“What do you think?” she asked. “Good likeness?”
“Y-yes,” I answered. ”W-w-well, sort of. I m-mean, it’s c-c-close.”
She laughed, and I smiled, and I felt more at ease. I still couldn’t quite get past the fact that I was talking to the Queen of Andelan, but the vizier and the Lady Queen hadn’t been wrong – she was very gracious and forthcoming and easy to talk to, much to my relief.
“Umbrion has always been such an anomaly,” she said, folding her hands behind her back and studying the mosaic with me. “Since the Manifest, he’s never once made himself or his will known to us. All of his siblings chose their Godspeakers, involving themselves in the lives of Andels, but not Umbrion.” She hummed thoughtfully. “Never Umbrion.”
I hoped she wouldn’t ask me why, because I had no idea. Luckily, she didn’t.
“We’re all hoping that his selection of a Godspeaker means he is opening himself up to us. There are already scholars chomping at the bit to talk to you, to fill in the gaps in our understanding of the Night Father.”
“Oh.”
My tone must have conveyed how unenthusiastic I was about the idea, because Queen Nerisa smiled and patted my shoulder.
“They can wait,” she said. “There’s much to talk about in the interim, after all.”
“We’ll have to plan for the confirmation ceremony,” the Lady Queen said. “We haven’t had one of those in nearly eight thousand seasons – not since Arana was chosen as Godspeaker by Lilline.”
“Wh-wh-what’s a c-c-c-confirmation ceremony?”
“Just what it sounds like,” Queen Nerisa said, “a public confirmation of your status as Godspeaker, a sort of announcement for all of Andelan. You’re given your crown, confirmed as a member of the Queenscourt, and then Umbrion uses you as an avatar to address the people.”
“It’s important,” the Lady Queen interjected. “It’s a rare opportunity for the gods to address us directly. And it’s as good a reason as any to throw a party.”
I couldn’t say that I was looking forward to a party, let alone standing in front of a large crowd of people, but it was easy to smile anyway.
“Of course, with the Tournaments about to begin, we’ll have to postpone it,” the Queen sighed. “When it rains, it pours.”
“It’s just as well,” the Lady Queen said. “These things take a lot of planning. But I’m sure we can have everything set in motion by the end of the Tournaments.”
“I hear that your brother passed the qualifying round!”
Had he? I hadn’t heard – but then, I wouldn’t have been one of the people he’d be most likely to tell.
“What an illustrious house yours is turning out to be,” the Lady Queen said to me, and the warmth of her smile softened all my edges. “You both bring great pride to your family.”
Pride – that was a new sensation. Up till that point in my life, the best I’d ever managed was not being a complete embarrassment. But pride?
I looked back at the mosaic, at the depiction of Umbrion, and thought of every bitter disappointment and cruel irony that had brought me to this point, every moment I had been made powerless to my stutter, my anxiety, my strangeness.
And I thought perhaps that this little twist of something, the little spark in my heart – perhaps it was pride, after all.
“Sol’s Light.”
I took a sip of my wine. Soya turned the crown over in her hands.
“Don’t be alarmed, Si,” she said, “but I think this thing might be worth more than your house.”
“P-p-probably.”
“I think it might be worth more than both our houses put together.”
She held it up to the light that streamed in through her bedroom window. It was silver – Mryian silver, if I had to guess – and inlaid with so many diamonds that the whole front of it gleamed brightly.
“Have you put it on yet?”
“T-too nervous,” I answered, which was true. It had been an emotional struggle just to let Soya take it out of its box for fear it might break.
“Do all the Godspeakers get one?”
“They each g-g-get a c-custom one, according to-to-to the royal j-jeweler.”
She looked up at me, astonished. “He whipped this up for you special? In the five days since you went to the palace?”
I laughed. “I’m sure he m-m-made it ages ago.”
Soya’s eyes lit up. “You should put it on.”
“Oh – n-n-no, Soya, I d-don’t th-think—”
But I was never really able to talk Soya out of anything. She grabbed me by the wrist and yanked me up out of my chair toward the mirror hanging on her bedroom wall.
“—r-r-really, I d-don’t want to-to-to—”
“It’s solid Myrian silver!” she said. “What are you going to do to it? Hold still.”
She arranged me in front of the mirror, and I was left staring awkwardly at my reflection, fidgeting and fussing with the sleeve of my tunic.
“Silver was always a good color on you,” she said as she returned to my side and set it down on my head. It draped perfectly across my brow, coming to a point about an inch above the bridge of my nose. “See?”
I didn’t see, but Soya must have, because she draped herself over my shoulders and grinned at my reflection.
“You look like a king,” she said.
“I’m n-n-not a king.”
“No,” she agreed, “you’re a Godspeaker.”
I kept fussing with the sleeve of my tunic. The silver of the crown was cool on my forehead.
“I’m g-g-going to have d-d-diner with the-the others,” I said.
Soya straightened. “The other Godspeakers?”
“Queen N-N-Nerisa said it’s n-not a c-c-custom, b-but since th-they’re all in t-t-town for the Tournaments, we m-m-might as well.” I said. “Aemor’s G-Godspeaker is arriving t-t-t-tonight, and I’ll m-m-meet them t-tomorrow.”
“All five Godspeakers in the same room,” Soya said wonderingly, dropping to a sit at the end of her bed. “Nervous?”
I laughed humorlessly. “Y-yeah.” I plucked the crown from my head and put it back in the heavy wooden box in which I’d received it.
“It might be good,” she said. “Gives you a chance to make friends. Commiserate. Swap fun stories about times you’ve talked to gods.”
“I’ve only t-t-talked to him twice.”
“That’s two more times than most people,” she returned. “What’s he like?”
I paused. It was such a simple question, but it had such a complicated answer. What was Umbrion like? Was there any combination of words that could really give an accurate description?
“He’s…” I hunted for the right adjectives. “Q-quiet. Sort of – s-sort of intense. His p-p-presence is overb-b-bearing, but n-n-not in a b-bad way. His eyes are l-l-like starlight.”
And his touch was like electricity. I decided to leave that part out.
“Eyes like starlight,” she repeated. “Poetic. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you had a crush.”
I laughed, and she laughed, and I pretended that I wasn’t thinking about the way the Night Father’s fingertips were lightning on my skin. I sat back down and took another swallow from my cup of wine.
“So are you excited?”
I laughed until I realized that I didn’t really know if I was.
After a while, I decided, “Y-y-yes.” I dared a small smile. “I’m excited. D-d-despite it all, I’m v-v-very excited.”
I looked up. Soya was beaming at me.
“And th-th-thank the g-g-gods for it, t-t-too,” I laughed, “because I d-d-don’t think I c-could have m-m-made a career out of s-s-stargazing.”
She laughed right along with me. “Are you trying to tell me that there’s no market for getting drunk and staring at the night sky?”
“Astonishing, I kn-kn-know.”
“I’m glad you’re happy, Si,” she said.
“I am,” I answered, finding that it was
true. “Umbrion is w-w-w-wise and k-kind, and even th-th-though we’ve only s-spoken twice…”
Soya did not interrupt. In fact, she hung on my every word.
“I f-feel like he understands m-m-me, in w-w-ways I don’t even understand m-myself.” I thought back to his kind words of reassurance, his hands on my skin, and I smiled to myself. “He s-s-says we will ch-ch-change the w-world. I think we w-w-w-will.”
“Change the world, huh?”
I grinned and looked up at her, only to notice that her expression had shifted into one of thoughtfulness.
“Wh-wh-what’s with the-the look?”
“Nothing,” she said, even though it was obviously not nothing. “It’s just – you know I’m sorry, right?”
I raised my eyebrows without responding. She continued.
“About not believing you.”
I sighed and slumped in my seat.
“W-w-well,” I said, “it’s n-not as if y-you were alone in th-the assumption.”
“I’m your best friend,” she answered. “I should take what you say seriously.”
“Yeah, you w-w-were a b-bit of an ass.”
Soya laughed and I laughed with her, and that was that. “A bit.”
Which reminded me— “C-c-can I stay h-here again t-tonight?”
“Are you just going to keep your family hanging forever?” she asked, leaning back on her palms. “Not that I don’t enjoy their suffering, but it has been a few days.”
“I kn-kn-know I’ll have to-to-to confront it ev-v-ventually,” I said, “I j-j-just don’t w-want to. And I w-w-want them to know how m-m-much I don’t want to.”
“If it were me, I’d be lording it over them,” she said, collapsing backward onto the bed. “All the shit they gave you all your life, and now you’re one of the most powerful people in Andelan? I’d be gloating for the rest of my life.”
“I’m n-n-not good at g-gloating,” I said. “No experience.”
“Well, when you do finally decide to rake them over hot coals,” Soya said, “make sure you let me know so I can watch.”
I plucked the crown off my head and put it back in the box. I smoothed my hand over the polished wood, and hoped for the only thing I could hope for: that when the inevitable conversation did come, it wasn’t too painful.
Dinner at the palace, like most things at the palace were turning out to be, was something for which I was woefully unprepared.
The fact that it was dinner with the four other Godspeakers did not make it any easier.
Nor indeed did the fact that the moment I arrived, it was to fleets of servants and dignitaries and diplomats all bowing their heads to me as I passed and calling me Your Holiness. I found it strange and alarming that this was to be my new reality: a world in which I was given unquestioned respect and sycophancy. It was so utterly beyond the world in which I’d been raised, where those who did not fail to notice me entirely sneered at my stutter.
It was surreal and disorienting. Were all these people really bowing to me? Was I the one who drew worshipful stares and frantic whispering? Hadn’t anyone told them that I was just Silas, just some secondborn with strange hobbies and a stutter?
I didn’t have very much time to consider these questions (which was probably for the best), because the moment the servant escorting me to the dining room came to the large double doors, I could think of little else but the fact that the four other people standing by the window were Godspeakers. They turned to me and I was lost for breath.
They were Godspeakers, not me. They were regal and holy in their long silk robes and crowns and effortless poise, and it seemed ridiculous for me to even be in the same room with them. I couldn’t possibly belong to this collective of the most powerful people in Andelan, with their dignity and pedigree, I was nothing next to them, less than nothing, I was just—
“Silas!”
One of them, a woman with long red hair and bright eyes, smiled widely and darted across the room toward me. She gripped me tightly by both arms.
“Lilline extends her sincerest congratulations,” she told me, and I tried not to be disoriented by the fact that the goddess of art and beauty was extending anything at all to me. The woman in front of me was short but willowy, beautiful in a very classical way. “She is pleased that her older brother is finally reaching out and making an effort to be heard.”
“I… I…”
“Don’t be nervous!” she said, smiling all the wider. “My name is Arana, Godspeaker to Lilline. I’m eager to get to know you! Everyone is.”
My head was spinning. The news made perfect sense and no sense at all.
“Come,” she said, tugging me gently by the wrist toward the other three. “Introductions all around. Silas, this is Grand Scholar Fiyera, Godspeaker to Elwen.”
She was robed in rich but practical black silk, dark of hair and eye. She smiled at me, looking tired. “The goddess of knowledge and wisdom offers her greetings and congratulations to the new Godspeaker,” she said. “And so do I.”
I swallowed and bowed my head shallowly.
“And this is Rolen of House Chastain, Godspeaker to Aemor.”
Robed in scarlet and gold with eyes twice as blue as they had any right to be, he smiled at me with a warmth that took me entirely off-guard. “Hello, Silas.”
“And this, of course, is Greatmother Amira, Godspeaker to Sol.”
I had been trying so very hard to keep my eyes off her. The whole situation was nerve-wracking enough, but her—
She was tall and well-proportioned, beautiful, and with strength in her eyes and in the lines of her face. Her dark hair was braided intricately with beads of white and silver that gleamed all the brighter against her coppery skin. Unlike the others, she was dressed more practically, in fitted leathers with quality in every stitch.
Her eyes, I noticed, were not silver-white like the sun, but rather rich and dark brown like soft earth. They regarded me with a dispassionate sort of intensity.
I swallowed and bowed my head low.
“I am pleased to meet you,” Greatmother Amira said. She had a thick Ansu accent, exotic but not impenetrable, and her voice was strong but not unkind. “The Worldmother was surprised to hear that her eldest son finally chose a Godspeaker. It appears he did not see fit to warn his mother of his plans. I don’t suppose he mentioned why that might be?”
The chances of my managing a response while staring up at the most holy woman in Andelan were low. I shook my head rather than hazard speaking.
“You mustn’t blame him,” Arana said. “He’s a servant, like us; not a confidante.”
A moment passed, and then Greatmother Amira smiled.
“I don’t blame him,” she said.
“I think dinner’s arrived,” said Rolen, and when I looked over my shoulder, I saw a fleet of servants bringing in more trays of food than could possibly be used to feed only five people.
“Queen Nerisa tells me that you come from a family of politicians,” Arana said, suddenly at my arm and smiling brightly. I nodded again. “Your mother and grandmother sit on the Queenscourt?”
It would have been nice to just keep nodding, but if I didn’t say something soon they’d likely get suspicious. I took a quick breath. “Y-y-yes.”
Either they had been warned in advance or they were being very charitable, because none of them seemed to acknowledge my stutter. Arana just smiled all the brighter. “Then you’ll soon be joining their ranks. They must be very proud of you.”
“Th-th-they m-must be…”
The servants had finished placing the dishes. Just as I was wondering if there was any sort of protocol to who sat down first – would it be Greatmother Amira, since her goddess was senior? – they all sat down at the same time. I followed suit.
“Of course, if serving as councilors on the Queenscourt were a Godspeaker’s only duty, our lives would be much easier,” Grand Scholar Fiyera said as she pulled in her chair. “You’ll have to take over as the head of Umbrion’s
Temple. It may take you a while to learn the subtleties of the job.”
The servants uncovered the dishes all at once. Roast pork, fillet of fish, kale, sliced pears in honey, poached eggs, wine – I suddenly realized that I was extremely hungry.
“Wh-wh-what will th-that include?” I asked as a nearby servant filled my plate.
“It depends on what Umbrion wills,” Rolen answers. “You’ll take direction from him and shape his Temple in the way he wants you to. Just as all the gods’ temples differ in purpose and function, so too will Umbrion’s.”
I suppose that answer should have been obvious. I nodded, wondering what sort of role the Temple of Umbrion would fulfill.
“Don’t worry about it just yet,” Arana said as she took a bit of pork. “He’s only spoken to you once; you can’t be expected to build a temple with pebbles.”
“W-w-well, twice,” I said, taking a serving of pears in honey.
They all seemed very surprised. I looked between them, suddenly afraid I’d said something wrong. Should I not correct a Godspeaker?
“Twice?” repeated Greatmother Amira. Her surprise was tempered with a smirk. “In so short a time? He must like you.”
“I…” A servant filled my cup with wine. “It’s b-b-been d-days,” I said. “I’m s-s-sure it’s n-not so unusual…”
“Time doesn’t pass the same way for gods as it does for us,” Grand Scholar Fiyera answered. “Our ten thousand seasons on Andelan is a drop in the bucket for a god. What’s felt like days to you has been mere moments for Umbrion. It means he’s spent the time at your side, even if you haven’t perceived it.”
It made sense to think of it, but the idea still lit little sparks along my nerves, bringing to mind memories of fingertips on my throat and starlight eyes. I swallowed and served myself some pork. “I j-j-just pray I w-w-won’t m-muck anything up too-too-too badly,” I said.
“Umbrion chose you for a reason,” Arana assured me, patting my arm and smiling. “The gods are wise. They wouldn’t give us a destiny of which we were not capable.”
In any other situation, it would have been a meaningless platitude. In this context, however, I found it strangely reassuring in how very literal it was.
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