya. No matter what we do, people are going to die.”
“But our own people? By our hand?” I shook my head.
“I know,” he commiserated softly. “But sometimes terrible things must be done for the greater good. If you cannot make your peace with that, your mother and I will continue without you.”
Both pairs of eyes watched me and waited as I stood abruptly, shaken from my seat by the violence of my revulsion. Hugging my arms about myself, I paced the room and wrestled with the stark reality of our situation.
I thought of the nameless man whose face I carried. Was his death necessary? Perhaps not. I might have tried to run. Instead, I chose to kill him. He was an unsavory type, to be sure. I’d not forgotten the abhorrent violation he had inflicted upon me. The world was better off without him. But innocent blood? I wasn’t sure I could carry those faces.
I looked to my parents. Both had sacrificed much to help Amenon retain his throne so many years ago. My father carried scars for our king. The War had planted ghosts in his eyes. I could see them even now. And my mother, she had taken more shadows upon her soul than anyone for their cause. How many innocent faces did she carry? Still, she pressed on, willing to sacrifice everything she had fought for in the service of our nation.
Am I such a coward that I would shrink from the same?
The thought hung in my mind, a silk thread from which everything I held precious dangled.
No.
The choice settled deep within me, a resolve as certain as any I’d ever known.
Whatever is necessary, whatever it takes, I will see it done.
CHAPTER 35
My father’s letters were sent to the Lords Montre and Kortra. Tommy agreed to tip off a few unsavory groups of highwaymen he knew that there were some well-laden shipments moving east out of Montar – for a fee, of course.
It turned my stomach.
The day after the King’s audience, another round of royal decrees circulated about the city, announcing the High Priest’s appointment and crediting the Princess’s recovery to the One God Al’Rahim. It laid clear, in no uncertain terms, that Litheria would become a center of progressive faith, and the Old Ways were no longer permitted within the city walls. All throughout the streets, the shrines erected to Selice’s health were torn down by the city guard and burned on the cobblestones.
A deep uneasiness simmered among the people of the White City at such a massive shift in their way of life. Litheria had stood as the city of Adulil, the heart of our nation and our faith, for nearly a thousand years.
More priests arrived from Persica, wandering the streets and spreading their gospel. The Temple of Adulil was emptied, its single open-air chamber stripped bare, the carved depictions of His travels chiseled from the white marble walls. The beautiful statue that had stood behind the altar for centuries was removed, destroyed in the streets in full view of the public. The riots that ensued lasted for two days, faithful Alesians clashing violently with the city guard and the Origin priests’ own soldiers. After countless arrests and several deaths, the protests were finally quelled. The blood-spattered remains of the statue were left in the square for all to see, a brazen reminder of who now held the true power in Litheria. In its place, a great white stone was said to have been placed above the temple’s altar.
When we heard, I left my lesson with Aubrey and took Valor to the temple square to see it for myself. The piles of rubble still crowded the street, bits and pieces of my people’s heritage scattered on the cobblestones. Here and there, I could make out a face, a hand, part of a sun. Priests lined the steps of the pillaged temple, braying bits of scripture and promises of redemption at passersby. A dozen city guards hovered, keeping the peace. From the eaves, they’d hung massive white banners marked starkly with a black hand, the palm dotted with a single drop of blood.
An acolyte murmured a prayer at me when I tied Valor to a hitching post outside. Ignoring both the invocation and the hand outstretched for coin, I pushed past the boy and made my way to the temple’s well-guarded entrance.
Gritty residue ground beneath my boots as I climbed those sacred steps. The chill that fell over me in the midst of that hot summer day owed nothing to the shade cast by the high roof overhead. Ice trickled down my spine when I passed through those hallowed columns and beyond the immense banners fluttering lazily in the breeze, the ones obscuring the view of the utter destruction within.
As if they could hide such a thing.
The white marble walls had been abraded clean, dust still piled on the floor below where masterfully-carved friezes once sat. The rows of sacred wheat that had been lovingly maintained for generations had been removed, the dirt troughs filled in with rubble. They would have been golden, ready for harvest, right about now. I very nearly trembled with anger.
Common folk and priests milled about inside the vast space, their hushed tones echoing off the scarred walls. Some clustered in conversation, others spoke eagerly with the Persicans. A few shook their heads and wept openly at the desecration of our temple. Far above, sunlight beamed through the oculus in feeble reassurance.
At least that, they cannot take from us.
There, at the back of the temple, a massive white stone sat where Adulil’s face had once gazed down on his people. Strange symbols wrapped the towering monolith, covering its entire surface. I had studied many languages, but these markings were foreign to me – sharp and twisted and hateful. A faint sound caught my ear, a hissing whisper emanating from…somewhere. The runes on the surface flickered, an unknown dread lurching in my gut. Savage and seductive, they called to me. Promising. Threatening.
“The Lodestone is a sacred gift, upon which Al’Rahim’s word is written.” The priest’s soft voice drew my gaze as he approached me from the left.
I fought to keep my tone civil as I gestured at the symbols. “You can read these?”
He smiled. “Only the Divine Ruler can read them. The language is that of Heaven, and is beyond mortal ken.”
“If it’s so precious, why is it here?”
“The Emperor has sent it to your king as a reward for his devotion. He believes Litheria is destined to become a great center of knowledge and faith.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Remarkable, how it arrived so soon after the King’s decree, given that Persica is two months’ hard ride from here.”
He was unbothered by the bitter sarcasm in my voice. “Al’Rahim’s Chosen sees all. Time is irrelevant to Him. Surely, He has seen even this conversation many years in advance.”
; I laughed. “You can’t possibly believe that.”
His dark eyes told me that he could and did. I wasn’t sure what to say to such willful lack of reason.
“Have you suffered in this life, young miss?” he asked, tilting his head at me.
“It’s life,” I replied curtly. “Everyone suffers.”
That blithe smile remained unshaken. “True, but if you’d had the chance, would you have changed the manner of that suffering? For yourself or for another?”
I thought of Amenon and his incalculable grief; of my fourteen-year-old mother beaten and raped. A grimy hand and a cruel sneer hovered in my memory, my stomach churning.
“What’s your point, priest?”
“That you have a choice, child. Al’Rahim gives his people the power to choose their own sacrifice. Save the life of your child in exchange for a scourge of your flesh. Lift your family out of poverty in exchange for guiding your fellow man to His Truth.” He spread his hands magnanimously. “All he asks in return is devotion.”
“Blind submission,” I corrected pointedly.
His smile broadened. “What is faith, if not blind?”
“I’d call that ignorance. A powerful tool for the manipulation of the people.”
“Its name is irrelevant,” he dismissed. “What matters is that you accept Him into your heart and forsake all false gods. Only then will you feel His grace lift you from your darkness, from your life of ignorance and sin.”
That condescending tone, that placid grin, the way the hem of his pristine robes dragged through the dusty remnants of my people’s heritage; the sheer arrogance of it ate at me, crumbling my last fragile bastion of restraint.
“These false gods you speak of…” My voice slipped from my lips with brutal conviction. “They do not ask blind obedience or the scourge of the flesh in exchange for mercy.” I took a step toward him. “They taught us that life is. That is all. We take the bad with the good and know that in that balance lies the divine gift of our being.”
Traitor (A Crown of Lilies Book 1) Page 40