Chapter XXVII #2
Carian alive. What an appalling twist of fate.
For the barest instant, the Priest’s desire to run came crashing back, and he shifted his weight to hide the way his muscles twitched involuntarily, warning him to go, now, while there was still time.
Suddenly, the way Caervallion’s king had known just how to needle Orden made glaring sense.
Carian always took pleasure in tormenting his younger siblings, through brute force or subtler means, pitting them against one another with clever and insidious lies.
Age and a spirit of competition, however, had kept most of his cruelty fixed on his nearest brother.
Orden’s hatred of Afon’s vile correspondence, his insistence on burning each letter to hide their full contents, his bullheaded fixation on clashing with Caervallion regardless of the cost—the Priest should have known it was personal.
That it cut closer than a rivalry between kings.
He’d been too caught up in his own grievances, though, fixated on wrongs done to him.
Those wrongs would seem like kindnesses, if Carian took Honoria. All at once, the Priest’s reluctant commitment to following Fia’s course of action and attempting to gain the throne took on new meaning. He had to succeed.
“Which of my brothers rules Honoria makes little difference to me,” was what he said aloud.
“Even if it is unexpected, learning that Carian survived. So long as he keeps me in one piece, tending the altars of our gods, I don’t especially care if he takes power.
It would be tidy, I’ll grant you that, as long as he can convince the nobles of his identity.
Am I to assume that Orden’s death was his doing, and that the waiting we’re subjecting Honoria to now is to soften them to Carian’s return? ”
“In a manner of speaking, it was his doing,” Lucian said smugly. “Tell me, Priest, have you ever heard of a cultellus?”
The Priest shook his head.
“It is a jealously guarded secret of the Beloved Three. Something Afon—he prefers that name now—learned from the moon sisters in Caervallion. I don’t believe they spoke of it to him willingly, if you understand.
A cultellus is a soria of the purest possible faith, chosen for a holy task.
She is set apart to administer the mortal justice forbidden to followers of the Beloved Three, in order to preserve peace. ”
The Priest’s stomach dropped out from inside him. He knew, from remarks Ariana had made in passing, that she’d chosen Orden in order to avoid a duty her cloister had placed on her, and which she could not conscience. She’d never been clearer than that. Now, the Priest understood.
“A sacred assassin,” he murmured.
“Just so,” Lucian said. “And did not the followers of the Three believe our ridiculous queen to be a paragon of virtue? Afon always knew there must be some secret that would discredit Ariana in Orden’s eyes, and a great number of Silith’s women died before one was found who knew and confessed that Ariana was sworn to the role of cultellus, with both Afon’s and Orden’s lives given into her hands.
The trouble is, our queen fled her duty like a mewling coward, and something unexpected occurred.
Afon and Orden became impervious to harm from any other avenue.
Their lives were surrendered to her fully.
Neither can be killed, unless it is done by Ariana Lyrien.
I have tested that fate on both kings and found it true.
Afon is aware of it. Orden was not. It does not seem to me as if the queen knows either.
I suspect there are very few on the Hand who are aware of this—just Afon, one or two surviving daughters of Silith, myself, and you.
Perhaps Serafine, who swore Ariana to the role of cultellus, though she certainly did not intend to create two nigh-impervious kings. ”
“Blood and blades,” the Priest whispered in dismay.
Because Orden was dead. He’d witnessed it himself and would soon be called upon to tend his brother’s corpse in the crypt of their forefathers.
Orden was dead, and if Lucian spoke the truth, it was Ariana who’d done the killing.
The Priest saw no reason for the spymaster to fabricate such a wild tale.
Which meant that all this time, Ariana had stood in Orden’s shadow, moving him toward peace, using him as a shield from her terrible duty, preserving his life, and at the end, she’d been pushed into fulfilling the calling laid upon her.
“Yes.” The Priest could hear a smile in Lucian’s voice.
“Of course I acted as disbelieving as anyone when I took her into custody, but this is just what Afon desired. He’s been provoking Orden for years, attempting to goad him into some action that would force Ariana’s hand.
I cannot tell you how much pleasure it’s brought your eldest brother, working toward this aim and finally seeing its fulfillment. ”
“I look forward to serving beneath a king with so keen a wit,” the Priest said, though disgust churned through his veins as he spoke the words.
“I knew Carian but little before Orden rose. Assuming my first brother will retain my services as Priest, it will be… instructive, learning how he wishes to wield our gods and their chief servant.”
“Do you know, Silas, I’m surprised how well you’re coping with this.
” Lucian was magnanimous now that he believed himself to have the future king’s ear.
“I’ve considered you to be unnecessarily full of scruples, and disliked you for it.
But I appreciate a man who can bend when the situation requires.
I’ll put in a good word with Afon for you—he’s always been amused that Orden kept you alive as a sort of blinded and gelded pet.
I suppose it will suit him to do the same as long as you serve him well and find a place in your pantheon for the blood moon he worships. ”
The Priest forced a satisfied smile, even as his mind raced.
It seemed the gods were with him in one thing—he’d chosen and summoned the right ally for his succession bid.
Hadrian might have no love of him, but the man was devout.
Afon—Carian—had made a heretic of himself, and if the Priest could keep that at the forefront of Hadrian’s mind, it might outweigh any doubts the old statesman had as to the Priest’s own power and fitness.
If Hadrian believed Lucian’s story at all—it was certainly an improbable tale, which to the Priest’s mind, lent it credence.
The spymaster was no fool. If he was to fabricate a story to validate Afon’s annexation of Honoria, it would not be this one.
“There’s something I wonder,” the Priest said as Lucian stood. Much as he wanted the spymaster gone, he could not resist a final question. “What is it that finally pushed Orden over the brink? How did Afon nettle him into declaring war?”
Lucian let out a scoffing sound. “You know how Orden was. He ruled from between his queen’s legs.
Afon threatened to raze Lyria’s cloister and put the last of her sorias to the sword unless Orden finally chose to meet him on an open field again.
The king said it would not break his star’s heart to learn he was a warmonger—she’d known it all along.
But it would break her to see Lyria’s light die out on the Hand.
Can you imagine, an Inver speaking so? Honoria is well rid of him, truly. ”
Oh, thought the Priest, with a sinking sensation. Whatever happened, whatever came next, he must ensure Ariana never found out.
And so they waited. The Priest for Hadrian, and Lucian for Afon.
The Priest avoided Fia assiduously, worried that the weight of the secrets he now kept would show in his posture or the lines of his face.
The thought of Ariana in the dungeon, locked in with the knowledge that she’d ended Orden’s life, ate at him constantly, as if he was being gnawed to death by rats from the inside out.
But after a long and torturous day, the Priest’s luck turned.
Beneson arrived in the sanctuary at a run the following morning, to announce that Hadrian had entered the city.
The Priest sent word to the gate guards that Hadrian should be shown to Lucian’s office at once, and went to the spymaster’s study himself.
“Hadrian Inver is on his way,” the Priest said neutrally as he walked into Lucian’s office without knocking. “He’ll meet us here shortly. Do you think he means to claim the throne? It would certainly complicate your preparations for Afon if he did.”
Lucian put his head to one side, considering.
“No. Hadrian has no interest in that sort of power. But this could work in our favor. He was always a confidant of Darias, and Darias made no secret of his preference for Carian. Hadrian had his differences with Orden, too, during the earlier years of his reign. No, I believe this could be just what we need. A powerful and well-respected member of the old guard, to welcome Honoria’s new king and support Afon’s claim and credibility. ”
It was possible, the Priest thought dully, that Lucian was right.
The message he’d dispatched to Hadrian had been brief at best, and the old warhound had not committed to supporting the Priest’s bid for the throne.
He’d only come to Inverlyn in response to it.
It could be that he’d ridden to the capital in haste to pit his reputation and resources against the Priest, rather than backing him.
The measured tread of guards sounded in the corridor, escorting Hadrian through the quiet halls.
An image of the old man from when the Priest had been young still existed in his mind—Hadrian had been tall and spare, with a tidy dark beard beginning to go iron gray, and a face and frame that radiated control.
Now he strode through the door with a smell of horse and dust clinging to him.
Hadrian had traveled hard, and when he spoke, his voice was impatient and weary.