Godspeaker

by Tessa Crowley

  My words fell from my tongue and dropped away, which was just as well, because I did not know where I’d wanted that sentence to go. The Night Father was very close to me, and there was starlight gleaming in his eyes.

  I chose you because, beyond the Craft that now binds us, we are connected by a shared suffering. That more than anything is the necessary quality of my Godspeaker – and that is why we will change this world together, little bird.

  Any part of me that might have been curious as to how we were going to change the world was drowned by the much larger part of me that was intoxicated by the fact that this being – this immensely, unfathomably powerful creature, this god – was cradling my face with such incredible tenderness, as though I was made of glass and he was worried I might break.

  And I was a little bird, I realized, cupped gently in the hands of the giant, and I felt safe.

  We will speak again very soon, he said, and his hands moved downwards, those electric fingertips ghosting across the lines of my throat. But for now, I’m afraid you must—

  “Wake up.”

  “Silas? Wake up.”

  And I did, shaking and panting with the echo of those fingers on my throat and the memory of starlight eyes fresh and vivid in my head.

  “Bad dream?”

  I swallowed and willed my mind to rise up through the various levels of consciousness, to forget the fingertips on my skin. With effort, they fell from my mind like water through cupped hands. There was sunlight on my face that made me squint, and I forced myself to sit up in bed.

  Bed – so I was back at home. At some point during the dream, Umbrion must have spirited me back into my room.

  “You always had such colorful dreams.”

  I looked over. My mother was crouched at my bedside, her sand-colored hair pulled into a long braid. She was still wearing her linen dressing gown. It must have been quite early.

  “Wh-wh-wh—?”

  “Amon of House Cyrine is here for you.”

  I frowned. “Wh-who?”

  “The Queen’s vizier.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t expected him so early. I threw off the blankets and stood, making my way to the dressing screen near the door, still fighting away the image of starlight and the touch of lightning.

  “Is that—?”

  I looked back at her. She was staring at my hand, where a nightlily was loosely clutched in my fingers. I hadn’t even noticed it.

  Wordlessly, I dropped it in a vase on a table by the window, where I usually put them. Then I ducked behind the dressing screen and opened the wardrobe, suddenly confronted with the question of what I should wear while meeting the Queen of Andelan. It wasn’t a problem I’d ever anticipated dealing with.

  On the other side of the screen, I heard Mother approach the vase, hear her fingertips scrape lightly along the glass.

  “Does…” Her voice was wan. “Does he give you flowers?”

  “He alw-w-ways has,” I answered. “S-s-since I was l-little.”

  “Why did you never say?”

  “I n-n-never knew it w-w-was him till he t-t-told me.”

  I picked out a nice, wrapping linen tunic, white with gold embroidery and loose cotton trousers, in the absence of knowing dress protocol for meeting the Queen. I started to dress.

  “S-s-s-so I gather y-y-you finally t-take me s-s-seriously?”

  “Perenor told us what happened at the arena,” she said softly.

  I drew tight the laces of my trousers. “S-s-such a shame that I n-need to draw d-d-down a god’s thunder to-to-to win my f-f-family’s trust.”

  I could see Mother’s reflection in the mirror, facing away from the dressing screen. She flinched at my words.

  “Your grandmother has requested your presence at dinner tonight,” she said.

  “I n-n-n-need invitation to-to-to dinner at m-my own home?”

  “Of course not. But she thought it might be a good idea to extend it anyway. She wasn’t sure you’d show up otherwise – you’ve been sleeping at Soya’s, as we’ve come to understand.”

  “S-Soya hasn’t b-b-been plotting s-s-secret betrothals b-behind my back or accusing m-m-me of heresy,” I said.

  I could see her flinch again. “Yes, I imagine that would be no small comfort.”

  I kicked on a pair of sandals and grabbed a comb to work out a few knots in my hair.

  “For what it’s worth, Silas,” Mother said, “I was opposed to your grandmother’s decision to hide the discussions of betrothal from you. And I thought she was unduly cruel to you when you told us of – of Umbrion’s manifest to you. But if anyone could talk our dear matriarch out of anything, all our lives would be very different. I just hope you know that we only had your best interests at heart.”

  I came out from behind the screen. “And if m-m-my best interests j-just happen to c-c-coincide with y-y-your desire to marry your sh-sh-shame out of the family, all the b-b-better.”

  “Silas,” she said, approaching me, brushing her hands over my hair, “House Olen is a family of councilors and diplomats – people who spend their lives in the public eye. Do you really think you could really be happy in such a situation?”

  “I th-th-think you’re t-trying v-very hard to-to rationalize f-f-foul behavior,” I answered neutrally, “wh-when you kn-know there’s n-n-no excuse.”

  She was silent a moment, staring at me in a strange, tragic combination of heartache and resignation. She smoothed my tunic for me, and I found that I felt very little sympathy for her.

  “When did you get so smart, Silas?” she asked.

  “I’ve al-al-always been s-smart,” I answered shortly. “Y-y-you’ve just n-never cared to n-n-notice.”

  The answer must have stung, because she did not answer. I crossed past her and toward my bedroom door.

  “Do you want breakfast?” she asked halfheartedly as I exited into the hallway.

  “N-n-not hungry,” I answered.

  Luckily, there were no other family members to deal with on the way downstairs and into the salon, where the vizier – Amon, apparently – was waiting on the whicker settee.

  When he saw me, he scrambled to his feet so quickly that he nearly dropped the cup of tea I could only presume Ferra had given him.

  “S-s-s-sorry to k-keep you, I—”

  “No, no, no, it’s fine, it’s fine,” he assured me, speaking a bit too quickly, bowing very low. “Your Holiness need not worry I – I brought a carriage; it’s waiting just outside – if you’re ready to go?”

  I was still not used to the bowing. “I’m r-r-ready.” It was best to leave now, before anyone woke up. “Just l-leave your cup; Ferra w-w-will take c-care of it.”

  Amon nodded, rose from his bow, and took off out of the salon. I could tell by his gait that he was trying very hard to conceal his nervousness.

  As he’d said, there was a carriage waiting outside – a large, stately thing, drawn by two camels – and I found myself quite surprised that they’d spare such an expense for me before I remembered that these things would be expected for a Godspeaker. When the driver opened the door for me, I tried to hide my surprise and climbed inside.

  The ride to the palace was intensely awkward. It was for the most part silent, punctuated only by occasional looks of uneasy curiosity from Amon, who seemed to perpetually be on the edge of asking me a question before thinking better of it.

  I certainly felt no inclination to strike up a conversation. Even when my mind wasn’t preoccupied, I was nothing resembling a stimulating conversationalist. So I sat back and I thought of my family, of the queen, and of course those all-too-insistent thoughts of starlight eyes and electric fingertips on my throat.

  By carriage, the journey was quite brief. So early in the morning, the city was still waking, and the market was muted as we passed. I could tell when we arrived, because the rumbling thrum of cobblestone under the wheels gave way to smooth flagstone.

  We rolled to a stop, and when the carriage door opened, it was to a
bright courtyard lined with palms and bushes flowering in bright red and gold and blue. In the center was an immense marble fountain that filled the area with the sound of laughing water. Peacocks strutted across the stone, blue-and-gold feathers extended.

  “Have you been to the palace before?” Amon asked me, once again trying too hard to sound casual.

  “A f-f-few times,” I said. It was inevitable, being raised in a family of politicians, though it had never earned any pleasant memories.

  “Ever had audience with the Queen?”

  I shook my head. I had seen her once or twice across the room when I was little – I still recall the beautiful silvery ribbons braided into her dark hair – but I had never spoken to her.

  “Well, in case you’re not familiar,” Amon said, moving towards a tall set of doors on the far end of the courtyard, which two guards opened for us, “the proper form of address is ‘Your Grace.’ It’s considered impolite to sit down in her presence unless she is also sitting. And when she first arrives, bow until she bids you rise.”

  We crossed down a long corridor of a wing I’d never seen before, full of elaborate frescoes and windows of patterned, colored glass.

  And suddenly, after all the rush to get here, my anxiety caught up with me.

  I was about to meet the Queen. Why had this not occurred to be me before? What if I made a fool of myself in front of her? What if I became so nervous that I couldn’t even speak? That had happened to me before.

  “She’s hardly a stickler for propriety, though, so don’t be too concerned,” Amon said, laughing nervously. “On a personal level, she’s very gracious.”

  I threw myself into Umbrion’s ocean. If I could just get through this with my dignity intact – if I could just keep my stutter under control—

  “Here we are.”

  Amon had pulled open a door to what looked like some kind of gallery. The windows in the ceiling were colored glass, illuminating the room in red and blue and green and gold. There were tapestries, paintings, statues, pottery – I had never seen such a concentration of beauty in all my life.

  “She bid me to have you wait here,” he said. “I’ll go and let her know that you arrived.”

  I nodded, and he bowed, and he left. And I was alone with my thoughts. The churning anxiety was still there, but immersed in Umbrion’s ocean, I was able to keep a rein on it. I flexed my hands to keep them from trembling, set my face, and went slowly into the gallery.

  There was one immense tapestry woven in red and gold that took up the bulk of the northern wall. It depicted a beautiful woman with long, dark hair and skin like copper above the canopy of a rainforest, silhouetted against the sun. I knew at once that it must have been Sol. The way she was drawn, all long lines and ethereal golds and whites – she just gave the impression of godliness.

  “It’s nice, of course,” said a voice from the side of the room, and I spun on a heel, “but it rather makes you wonder if gods are the only thing artists can depict.”

  It wasn’t the Queen, to my relief. The woman had emerged from one of the hallways extending out from the gallery, fair of hair and skin, dressed in a robe of rich, vibrant blue silk. Her hair was pinned up with golden clips and her eyes were lined with dark kohl, making the pale gray of her irises all the more striking.

  I wet my lips. My anxiety had not gone away – Umbrion’s ocean could not entirely save me from my pathological fear of strangers – but it did ease me enough to manage a response.

  “R-r-r-religious history m-m-must b-be a p-p-p-popular subject.”

  She stooped a few feet away from me and canted her head to the side, smiling thoughtfully.

  “Sometimes it feels like the only topic,” she said. “Wouldn’t it be refreshing to see a great mosaic or fresco of someone eating breakfast or milking a goat?”

  I laughed, startled, and her smile widened.

  “You must be the newly chosen Godspeaker,” she said. “Amon mentioned that you spoke with a stutter.”

  The laugh faded. I lowered my eyes.

  “Y-y-yes. Silas. H-H-House Olen.”

  She strengthened her smile further, as if to reassure me. “It’s good to meet you, Silas.” She crossed the remaining distance between us and placed her hand gently on my shoulder. “My name is Roslin.”

  The words may not have physically struck me in the face, but it certainly felt like they had. At once I staggered back and sank into a deep bow.

  “M-m-m-m-m-m—”

  “Oh, goodness,” she laughed, “please, it’s all right. You don’t have to bow. I’m not the Queen; I just had the bad luck of falling in love with her.”

  I didn’t feel reassured. The Lady Queen Roslin Tarmin may not have been a comparable political figure, but as her spouse she was in all respects besides equal to Queen Nerisa, herself. I took a few calming breaths and immersed myself deeper into the ocean, doing everything I could to keep myself in check.

  “Don’t be nervous,” she said, the hand on my shoulder squeezing lightly. I looked up at her. “I promise you, my wife is kind and courteous. She didn’t get to be queen on luck alone.”

  I wetted my lips and took a few more breaths before I dared to hazard a response.

  “D-d-d-d-does sh-she kn-know th-th-that I…?”

  The Lady Queen gripped my shoulder all the tighter. “Does she know that you stutter?” she guessed. “Yes, she does. Amon informed us both. I wouldn’t worry about it; it’s not in my wife’s nature to be callous or impatient.”

  “I see you got to him first!”

  I told myself that the intense sensation of twisting, churning fear in the pit of my stomach was only natural, that any Andel who turned around and saw the Queen of Andelan gliding toward them would feel just the same.

  She was every inch a queen, from her golden crown to her long waves of inky hair to her skin like tea with too much milk to her rich cerulean robe hemmed with silver – she was tall and lean and striking, walking with unerring purpose out from the hallway on the far side of the gallery and over toward us. I had stared into the eyes of the Night Father, and somehow this woman’s effortless grace and nobility was more nerve-wracking to behold.

  “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting,” she said, and as she came closer I could make out all the details of her face – the patrician nose, the pointed jaw, the dark eyes. She crossed to her wife’s side; they exchanged a smile and a brief kiss before the Queen returned her attention to me. “With the Tournaments coming up, I find there is never enough time in my day. You must be Silas.”

  I swallowed, inclined my head. Then my mind kicked back into motion and I bowed instead.

  “Please,” she said, “rise. You are a Godspeaker; you bow to no one.”

  The mere suggestion that I was on equal footing with the Queen of Andelan would be laughable if it weren’t so desperately serious. I stood upright and keep my face studiously blank.

  “Your mother and grandmother are valued members of my Queenscourt,” she said. “You have quite a pedigree.”

  There was quite a bit I could say to that, but even if I trusted my words to say them, it seemed improper to bring it up. Instead I only smiled briefly.

  “It seems strange, though,” she continued. “I’ve met your brother – your grandmother was eager to introduce him to me the moment he was accepted as an acolyte at the monastery – but I don’t think she ever mentioned having another grandson.”

  I wetted my lips, wondering the best way to be both delicate and brief.

  “Sh-sh-she w-w-wouldn’t have,” I said, slowly and deliberately. “Without g-g-g-going into d-d-detail, I’ve n-n-never been an-an-an ideal s-son.”

  The Lady Queen gave her wife a knowing look. Queen Nerisa caught the expression, then smiled and changed the subject.

  “I had Amon leave you here for a reason,” she said. “Come look at this.”

  I followed her to the far end of the room, up to the large mosaic that dominated the southern wall. In all shades of crimson
and violet and blue and gold were depicted five figures, haloed in light, approaching a crowd of astonished onlookers.

  “Do you know what this moment is depicting?” the Queen asked.

  I didn’t know for sure, but if I had to guess—“Th-th-the M-Manifest?”

  She smiled at me. “Just so. The very first time the gods made themselves known to us.”

  “S-s-so that’s y-you?” I couldn’t help but ask, gesturing to the dark-haired woman at the front of the crowd of onlookers, whose arms were extended toward the haloed figures.

  She laughed. “Good likeness, don’t you think? Yes, that’s me. And that—” (she gestured to another dark-haired woman in the middle of the pack) “—is your grandmother, Cisera.”

  “Wow…” It was a tiny bit alarming to see my grandmother on a mosaic. She so rarely talked about the Manifest.

  “It was so many thousands of seasons ago, but I remember it well,” the Queen said, sounding maudlin. “I was the only one foolish enough to approach them, talk to them – and for that, they made me queen. I remain unconvinced that it wasn’t a bit more than I deserved.”

  “You were made queen for a bit more than that, my love,” the Lady Queen laughed. “You’re rather leaving out the way you fell into natural step as leader, spread the Worldmother’s word, united the tribes—”

  “All of that would have been impossible without my council,” she said dismissively. “One woman does not a kingdom make. My point stands.”

  “If you say so,” the Lady Queen said slyly.

  “Anyway, Silas, I bring it up because this mosaic is remarkable for one particular reason.”

  I looked at her uncomprehendingly. She stepped closer and gestured to one of the haloed figures, robed in black and illuminated with bluish-violet light.

  “Umbrion,” I said at once.

  “So far as I’ve been able to tell,” she said, “this is the only depiction of the Night Father that exists.”

  I took a few hesitant steps forward to examine it more closely. He was slightly in the background and partially obscured by a golden-haired man that I could only assume was Aemor, god of love, but I could make out the pale skin and dark eyes.