Here Shines the Sun

by M. David White

“Please, Nuriel, forgive me.” said Admael, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her close but keeping her face upon his shoulder with a warm hand. “Forgive me. Let us not speak of such things. This is a dark time and my soul grows weak. My children abandon me. I feel Karinael’s sword in my very heart, Nuriel. Just hold me, and I shall hold you, as long as you like, my sweet, dearest child.”

  Nuriel tightened her arms around him and she swore those wings were real as they enveloped her in comforting fire. She felt his body bounce against hers as he sobbed into her shoulder.

  A new warmth now swelled in her belly. It was warm and hot and she felt herself tremble even as he held her. Her eyes scanned up to the ceiling. She stared at that serpent constellation, her golden eyes on fire. They narrowed into slits. “Father,” she said at last, still gazing hatefully upon those stars. “I told you once that I wanted to be known as Nuriel of the Scales. That I wanted to earn my honorific by fighting for your justice.” She pulled away from him and stared into his silver orbs. “I am going to earn my honorific for you.”

  — 13 —

  Proper Etiquette

  Callad drew his face back from the window, letting the curtains fall back into place. Kierza had never seen the large man look so pale. Or scared. “They’re almost here.”

  From their bedroom Kierza heard a dresser slam and watched as Rook hopped into the living room on one leg as he tightened up the black boot on his other and awkwardly carried a bundle of brown, leather clothing under one arm. Kierza could see the handle of daggers protruding from each boot and knew he likely had some up his sleeves as well. He was in his outfit of black, leather armor now, all strapped and buckled tightly around his nimble, muscular frame. On his left forearm there was a small, silver disc sewn in. Kierza alone knew what it was for.

  Callad shook his head. “Rook, son, what do you think you are doing?”

  Rook tossed the bundle of leathers to Kierza. “Get this on. Hurry.”

  Kierza looked at what she had caught. It was her rarely-worn leather armor that Rook had made for her. It too had a silver disc sewn into the left forearm.

  Callad lumbered over and grabbed Rook around the shoulders. “Son, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I hope you aren’t planning to fight them. They have four Saints and a full company of knights with them.”

  “Run.” said Rook. “Take Ma out the back and go!”

  “Rook,” began Sierla, “they will see us if we run, and it will make it worse.” She was in her beautiful green dress of silk with matching veil. Her almond eyes smiled faintly at Rook. “They likely just want to see your swords of Everlight. Just be calm and this will all pass.”

  “Rook, she’s right.” said Kierza. “If we just—”

  “Put that on!” Rook yelled at her.

  Callad looked at Kierza and gestured with his head for her to go change. Then he turned his gaze to Rook. “Rook, just listen to me. They come with the King. If we just show proper etiquette—”

  “I’ve heard the stories of what they did to grandma.” Rook’s eyes flicked to Sierla. “I won’t let that happen. I won’t let them hurt any of you.”

  Callad drew in a deep breath. “Son, if you look and act like you’re ready for war when they come, then a war you will get.”

  Rook rushed over to the front door where a number of light jackets and rain gear hung. He tore down his black cloak and slipped it over his shoulders. “There. No armor showing.”

  Callad grumbled. “That’s actually worse. Now you look like an assassin.”

  “No arguing, please.” said Sierla, getting between the two. She placed her hands upon Callad’s giant chest and peered up at him. “Let us fill this time with love, my husband. They hate all things beautiful. Let us not succumb to their hatred.” She hiked herself on her tiptoes and they shared a brief kiss. She turned and regarded Rook with her soft, beautiful gaze. “My son, you must be calm.” She walked to him and embraced him. “But we shall not fear them. When you speak to them, say only what they want to hear. I see how you handle the city guards. You can handle them as well.”

  Kierza came back into the room, combing through her long locks with her fingers. “How do I look?” She had put on the leather armor Rook gave her, but over it she wore one of her best yellow and orange silk dresses and a veil to match.

  Callad screwed his lips up as he regarded her. “You’re wearing a dress and you have boots on.”

  Kierza pulled the heart pendant from beneath her dress so that it shown atop her chest. “Does that look better?”

  Callad shook his head. “Your boots still clash with the dress.”

  Trumpets sounded just outside the house. Everybody in the room stiffened, looking at each other. Callad drew in a deep breath and gestured with his hands for everybody to relax. Kierza watched as the big man steeled himself and then went to the door. He hesitated a moment with his giant hand over the knob, and then he drew it open, letting the light of day stream in with the warm, summer air.

  Outside, Kierza could see the King and his daughters, the two Sisters. The royalty were all taller and more imposing than the four Saints that escorted them and the sea of knights all in tow. Bannermen flew the flag of Narbereth beside them and the trumpeters parted. A male Saint each took the arm of a Princess and the other two Saints, both female, strode beside the King as they came up the dirt path toward the house.

  Callad’s legs cracked and popped as he lumbered down to his knees, his incredible frame blocking the door. From within, Sierla ushered Rook and Kierza behind her as they stood near the back of the living room, watching intently. Kierza slipped her hand into Rook’s and he squeezed it gently. She felt him whisper into her ear, “If it comes to it, you have your—”

  “Shh,” hissed Kierza. “Just don’t do anything. Like Pa said, just use proper etiquette. Placate them. Pander to their egos and they’ll go away soon enough.” She watched as the two Saints beside the King broke ahead and came up to the door. They were both female, the one on the right with opalescent, white hair and eyes, the other with hair like spun gold and liquid eyes of the same, metallic brilliance. Upon their faces hung black chainmail veils but Kierza could tell that both had their noses just by the way the veils hung off their faces. In the sun their Star-Armor gleamed like black glass, beneath which their oiled bodysuits shown smooth and supple. Upon their hips hung black scabbards and the handles of their star-metal swords glinted.

  “Make way and kneel for the Exalted King Dhanzeg of Narbereth and his most lovely, beautiful and Exalted daughters, Fayre and Callista.” spoke the Saint with white hair, her voice loud and authoritative.

  Callad moved into the house, taking to his knees just to the side of the door. He shared a quick glance and forced a smile at Sierla before she ushered Kierza and Rook toward the door, sitting on her knees beside her husband. Rook and Kierza both knelt opposite them.

  The Saints stepped into the house, their star-metal boots clomping loudly. They stopped just inside the door and Kierza chanced a glance up. The Saints appraised the room with eyes as keen as a predator’s before making their way to the back of the living room.

  Kierza’s eyes now watched as the King himself made his entry. Though the summer sun was bright and high outside, the King’s tall form seemed to darken the doorway more than it should. The Saints’ footsteps had held a weight to them, but the King’s were something entirely more. The floorboards groaned as if they were trying to flee; the very walls of the house moaned as if the atmosphere within had suddenly become too much for them to bear. Kierza watched as his black, polished boots passed her, his yellow gowns fluttering by.

  And then the scent of roses hit Kierza, pleasant but overpowering; as if a rose garden had bloomed just outside the door. Hand in hand with their respective Saints, the Sisters—Fayre and Callista—entered the house. Like the King, their forms darkened the doorway more than they
should, and although the house did not creak and groan its protest of them, there was something far more terrifying about their presence that Kierza could not place. She felt herself tremble and heard Rook, Callad and Sierla all swallow hard as the Sisters’ red, silk gowns passed them, pale feet in delicate, high-heeled shoes stepping gracefully followed by the clomping of their Saints’ star-metal boots.

  “Rise and be greeted by your Exalted King and his Princesses.” commanded the same female Saint.

  Kierza steeled herself as Rook’s hand slipped into hers and they both stood up together. The King and his daughters stood before them, their statures like living gods, too large and powerful to be confronted. Through his gray beard and long mustache the King smiled gently. His steel eyes, for all the tenderness they presented, held something terrible behind them that Kierza could feel penetrating her. Fayre and Callista lingered at his sides, their long, soft fingers adorned with diamond rings curled around their father’s arms. They were beautiful and graceful and predatory. Eagles, regal and deadly. Both were tall and lithe in their fine, red silks and sparkling jewelry. Their blonde hair poured from their heads like water from a pitcher. Their faces were soft and beautiful, their noses sharp and slender. Their red lips curled into faint smiles, but their hypnotic, blue eyes foretold a dire warning. The smell of roses washed over Kierza and she realized the Sisters were both staring at her pendant.

  Kierza averted her gaze and noticed the four Saints lingering in the shadows of the room. The two male Saints were both handsome, rigid statues in their Star-Armor. One had hair and eyes like the fine silver she had seen Rook work with in the smithy. The other gave her a tender smile, his eyes and hair like magnificent rubies caught in a blaze. She saw him mouth the words ‘be brave’ to her.

  “Hello to you all.” The King’s voice was a gentle, pleasing harmony, yet deep and powerful enough to make it somehow unpleasant. He smiled at them. “Thank you for sharing your home with me and my daughters, Callista and Fayre.” He looked at each and smiled brightly as he chuckled out, “Aren’t they precious!”

  “Very beautiful, and very precious.” said Callad, cautiously.

  Sierla nodded and simply stated, “Both beautiful, both stunning.”

  “I have heard great things come from this house, and me and my daughters would be honored if you would introduce yourselves to us.” spoke the King.

  Callad took a nervous, cautious step forward and bowed awkwardly before saying, “I am Callad Venzi, and this is my wife, Sierla.” He reached out to her and took her into his hand. Kierza could see the Sisters focusing on Sierla and her fine dress, their eyes becoming sharper and more displeased. “I am a simple blacksmith by trade and my wife a dressmaker.” Callad looked over to Kierza and Rook, his face trembling slightly. “And this is my son…” he paused, his face paling as he seemed to mull over his choice of words. “Rook, is my servant but I care for him like a son.” Kierza noticed that the ruby-haired Saint started at the name and his red eyes were now keenly focused on Rook. Callad swallowed hard. “And this is my other servant, Kierza, who is like a daughter to me.”

  The King smiled and bowed his head slightly at them, but all Kierza could see were those cold, blue eyes of the Sisters on her. Their gaze was steady and the more they stared, the more Kierza was certain they were scowling at her.

  “I have heard that the finest dresses and weapons in all the world come from this very home.” said the King, his voice like a calm summer pool that seethed with violent, unseen currents beneath. “I see by the quality of silk and craftsmanship in the dresses that your wife and servant wear that the rumors are not unfounded. Those are remarkable dresses! Simply remarkable!” The King took a step forward, looking Sierla and Kierza up and down. Kierza could see the Sisters looking her over as well, though their gaze was cold. “I have not seen the likes of such dresses in many years.” The King looked at Sierla quizzically. “Since that Escalapian woman. You remind me of her very much.”

  Sierla’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, though she bowed politely. “I learned the art from my mother, who is long since dead.” Her cheery voice very much echoed that dread undercurrent of the King’s and Kierza was certain she could feel Rook and Callad tense.

  Callad cleared his throat and lumbered forward a step. “M-My wife, Sierla, she makes the dresses with my daught—servant, Kierza. Rook, here, he is the one who makes the Everlight that you’ve no doubt come to see.” he said, rubbing Rook on the shoulder. “I taught him the trade, but Everlight is something far beyond my own skill.” Callad forced a laugh that was far too small for him. “The apprentice is now the master.”

  “Ah, yes,” said the King with a pleased look as his eyes wandered up and down Rook. Through his beard a smile touched his lips. It was a strange smile. A smile that held an infernal satisfaction. “Such a prince should be so skilled.”

  Prince? thought Kierza. She could see the confused looks from Callad and Sierla as well. Rook’s hand was in his pocket and Kierza knew he was holding that dreadful Golothic of his. He bowed slightly. “I am ever at my King’s service.”

  Kierza could see the eyes of the Sisters rake over him, their faces softening; their smiles turning more genuine. That red-eyed Saint was also still staring at him. She squirmed on her feet and squeezed Rook’s hand in hers. At that, the Sister’s eyes snapped back to her, their blue brilliance hardening like brittle glass threatening to shatter.

  “Very good. Such a wonderful family.” said the King with a hearty chuckle. He turned to the Saints behind him. “Saint Ertrael, would you be so kind as to fetch Pulchri. Have him bring libations and cordials.” The red-haired Saint nodded and locked eyes with Rook for a moment before he strode out the door. The King looked to Callad and said, “Please, let us have a seat and share some conversation.”

  Callad’s head bobbed. “Y-Yes, of course my King.”

  The dining room table was a large one, but with the King and his daughters it was far too small. The King sat at the head of the table. Although the chair was ample for Callad’s bulk, the King seemed uncomfortably restrained in it, though somehow made it appear throne-like in his regal glory. His daughters sat at either side of him, followed by Rook who sat beside Callista, and Kierza who sat beside Fayre. Callad and Sierla both squeezed together at the foot of the table. Behind the King and his daughters stood their four Saints. Pulchri was a lean and austere man in a powdered wig and a yellow, tailed jacket with tight, white pants. He carried a large, golden platter upon his shoulder and agilely poured sweet liquors into chalices and served up honey pastries to all, his movements wafting the Sisters’ rose perfume throughout the room.

  Kierza hardly noticed the King’s words as he spoke idly of his latest journeys and the beauty of this or that particular city. All she could feel were Fayre’s harsh eyes upon her and she rarely dared to look up from her chalice of wine. Kierza nibbled at the biscuit she was given and looked across the table. For a brief moment her eyes caught Rook’s. He forced a smile at her and squirmed in his seat as Callista turned askew in her chair, eyes wandering upon his body. She saw Callista’s leg move up and down against Rook’s and Rook took a sip from his chalice before gently scooting his chair a few inches further from the woman.

  “So, you’re a blacksmith?” Callista’s voice was as smooth and vibrant as a symphony. Her blue eyes focused on Rook as she raised her golden chalice to her red lips.

  Rook nodded and took a sip of his own drink.

  “Oh, don’t be modest, boy!” cheered the King. “Word of your Everlight has spread far and wide throughout the kingdom. My nobles flock from all corners to be in line for your weapons and armor. Tell me about it.”

  Rook cleared his throat. “It’s just a special formulation of metals with some alchemical tricks to make it light and strong.”

  “Light and strong! How modest!” said the King. “I have heard your weapons and armor are as light as a feath
er with a grain like Narberethan rosewood. I have heard they are as silver as the moon on a cloudless night, and that they are completely unbreakable.”

  Rook nodded. “It’s a good metal.” He took a nibble of his pastry.

  “Good metal indeed! It is something I’ll have to see for myself!”

  “Where are those silks from?” snipped Fayre, her face twisted in disgust at Kierza. “Why does a slave girl get to wear such a fine dress?”

  Kierza squirmed in her seat.

  “Fayre, we are with guests. Mind your etiquette.” said the King. He took a sip of his wine and shook his head, chuckling. “My daughters, aren’t they precious!”

  “The silks are from Escalapius. My home country.” stated Sierla. “Kierza helps to make the dresses, so she gets to wear the dresses.”

  “Ah, and such fine dresses they are!” boasted the King. “Finest I have seen in all the lands! Why, my daughters would be honored to wear something so grand as what you have!”

  Kierza’s gaze flicked to the Sisters at that remark. If ocean eyes could turn to seas of fire, they did so now as the Sisters regarded the dresses that she and Sierla wore with smoldering contempt.

  Fayre’s eyes locked on Kierza’s heart pendant and her lips furled. “Why don’t you boys go check out the swords,” she sang out. “Ertrael, Galavriel, have our little prince show you his weapons and armor. Let us know if they’re worthy of our palace guards.”

  Kierza looked over at the Saints. The ruby-haired Saint—Ertrael—pursed his lips and his eyes caught hers. In that brief moment she saw those gem-like eyes speak a dire warning to her.

  “Yes, Fayre.” said the chrome-haired Saint. “It would be our pleasure.”

  Ertrael strode over to Rook and patted him on the shoulder a couple times. “A Jerusan boy.” he said.

  Rook looked at him. “How do you—”

  “Just a hunch.” said Ertrael. He smiled softly at Rook.