“Why don’t you shadow me for a while, as long as I’m in Ellorian?” Greatmother Amira said suddenly, and I looked up from a bite of kale. “I’m going to be making visits to Sol’s temple. If you’re nervous about taking up your new mantle, come watch me handle mine. My duties won’t be identical to yours, but you’ll get a rough idea.”
I straightened in my seat. It seemed impossibly generous, though I knew it wouldn’t be a great sacrifice. Still, I bowed my head reverently.
“Th-th-th-that w-would be…”
I couldn’t finish the sentence – not because the word wouldn’t come, but because I wasn’t sure what word to use. There was something unfamiliar warming me from the inside out, one I couldn’t quite name.
“Come find me the day before the Tournaments begin,” Greatmother Amira continued. “Just after sunup. Hopefully you’ll find it edifying.”
“You’ll fit in just fine, Silas,” Arana intoned, and that warm sensation suddenly had a name: I was fitting in. I could not recall a time in my life up till that point when I had fit in anywhere or with anyone, barring my single friend in Soya. My life had been a never-ending string being too strange, too quiet, too full of shortcomings, and all of a sudden people were forthcoming, friendly, helpful – they even seemed to like me.
I hoped that the sudden rush of emotion didn’t register on my face. It seemed like such a silly thing to put me on the verge of joyful tears.
When I heard the rustle of fabric, I said, “I th-th-thinks it’s g-getting bigger,” without looking away from my notes.
There was no answer, so I kept going.
“Its angular d-d-d-diameter has increased by-by a factor of three,” I continued. “P-p-perhaps the star is f-flying, after all.”
I looked back at what I assumed was Soya – after all, it was her house – but was rather disappointed and alarmed to instead find—
“P-Perenor?”
The first thing I noticed was that he looked intensely uncomfortable and a little bit upset – not at me, but at the situation, like he didn’t want to be here.
“What’s an angular diameter?” he asked.
Doubting he cared about the answer, or that he’d understand it if I explained it, I instead responded, “What are y-y-you doing here?”
“Grandmother has sent me as an envoy,” he answered. He crossed the salon slowly to where I had set up the spyglass by the window, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his plain, black tunic. “When Mother invited you to dinner, it didn’t work. So now they’re sending me instead.”
I fought back the urge to snarl. I snapped shut my book of star charts and set to collapsing my spyglass.
“Silas,” Perenor said, “you’re going to have to face us eventually.”
“F-f-forgive me for n-not jumping at the ch-chance,” I growled, stuffing the collapsed spyglass into its carrying case.
“Aren’t you even interested in what Grandmother has to say?”
“N-n-n-not particularly.”
Perenor sighed heavily, like I was being childish. It made the skin at the back of my neck prickle with anger.
“Look, what do you want? I’m sorry I didn’t believe you at first. Forgive me for finding the idea a little unbelievable.”
I scoffed. “Is that y-y-your idea of an-an apology?”
“Are you really going to hold our skepticism against us?” he asked, throwing his hands over his head in exasperation. “In case you haven’t noticed, Silas, you’re not what anyone would consider a Godspeaker!”
“Except for-for-for Umbrion, apparently,” I snapped.
“Silas—”
“I c-c-could have handled j-just skepticism,” I said, “but you were c-c-cruel. I n-needed help, and y-y-you called me liar—!”
“Come to dinner, then!” he interjected. “Air your grievances! I think it’s fair to say that this will be a topic of conversation!”
I stared at him, my hands flexing at my sides, and I felt nothing but anger. All my life, he had outstripped me in every capacity, and now that there was finally something – one thing, one massive way in which I had advantage over him – I couldn’t even feel good about it because of how angry he made me.
He seemed to detect my anger and sighed.
“Look,” he continued, “Mother and Father are really worried about you.”
I scoffed.
“They are,” he insisted. “And I am, too, a little bit. And Grandfather was upset the moment you left. Just come to dinner for his sake.”
And gods, but I would have liked to say no – just on principle, just because of how badly they’d hurt me – but I knew I couldn’t. This was a conversation that had to happen, despite how every fiber of my body screamed in protest against it. Avoiding this would just prolong the inevitable.
So I sighed, and I shut my eyes, and I resigned myself to a very unpleasant evening.
“Fine,” I said. “L-l-let me l-leave a note for Soya.”
Soya’s house wasn’t far from ours, which was good, because the walk back was awkward and silent. When we made it back, Ferra met us at the door and informed us that dinner would be out in the back garden. And though I was looking forward to her honeyed pork and yams, I was most certainly not looking forward to the silence that fell, harsh and inevitable, the moment. We stepped out through the solarium and into the garden.
The dinner had already been set up, but it must have been early yet because the food had barely been touched. When we came through the door, Grandfather was the first one to stand, eyes alight with sudden relief.
“Silas,” he said. Mother was smiling, as well, and even Father seemed allayed. The only one who remained stiff and still in her high-backed chair at the head of the table was Grandmother.
Perenor sat. Slowly, I sat down next to him, across from Mother, whose tight-lipped smile was gaining a subtle pain to it. Our plates had been left empty, and I moved to fill mine.
“It’s good to have you home,” my grandfather said, and I offered him a hesitant smile. “There’s so much we need to catch up on. Rumor has it that you were able to meet the other Godspeakers, is that right?”
I hesitated, but eventually nodded. “I’ll b-b-be spending a d-day with G-Greatmother Amira,” I answered. “She’s al-l-l-llowing me to sh-shadow her, f-familiarize myself with the-the duties of a Godspeaker.”
“That’s very generous of her,” Mother said.
Despite my better judgment, I looked sideways at Grandmother. Her eyes were focused on me with an intensity that should have made me nervous – that would have made me nervous but for Umbrion’s ocean in my mind. As it stood, I found her scrutiny not so much frightening as irritating. This was the same glare she’d given me all through my childhood, whenever I’d shied away from talking to a stranger or stuttered at whatever diplomat to whom she’d introduced me.
I refused to let it intimidate me anymore.
“It seems rather childish of you,” she said suddenly, “swanning off like you did, no warning or explanation.”
Privately, I was amazed that, after everything, she still wanted to antagonize me. But for the first time, I was ready to antagonize her right back. I was a Godspeaker now, and for the first time, I felt like it.
“I agree,” I answered, cutting neatly into my pork. “Wh-what sort of person would d-d-do something so m-m-monumental without even c-consulting relevant parties?”
Darkness fell over my grandmother’s eyes.
“Dorran of House Valnon is a good match for you,” she said, voice low. “Or at least he was.”
“That w-w-would have been g-good to know b-b-before I met him.”
“The situation was handled poorly,” Mother said.
“The situation was handled precisely as it needed to be handled,” Grandmother bit back. “Silas, if you’re expecting some simpering apology, you’re in for a disappointment.”
“I’m s-s-sure I’m in for m-many,” I said lowly.
“Let’s try to keep things
light,” Grandfather said uneasily.
“T-t-tell me, Grandmother,” I said, “wh-what is the s-s-slight for which I d-do not require an apology? For the horrifying d-d-duplicitousness of hiding p-plans of b-b-betrothal, or f-f-for false accusations of h-h-heresy?”
“Silas, bite your tongue,” Grandmother growls. “This is no way to talk to your matriarch.”
“Or d-d-do I not require an apology f-f-for the years of c-c-callous resentment and c-c-c-c-cruelty over th-things I can’t control?” I ask. “D-d-do I require n-no apology for that, as w-well?”
“Please,” my father says suddenly, “let’s not do this now. This should be a time of celebration—”
“No, Oderon, the boy has grievances,” Grandmother says. “Let him air them, by all means. Do you have complaint over the years we spent raising you, feeding you, clothing you, sheltering you?”
“Is th-th-that all it takes to raise a child!” I said. “I w-w-wonder, then, wh-why you wasted s-s-so much love and appr-r-roval on Perenor, wh-when I received so l-l-little.”
“I’d thank you not to drag me into this, brother,” Perenor said.
“This insolence is a new trait in you,” Grandmother said. Her voice was dangerous. “It must be true what they say about the corruptive properties of power.”
The ocean around me began to feel a fair bit warmer. “It m-m-must be,” I said, “if y-y-you’re any example.”
“Please stop this,” Mother interjected, “both of you.”
“S-s-s-so no apology f-for the betrothal,” I continued, “n-n-no apology for c-c-c-calling me a heretic, no apology f-f-for a l-lifetime of resentment. Wh-wh-why then am I here, pray tell?”
“Because this is the Seat of Olen,” Grandmother growled at me. “This is where you belong.”
All at once the tepid water of my ocean was at a full, rapid boil.
“Oh, is it!”
I stood up so sharply that I knocked over my chair; the metal frame clattered down on the flagstone. BOOM, from above; I took great and dark pleasure in seeing everyone at the table jump, including my grandmother. The sky above us had darkened considerably.
“Is it r-r-r-really? Because less than a f-fortnight ago, I was to b-be married into House Valnon.”
It would have been easier if Grandmother had matched my fury; unfortunately, she sat still as stone in her seat at the head of the table, eyes cold and fixed.
“Things have changed now,” was all she said.
“Oh, of c-course they have, n-now that I’m a Godspeaker, you c-can finally stomach m-my presence in your most illustrious house!
“House Olen, blood above all!” I bellowed. “All those heavy-handed lessons of loyalty to the house, to the family, meaningless! Is our blood only thicker than water when the weather’s fair?”
“Silas,” Mother whispered, “you’re frightening me.”
I spared a glance at the sky; a warm midseason evening had turned dark and overcast, and I screwed my eyes shut and breathed deeply. Satisfying as it would have felt, calling down a tempest over dinner likely would have only caused more problems.
“It’s Um-m-mbrion’s magic,” I muttered. “It comes out wh-wh-when I’m angry.”
The sky slowly began to clear; the ocean around me began to cool. The anger dissipated, but at the core of all that rage was still that tiny knot of sadness, the same part of me that wept in my room every time I disappointed my grandmother – and I’d done that so many, many times.
“S-s-s-since your desperate d-desire to b-be rid of me is so at odds with y-y-your thirst for the p-political sway of a G-Godspeaker, l-let me make the d-d-decision easy for you.” I kicked aside my overturned chair. “I w-w-would sooner renounce my house than s-s-spend another m-moment under the r-roof of a w-w-woman who can b-barely tolerate me.”
“Silas!” Father said, rising to his feet.
“I’ll s-s-s-send for my th-things in the morning,” I said, and I left over their shouted protestations. There was nothing in the world that could have made me look back.
Several leagues past the city walls, tucked into the rolling sand dunes of the Wastes, Ellorian’s temple to Umbrion stood tall and narrow on the horizon. I walked all night to reach it, ignoring my own hunger, the soreness that quickly spread through my legs, and the ever-encroaching darkness of my own thoughts.
It was not the first time I’d been to a temple – I’d attended weddings at Aemor’s temple on the coast and seen Perenor’s monastery in Elwen’s temple on the hill – but it was the first time I’d ever seen Umbrion’s. His was not a popular destination in terms of temples; he offered little to and interacted rarely with Andels, and his temples reflected that. Most temples built in his honor were done perfunctorily, for no other reason than all the other gods had one, so he should, too.
Still, it was a temple, and even at night when the only like came from the stars and the sky-river, it was open to everyone. I couldn’t make out the major identifying features of it through the darkness, past the fact that it was tall and pointy and narrow and assembled of what looked like limestone.
The doors gave way when I pushed at them, and I stumbled inside, legs weak from the three leagues worth of walking, nerves ragged. The interior of the main room was sparsely lit, with plain stone floors and a vaulted ceiling full of bas-relief carvings. There were stone pews, all of them facing the apse where Umbrion’s sigil was carved into the rock.
I sank down on the nearest pew and immediately doubled over, knotting my hands in my hair.
And slowly, slowly, all the emotions that I’d crossed three leagues of desert to escape caught up with me. The trembling came first, then the wheezing, then the desperate tears.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised that I was still, after everything, not wanted, not really. The writing had been on the wall since I was a child, and it was foolish of me to think that anything could ever really change it. With my newly minted status as Godspeaker, they were willing to keep me in the family, but it had nothing to do with any love of me.
Had they ever loved me, some small and vulnerable part of my mind whispered. Had I ever been worth loving?
Oh, my little bird…
I gave a start and lifted my tear-blurred eyes. Standing on the far end of the middle aisle, robed in undulating twilight—
“Umbrion…”
It is a hard-learned lesson, he said gently, gliding down the aisle in ebbs and ripples like the tide, but one that you were always fated to learn. Still, it hurts me to see you in such pain.
My throat tightened. Some part of me felt ashamed for weeping openly in front of the Night Father, but I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.
When he was in front of me, he dropped to his knees and pressed his hand to my cheek. My eyes fell shut and oh, that electricity had not been a product of my dream. It was real, and it was racing along my skin in little arcs and jolts. I leaned into his touch quite without meaning to, and his thumb smoothed across my tears. He smelled of ocean and smiled like twilight, soft and strangely sad.
“Wh-wh-wh-why am I n-n-never enough f-f-for them?”
It seemed strange to ask him, but clearly he had some insight. And it wasn’t as if this pain in my chest could get any worse.
Because you are different, little bird, he answered. Because you can never be like them, like anyone. You defy their expectations, their only metric of worthiness, and they fall back on the assumption that it means you are not good enough.
His cool fingertips threaded through my hair, and a powerful shudder ran up the length of my spine. My eyes fell shut, and though the pain was still there, still raw, his touch softened all its hard edges, and my heart beat faster against my ribs.
But you are good enough. You are far better, far worthier, far stronger than they can possibly imagine.
How easy, how frighteningly easy it was to let all that heartache drain away from the tips of his fingers, falling away like so much water through a sieve, until all that was left was h
im and the lightning in my nerves. I would have liked to think that this was some godly Craft, some small act of deliberate mercy that melted my pain, but the truth was bearing down on me.
That is our lot, little bird. We’re different. We’ll never walk in their sunlight, never be what they want us to be. Why should we even try?
Down and down and down those fingertips trailed, slipping through my hair and again over my throat. I made a low and desperate sound, and the truth I had been trying so hard to ignore became all-eclipsing and unmistakable:
This was, beyond any doubt, attraction.
It wasn’t even the easy kind of attraction, flighty and silly and ignorable – this was intense, crippling, mind-bending attraction. I wanted him so badly it was physically painful. I was drunk off the touch of him, addicted. And wasn’t that preposterous? Wasn’t that insane, impossible, ludicrous?
That is the hard-learned lesson, little bird, he said. The lesson that you must forsake your family to truly flourish. But if I can do it, you can do it.
I opened my eyes with the intention of asking him what he meant by him having forsaken his family, but all my words evaporated the moment I saw him, saw how close he was, felt the thrum of his starlight on my skin. And I was mad, and this was ridiculous, and what sort of lunacy could ever possess me to feel this drawn to a creature so completely beyond my comprehension?
But he was so close, so incredibly close – was that his breath I felt on my mouth? Did the gods even have breath? When had he leaned in so near? If I were to lift my chin just the merest fraction—
“Oh! A visitor!”
I nearly swallowed my tongue.
I wrenched around in time to see a man in black temple robes emerging from a side door. When I looked back around, Umbrion was gone.
“Sorry, we’re not quite accustomed to visitors here, let alone so late…”
My head was still spinning. It seemed too outrageous to even consider the possibility – but was that – had I nearly just—?
“Mostly it’s just travelers looking for a bed before they reach the capitol – not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course! Is that what you need?”
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