Chapter 9 #2
“What about including some of the Fusion Root Vine?” Bastian gestures toward a section of the garden where we replanted the peculiar flowers we rescued from the dowager queen’s garden.
The color gradient of their petals shifts from deep purple to ebony streaked with blood-red, and their velvety leaves dance in the faintest breeze.
“It would be a fitting nod to past events.”
My mind flashes to Dowager Queen Alannah, and my chest squeezes.
Sterling’s mother will be missed for a very long time.
I can envision her tending to the sometimes-fractious flower, and I ponder how important it became to our success in merging elements.
“Isn’t that a waste? They’re so useful for medicine.
Fevers, dehydration, merging…seems frivolous to use them for decoration. ”
“The flowers and the medicinal parts are different.” Bastian is the one who did all the research after my grandfather’s death, so he would know. “The blooms could be harvested without harming the rest of the plants.”
The thought of featuring the delicate flowers in the wedding brings a smile to my face. “That would be—”
Muffled shouts echo from beyond the far side of the gardens.
Sterling tenses beside me, his relaxed demeanor vanishing in an instant. His hand drifts toward the dagger at his waist.
“What now?” Leesa sighs, and a wariness appears in her eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago.
Without discussion, we head for the commotion, the royal guards closing ranks around us. Elijah’s hand rests on his sword hilt, his fingers flexing as if eager for trouble.
If I were trouble and Elijah had that gleam in his eye, I’d fucking run. Even though I know he’s on my side now, I’m still sometimes leery of the burly brown-haired guard.
Several guards fly ahead, but Sterling, Bastian, and I remain on foot with Leesa and Elijah.
On the far side of the gardens, just outside the walls, lies Viridian’s temple, a structure unlike any other in Tirene.
Verdant vines and flowering plants that shouldn’t thrive together drape the walls on all sides in a living blanket. Where most temples are built of stone and wood, Viridian’s sanctuaries grow, constantly shifting, renewing, dying, and being reborn in endless cycles that mirror the goddess’s domain.
Two massive drakewood trees frame the entrance, their trunks gnarled with age, the branches reaching upward before curving to intertwine above the doorway. Water trickles down the bark, feeding the moss and ferns that carpet the ground beneath.
On a normal day, this place emanates tranquility.
Today, it resembles the center of a brewing storm.
In front of the temple doors, the voices of a growing crowd rise in a jumble of concern and accusation.
A short man with more hair on his face than his head stands at the forefront, his finger jabbing at the vines. “They’re moving on their own! The patterns changed overnight. Tell me that’s normal.”
I nudge my way forward, the crowd parting when they recognize their queen and crown prince. Murmurs of “Your Majesty” ripple outward like stones dropped in still water.
Now I can see what’s caused the disturbance.
Across the temple’s moss-covered walls, water flows upward in weird, deliberate patterns. The paths seem to form words.
In a language I don’t understand.
A middle-aged priestess hurries out from inside, her robes dyed a vibrant green at the shoulders and a rich earthy brown at the hem. Her expression flickers with genuine alarm. “They’re just water stains. The goddess blessing her plants. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Then why are they changing?” An older man with the calloused hands of a craftsman leans closer. “And why do the vines move to cover them when too many people gather? Why are they forming messages—”
“There are no messages!” The priestess steps back toward the open doorway. When her eyes dart to me, they widen in recognition. Before I can address her, she retreats inside, slamming the door shut with a finality that silences the crowd.
Briefly.
“Water?” Sterling kneels to examine the markings where they pulse between unfurling leaves. His fingers hover just above the surface, not quite touching, and I can sense the chill of his magic reaching out.
I crouch beside him. “What is it?”
He shakes his head, brow furrowed. “I don’t know. But it’s deliberate. This water is moving against gravity.”
I study the wall where the water flows. If the marks once spelled out words, they no longer do. Instead, they appear exactly as the priestess said. Like water stains.
Still, the patterns seem almost familiar. A distorted reflection of something I should recognize.
Once again, a hush falls over the crowd. A small cluster of people in dark cloaks slithers up the garden path, their faces obscured by deep hoods. The crowd parts for them, some with expressions of interest, others with unmistakable distrust.
“The gods weep.” The other cloaked figures nod with the speaker in unison, the motion eerily synchronized in a manner that prickles the hairs on my neck. “These are their tears.”
“Street preachers,” Bastian mutters. “The Devoted.”
Leesa leans closer to me. “See their hands?”
I follow her gaze and catch what I’d missed before. They have matching tattoos on the backs of their hands, constellations that trail up their wrists before disappearing beneath their billowing sleeves.
“Ah.” Sterling’s lip curls in disgust. “It’s them.”
One of them lunges forward, his voice rising above the murmurs. “I see the divine tears. The gods weep for our arrogance. For keeping magic while other kingdoms go without. And what are the royals of Tirene doing about—”
“Oh, shut it.” A man in the crowd shakes his fist. “You see divine tears in every puddle. Viri brings the cycles of life, not your doom prophecies!”
The air vibrates with tension.
Instinctively, I lurch forward.
Sterling catches my arm. “Watch the water marks.”
I focus on the temple wall again, and goose bumps skitter down my spine.
As the argument heats up, the water stains appear to…respond. They ripple and shift, like a lake surface disturbed by a passing breeze.
The patterns elongate, contract, and rearrange…as if trying to form words before dissolving back into randomness.
I keep my eyes locked on the strange sight. “That’s not something you see every day.”
Sterling’s fingers tighten on my arm. “It’s magic. But not like any I’ve ever felt.”
The crowd grows louder, their collective anger mounting.
One of the Devoted pushes ahead, his star-marked hand raised in accusation. “The gods are calling us to account! They’ve sent signs throughout Tirene—”
“The only sign I see is that you lot need to find proper work instead of scaring the shit out of people!” a woman shouts back.
What happens next unfolds in heartbeats.
The Devoted member lunges at the woman. Someone else shoves back. Bodies collide, tempers flare, and the peaceful temple grounds erupt into pandemonium.
Elijah and the royal guards lurch forward, creating a barrier between me and the scuffle.
Behind them, I glimpse the temple guards reluctantly intervening, their living armor of woven vines and bark flexing with each action. They seem hesitant to engage, as if they’d rather retreat inside with their priestess.
A wisp of flame curls from my fingertips, and the crowd freezes. “Enough!”
Sterling stalks forward, exuding dangerous power. “Now. Take your grievances to the proper channels.”
Slowly, begrudgingly, the crowd thins, with most dipping their heads to their queen and crown prince.
The Devoted retreat last. Their leader’s intense eyes find mine before he turns away, the constellation on his hand shimmering in the afternoon light.
“Did you see?” Leesa whispers beside me. “When the fight broke out, the water looked like it was trying to spell something.”
Tension tautens my muscles. “I saw.”
My gaze returns to the temple wall where the water marks have once again settled into innocuous stains.
Another bizarre event in a series of oddities, yet we still have no clue what any of this means.
Or what we need to do to stop it.
By the time Sterling and I return to the now quiet temple, night has fallen. The paths are deserted except for the occasional guard.
Agnar accompanies us, his tall frame providing additional security. “The priestess wouldn’t let anyone in after the disturbance. Said the temple needed to rest and heal from the negative energy.”
I study the living walls in the moonlight as a crisp breeze ruffles my hair. The water stains changed again. The patterns disappeared, leaving only ordinary moisture marks. More tellingly, the temple’s plants have shifted since the afternoon, the vines and leaves growing to cover the exposed areas.
Sterling paces the length of the wall. “This temple is definitely hiding something.”
We study the structure for another long moment before retreating for the palace.
“It’s almost like someone’s trying to communicate with us.” I’m glad I wasn’t alone when I saw the patterns. Otherwise, I would think I was losing my grip on reality. How many other witnessed miracles go unreported because people fear no one will believe them?
Agnar’s battle-scarred face is solemn. I guess even he takes dispatches from the gods seriously. “And someone else is making very sure we can’t read the messages.”
Who could be strong enough to do that?
“The water felt like it was being pulled in two directions. Like two users fighting for control. With that kind of strength, it has to be the gods.” Sterling stops at the palace entrance and waits for the guards to open the doors with practiced efficiency.
Inside, warmth and light await, but the comfort feels hollow compared to my growing anxiety. “I think it’s time to see if the reports are true and find out if this is happening in other kingdoms.”
Sterling’s expression hardens. “If it’s just Tirene, that tells us one thing. If it’s everywhere…”
He doesn’t finish the thought. He doesn’t need to.
“We need allies and information.”
The flowers and wedding plans will have to wait. I won’t feel safe until we understand what the gods are trying to communicate…and who’s trying to silence them.