“I sought to remove the taint, to keep Hosmyr at third,” she said. “We may not have true priestesses and knights any longer, but we could have the correct appearance. That was my grand scheme.”

It felt awkward sharing these secrets with people of little consequence. Terrible secrets. The death of an acolyte, not with kithaun, but common, southern steel, was the worst one. Julissa had seen the acolyte’s face—like marble, smooth and young, perfect. Yellow flames, colored with resins to look blue, devoured her on the funeral pyre. Every time Gishna witnessed a priestess funeral, a part of her died. A part of the Mornae died.

She glanced through the Dark at their forms. There was power there. Not blue fire or other calamitous things; nevertheless, true sorcery that made it possible to grow what shouldn’t grow in this far corner of the world.

“In time, Matron Lor’Toshtolin, you will have an heiress of your blood,” Gishna said. “Hosmyr will shield your house for as long as it stands. In exchange, your consort will spearhead the effort to recover the orchards. And with them, the gift.”

“We must have true tenders, High Matron,” Taul said.

She nodded. “You will have them.”

“Genuine trials. In the womb. Blood and sap.”

“As you say.”

Taul beamed at her. She’d found his ardent desire, no matter his love for his consort.

“Are you certain you’ll have the fortitude to do what must be done?” she asked. “To light the pyres which you will surely build? Our ancestors lost hundreds before the gift strengthened.”

Taul looked at Ryldia, who gave her approval.

“I will do it,” he said.

Gishna thought of that young Zauhune knight, struggling in the goddess-court, battling the Dark as much as his opponent. Here was her champion, not with a spear in hand, but a gift of the ancients, a secret no other house possessed. Here at last was the answer to her dilemma.

“Very well,” she said. “We make an accord within Hosmyr to protect Hosmyr.”

She tilted her head toward Maunyn, and he presented a series of benefits. Toshtolin’s prime consorts would sit her privy council if they survived the womb. The amount of wealth they’d have at their disposal would boggle their minds, despite their best efforts to dissimulate. It wasn’t wealth that mattered to her champion, however. They would oversee the east valley’s growth from an ancient Hosmyr estate, a landmark of their glorious history. Their common ancestors had walked those halls and birthed the sorcery which earned them a place of honor at each accord. It was a fine spread of favor.

The reality was she was sending this tender into a pit every bit as dark and dangerous as the goddess-court. In her arena, Taul would face matrons and their houses, overseers, stewards, families desperate for their next meal. Nomads and barbarians and death. Much death, she feared.

Let Taul Lor’Toshtolin sort through the wreckage with the seer’s help. She squinted. Would Taul comprehend the magister? Could she get more out of the strange green-eyed man through someone like Taul?

Through all the turbulence of this battle of wills, the flat-faced boy stood there, all of three years old, attentive to everything. She should have dismissed him, but she wanted him to know what his theft had wrought, the importance of it for his house’s future.

55

The high matron left them, the dragging drapes echoing down the hall. Servants ushered Ryldia out next. She didn’t spare Taul a loving glance, nor any acknowledgment at all. A hardness existed between them now. She was a matron and he a consort, not for themselves alone, but for the rest of the house. For its future. Youthful love was no longer enough. Duty was stronger, truer, and it was the thing they would share from now on. They’d revel in it like they had their passion.

To the side of the chamber, scribes were making notes, preparing the documents that would award Lor’Toshtolin land and wealth. The rest of the agreement was another matter. Nothing could be written and sealed like the accords which bound the Mornae. They could only speak such an accord. That meant that only the five of them would be bound to it. Taul had to trust that the high matron, and her daughter, would honor it.

For now, there was the new position, higher than he’d ever thought someone like him could attain. He’d be a grandmaster tender, a minister in charge of every single orchard, vineyard, and grove in the east valley. Unheard of. His head went light. A violation of the First Accord, and yet so necessary. Concessions were necessary in this sad age. What would Balniss think? What would his acquaintances think? His rivals?

A shadow loomed over him as Maunyn met him at the door.

“Now you are truly a consort, Taul Lor’Toshtolin,” he said. “You have done the impossible for her.”

Taul mumbled his thanks, and said, “You did what I could not for the acolyte.”

“You did the right thing for your matron. Nothing comes before that. Not even the goddess.”

It sounded strange coming from Maunyn, yet it made perfect sense. Perfect Mornae logic. Ren had called Maunyn soured, but Taul detected no such thing. Maunyn seemed perfectly aligned with himself. No doubts. No regrets. At least, that’s how it seemed. He admired the man.

“How did you leave him?” Maunyn asked.

“I covered him and spoke the words. I’ve not returned.”

“Wise.”

Maunyn was the embodiment of what his people had once been: powerful, mercurial, living chaos restrained by forms and rituals. Maunyn and those like him, few as they were, represented the glorious past. Taul, his brother, even Ryldia, were all imposters, weak shadows of what had been. For a moment, he comprehended this lord’s frustration.

“I thank you for uttering the prayer,” Maunyn said. “I will see to a proper form. He was Mornae, after all, and should meet the goddess in fire. The fool may have saved us.”

He was pensive, soft even. It didn’t last as Maunyn straightened and laid a heavy hand on Taul’s shoulder. “I am pleased for your boy. Do right by him. House above all.”

Taul nodded, repeating the phrase, and whispered his thanks again. He placed a hand on his breast pocket, wanting to give him Ren’s sealed letter.

“I’m not one for threats, high consort,” he said. “But as you well know, I will do what I must for my house and matron. I will hold to our bargain and more, so long as this is clear.” He patted the pocket. He’d read it later and save its contents for a day, as Ren had said, when he needed it.

Maunyn snorted and left him, passing the threshold first, as was proper to his rank.

Taul breathed deeply. He’d done it. They’d have both a son and a daughter someday. And he’d save the orchards. He’d leave this stale, dark crater. He closed his eyes, restraining joy, the memory of soil, rain, and sun flooding him.

56

The world was crowding in on Gishna. So many fresh problems. People, really. People were always the worst of her problems. She sat in the empty council chamber awaiting her ministers. Julissa would join them from now on. She needed the girl to learn to work with their new minister. Her heart still twinged that this middle-tier consort had stolen from her, and yet it softened with each passing day.

He’d also saved her. There was a mountain of work. This was just the beginning, and everything was sweet in the beginning. The ends were harder. Finishing well. She had every intention of doing just that.

She couldn’t meet the goddess just yet. She needed to leave her house in decent shape for Julissa. Her daughter didn’t yet have the fortitude, the clout, the intimidating presence, and that was the sad truth. In the past, that presence came with being a priestess, one who’d passed the trial, and then the trials of high priestess. In the past, none dared raise opposition—so she imagined anyway. She exhaled, the breath rattling in her chest before escaping her lips.

“The brother is being watched,” Maunyn said. “He was asking questions, visiting archives.”

“Of course he is.”

She suspected Maunyn knew the Naukvyrae and was a member. Yet he did his duty without her even asking. Was it all a ruse? She scoffed. Paranoia was the greatest evil a matron faced, her grandmother had said. The wickedness of her own mind. Stumbling and staggering through the dark halls of her heart. They are the most dangerous things a matron must battle.

“What about the rumor surrounding the acolyte’s death?” she asked.

“We’re spreading silver. It’s contained for now. The witnesses signed documents saying the blade was kithaun. Others signed saying they saw the Dark rise to protect her.”

They must squelch the notion that common steel could kill a priestess so easily. The goddess would not forsake one of her own. Even an acolyte.

“The flesh of the acolyte is of the goddess,” she murmured.

Maunyn grunted. The murder troubled him, and rightly so. It was only a step away from the ash heap. The moment anyone thought otherwise, priestesses would become like any other women. And then the bloodshed would begin and never end.

She thought of the Vakayne girls, of an infinitely better quality than the poor acolyte. What if they were not all she hoped? They had to be. She needed them to be. Was Lissae Vakayne still necessary to her plan? Could Hosmyr find its own way, or make Vakayne beholden to it? Especially once she could rebuff them. Once the Valmasin returned. Once Hosmyr’s land had recovered. She’d charge Vakayne double for its precious pears. She’d assess their offered acolytes and squires. Oh yes, then who’d be the arrogant one?