“You realize what I tell you can earn me execution,” Gishna said. “An oath binds me not to speak certain truths outside the high council. But, house above all. First above fifth.”

The First Accord had been the foundation of their world for twelve cycles. That was how she saw it, at least. She was sure others did as well. Julissa sat at her side, and Gishna accepted the water gratefully.

“Before the Fall, we had no high houses,” Gishna said. “Not formally. The great council was the council of all Mornae houses. We had colony cities then. They had their own councils, though much smaller. They took direction from Vaidolin but were free to set their own path. They ought to rule themselves and see to their own needs. We had many such colonies, though only two or three achieved full independence. Of course, that changed when the enemy pressed. Let me not get ahead of the history, though.

“In those days, we ruled by a simple count of knights; each one a count, consorts counted as two, a priestess was five, and a high priestess was ten. There were hundreds of high priestesses then. A priestess declared a voice of the goddess was supreme at fifty. Even a small house could produce a voice. The goddess gives her gifts where she wills. You see, in those days everything was decided by the power a Mornae wielded. The priestesses were terrifying. Sorcerers molded entire mountains with the swipe of a hand. When a high priestess manifested such power and no one challenged, for fear of losing her life, then she would stand as a candidate for voice. The high priestesses and their consorts would then vote. Matters were quite simple then. And if a voice failed the challenge, she would soon find herself voted out on pain of destruction should she refuse.”

“It sounds awful,” Julissa said with disgust. “Bloody awful.”

“It could be, but it kept everyone honest. Houses determined their own path. It was the world the founders wanted. A world of excellence and merit.”

“How could that be if it was just about quantity?”

Gishna chuckled and coughed in a fit. Julissa encouraged her to drink.

“The academy badge and temple declaration were difficult to earn then,” Gishna rasped. “In those first cycles, many died in the attempt or failed to their everlasting shame. We exiled those who didn't die. They wandered the world, unfit to be called Mornae.”

“So, the numbers were actually low?” Julissa asked.

“Each child was precious and cajoled into being after a long wait. Priestesses would study and prepare, making themselves into the strongest, most perfect vessels they could, to impart to their offspring the best future possible. And their consorts as well. These things I tell you we no longer teach openly. Even diviners do not know. Those who purged them destroyed their books. Destroyed tablets and records. Everything and everyone had to be silenced so a new order could replace them.”

“The Fifth Accord?”

Gishna nodded, pleased Julissa had listened to Thensil's lessons.

“After the Fall and the calamities that followed,” she said, “the surviving matrons gathered to decide the Mornae's fate. Had they not, we would have devoured ourselves like the colonies and become a field of black and white stone. And others like the Baikal would reclaim these lands for their sea god. Seed has scattered for three cycles, and now it returns from far away. We are merely collecting it.”

“How?” Julissa asked.

Gishna's eyes widened. “Any way we can, my daughter.”

Julissa grew silent.

“We purchase if we can,” Gishna said. “We squeeze if we must. We kill when no other path presents itself. All so our house may sit at third for you and your children to come. Clawing our way out of the taint, strengthening ourselves again.”

“But the power?” Julissa asked. “The magister said it was gone.”

“He speaks truth, but not the fullness of it. The power is always there, just raw and undisciplined. We must grow strong enough to harness it again. And there are other powers. We were so brittle. Hungry for that which the goddess held out as the pinnacle. And it made us great for a time. But it relied too much on the Alcar within us. We just need to survive and let nature find a new way for us, as it did before.”

“Before?”

“My dear, the taint has always been with us, and it always will. But the scales have tipped in its favor since the Fall. It is our true enemy.”

“So these valmasin decided which children a matron kept and which she adopted out?”

“They only told what they saw. It was always up to the matron to decide. They had the time of confinement to know the child more closely and then decide, but not too long. Not long enough for the child to remember, though there was power then to make the mind of a child blank like my eyes are now. And the children found homes—thankful homes. If the child was not to a house's standard, it could still bolster a lesser one. The goddess is fickle. A boy might have the face of a sheep, but his son be Kalaron reborn. Some houses didn't want to take a chance. Beauty is a treacherous thing, but often right. Nowadays, it is a sour reminder of what we once were, the last vestige to fade. Then, it was a sure indicator. A fine form, a powerful body, the grace of the favored. And with it all came a godly power to shape the world, and to destroy. No one expects too much now. Any child will do to continue the name.”

“And so I am just enough?” Julissa said, her voice scalding. Her anger was just. It was not her fault.

“As was I,” Gishna admitted. “As was your father. A cruel trick, but it is the game board we play on. We must turn each move to our favor.”

“And so what now?” Julissa asked. “Now that I know?”

“You need not worry about it yet. I will continue this work. Blood cakes my hands already. You will be the first matron since the Fall to rise like a glorious star from the cosmic ash. We are close now to tipping that scale in our favor. You will see. We carry within us the seed of our own destruction and resurrection. Your consort will obliterate the taint in you, but you must wait to birth your heiress. You must prepare as priestesses did before the Fall.”

Julissa nodded, her face long and drained. The edges of her eyes were red and there was a definite pinkness in the balls of her high cheeks.

“I will do as you say, mother,” she said. “We will overcome this.”

“Goddess above!” Gishna croaked, her hands in a tight wad on her lap. “Let it be so!”

15

The grandeur of the mid-spring celebration had no effect on Taul. Hosmyr's wide, massive citadel loomed above the adorned pavilion, a gallery of magnificent marble arches casting a shadow over a third of the courtyard. The high matron was not present. She'd sent her daughter and heiress, Julissa, to preside.

The invitation surprised him, given the high matron's threat. Still, he and Ryldia both descended from Hosmyr. Was it standard protocol to prod struggling houses with threats? He cradled a glass of chilled spring wine in his hands, unwilling to let the waiters fill it again. He had to keep his wits about him.

“I was there,” an elegantly dressed man said to a companion. They were discussing the recent court which had turned bloody. “Not seated with the rabble, of course.”

His back was to Taul, but the long silver hair gathered with platinum rings told him enough. No valley house could afford such extravagance.

“Our young lord ordered a saythelaun spear thrown to the Zauhune boy,” the man said. “Saved him. The boy was doomed otherwise. I don't care what's claimed.”

Taul moved to the man's left to get a better look at him.

“A fifth of the land to us,” Hetel Lor'Jantyrr said smugly to his companion. “Guaranteed by the high matron. I told her we'd make it produce in five years.”

Embroidered blossoms decorated the hem of his sleeve. A silver fox curled and coiled across his silken chest with the goddess dawning above it. He was a tall, thin Mornae. Vain given the dullness of his hair. Taul's at least had held the goddess-light before he cut it.

“How will you use it?” asked his companion, Hozaer, Son of Lor'Vilmyr, an equally rich vassal. They both had extensive east valley vineyards along the Maussin river managed by stewards and valley vassals.

“I've not seen it, but my steward says it's flat enough,” Hetel said. “Something is bound to grow in it. My steward will sort it out.”

“Flat as those knights on the arena floor?” Hozaer asked with a grin.

Hetel sneered. “It's sandy but usable. At least for common wines. Does anyone even notice these days?”

They chuckled smugly.

Their chatter sickened Taul, and he walked away. They'd burned the dead knights outside the crater just as his child. The smell of her pyre still lingered in his nostrils. Her death, his would-be daughter's death, had been with him all winter. He set the cup of wine on a stone ledge and rubbed his hands on his thighs. It all felt filthy to him, covered in the dead's ashes.

He walked through the gallery surrounding the inner courtyard, which functioned as a fighting pit. Hosmyr's vassals stood about watching the friendly bouts. He nodded to those he knew but didn't stop to talk. He had nothing to say despite the thoughts filling his mind. They were rivals and he couldn't share any of it with any of them.

Spears clashed in a flash of light and the crowd cheered. The combatants were fine young men bearing sunlit spears. In his time, Isilmyr had not taught the use of saythelaun, spears imbued with sunlight, but now it was the fashion. Despite the Zauhune champion's clear call to the Dark, no one here seemed willing to make the same choice he had. This hall could very well be in Daushalan territory for all the sunlight, the rich silken threads, the expensive drink made from the fruit his orchards and vineyards produced.

He'd not yet visited Toshtolin's other farms. Would they be like Zeldra, rotting from the roots? As attention moved to the south valley, the easiest place to grow, houses would abandon the east.

He cut a path toward a gathering of men he recognized. They were of a similar status as Lor'Toshtolin.