Chapter 5
Chapter Five
“You saw it for yourself,” Otta says warmly as we walk towards the docks. Feeling mortified she kept me from city business for so long, she insisted on walking with me while we speak.
It’s nice to have the distraction as we make the journey, a way to ignore the glowering eyes and disdainful mutters that follow me like spectres.
Surrounded by a fleet of guards, I’m sure it will be safe.
Besides, I could use the exercise. Perhaps if people see me with Otta, who is so well liked in the city by all sides, it might mollify some.
“Yes, it’s absolutely overcrowded,” I agree, “but I’m not sure what else can be done. We can’t house the entire city in one building. It’s just not possible.”
“But everyone deserves to hear the message of Fate. To feel the peace of connection. It’s so healing to so many.” Otta sighs. “I can only repeat the message so many times before I lose my voice.”
I nod with her.
“I absolutely agree. And you putting on several preachings every day is a lot of time and energy that I hope you know this city appreciates,” I say. “Have you considered recruiting more priests to work underneath you? Perhaps they can help with the amount of work you do?”
“I’m just a priestess,” Otta answers with a blush, shaking her head. “I can’t authorise recruitment like that. Besides, it’s three years of study in Kavas with the great texts and teachers before undertaking Holy Vows. Only then are you allowed to preach—”
“For the Old Faith,” I interrupt kindly.
“But you don’t preach by their standards, Otta.
While they may not have been able to study as rigorously as you have, can’t those who are truly eager and strong in their beliefs still help their people, and you?
And if they take their message from you …
you can guide them. They don’t need an official title, or perhaps something that comes under ‘priestess’. Perhaps an apprentice of sorts?”
Otta stays silent, pressing her lips together as she considers it. I can see the war of churning thoughts behind those eyes and I smile encouragingly at her.
“It’s not something you have to answer right now of course. It’s just an idea. When it comes to matters of faith, I of course defer to you.”
Otta’s shoulders drop a little and she nods.
“It’s just such a shame all the other church buildings in this city going empty.” Otta sighs and shakes her head. “If we could put them all together there’d be enough room and plenty extra.”
“They’re empty,” I breathe. Otta turns to me, a question on her face.
“Yes?”
“Otta, please tell me if I’m overstepping,” I say quietly, “but what if we put the buildings to a different use? Temporarily of course.”
Otta frowns.
“What use?”
“We have people camping in tents outside the city. Refugees fleeing the violence this war will bring, seeking protection. The young, the vulnerable, the old. Housing them safely inside the walls of this city has been so difficult…” I trail off seeing the light of understanding switching on behind Otta’s eyes.
“Good buildings shouldn’t go empty when people don’t have roofs over their heads!” Otta says firmly. “That is not the path of Fate. We have to work together if we’re going to realise the Great Plan.”
This woman is a saint, I swear to Fate himself. May he always look after her.
“So you’d be open to helping them?”
“Of course.”
“That’s … amazing!” I could kiss her as I rub my stinging eyes and we start walking deeper into the docks, dodging boxes, ropes and workers. “Would you be able to talk to Electi Maggia about it?”
“Of course. Maggia and I know each other well,” Otta answers brightly. A solution! Finally one bright thing in the sea of problems. After all the worrying. It’ll take work of course. It won’t be perfect but—
“Renza!” I turn in surprise, a smile cracking across my face as Emilia walks towards me wearing a bright smile. It’s been weeks and weeks since I’ve seen one of my closest friends.
“Hi, stranger!” I chuckle. “What are you doing here?”
“I had an early lunch with Alfie,” she says with a small smile, holding up an empty basket. “What are you doing down here? Idris isn’t around right now you know.”
“I’m not here for him,” I answer, clearing my throat at mention of my Fated. “Emilia, have you met Otta? The priestess?”
“I’ve heard great things,” Emilia says as she smiles at the elegant priestess.
“As have I about your work,” Otta answers warmly. “In fact Renza and I were just discussing emergency housing of refugees in the shut church buildings. We might need an architect’s opinion on that.”
“Would you both mind coordinating with Maggia about it?” I ask them. Emilia nods brightly.
“Happy to! Is there a time when I can come by your office? We can start evaluating the buildings straight away?” Emilia asks the priestess.
“How about after evening service? We can have a late coffee and chat – I’ll send letters to Electi Maggia now,” Otta says. “I should leave you both. I’ve been meaning to visit an elderly man local to here and now seems convenient.”
“Of course. Stay safe.”
“Well, she seems lovely.” Emilia beams as we watch the priestess walk away.
“She really is,” I answer, throat tightening. Daring to preach when the Holy Mother demanded the removal of all Holy Works here will land her in so much trouble if we lose. She’ll be another consequence of my failure. They’ll make a message out of her suffering. “Have you heard her preach?”
“No. Perhaps I’ll go to the evening sermon to see what all the hype is about,” Emilia muses quietly. She’s never been one for organised religion but keeps her mind open as she does to most things.
Around us the boats rattle and clink, tilting side to side as they ride the undulating current.
The water rushes and glugs as it slops around the boats and docks.
People work, lugging boxes on and off ships, filling and emptying warehouses under the mild conditions of the day.
Salt bleeds on the breeze, along with a faint smell of varnish and tar.
Emilia studies me, those dark eyes of hers taking in every detail. I seem to be an object of everyone’s fascination at the moment.
Emilia goes still as marble suddenly, before picking up my hand and bringing it to the light.
I raise an eyebrow in confusion, but my heart drops when I realise she’s looking at my nails.
I rip my hand back and clear my throat, closing my fingers into a fist to cover the mild discolouring before dropping my arm.
“How long have you been taking Red Root?” Emilia asks quietly, leaning closer so her whispers won’t be overheard.
“It’s medical,” I say shortly. “I’m fine.”
“Nail discolouration is a sign of overuse—”
“Emilia, I don’t want to talk about it,” I say quietly but firmly. “It’s medical, between me and my doctor. I need some help sleeping sometimes, that’s all.”
Emilia nods quietly and hesitates before speaking.
“Does Giulia know?”
“It’s no one’s business but mine,” I answer. “Speaking of updates, how is everyone? I haven’t spoken to the girls properly in ages. How are Michelle and Serra?”
Emilia lets out a short breath, giving me a pointed look with one eyebrow raised. But I didn’t falter against her challenge, so she relents.
“Michelle is doing well. I rarely see her without Giulia or Royah honestly, though Royah is going out more and more with these trade shipments,” Emilia says. “And Serra is spending a lot of time with the metalsmith at the moment, working on something.”
My head jumps away from the docks as I meet her eyes, mouth falling open slightly.
“She’s working as an engineer again?” I ask, delighted. Emilia nods, a small smile spilling onto her face.
“That might be overselling it, but she got all excited over this idea,” Emilia says warmly. “Started babbling and drawing the way she does when she’s wrapped up in working something out.”
“Oh good, she must be feeling a little better—”
“Evil Maineri bitch!” someone shouts.
“Who was that?” gasps Emilia.
“Evil Maineri scum!” shouts the voice again. Emilia goes pale.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, half sighing as a loud crack cuts off my words.
A brick violently smacks onto the cobbles barely a foot from me, then jolts off and lands nearby.
Clearly aimed at me. Someone darts into the crowd to get away.
Some cheer and slap the person on the back, quickly covering his retreat.
“Over there!” Emilia points to the guards.
“No! Don’t.” I leap forwards, taking hold of the City Guardsman about to take chase. “Don’t make things worse.” The last thing we need is a spark for violence.
“Besides,” comes a female voice smooth as velvet but twice as inviting, “he might have been talking to me.”
I turn around slowly to face the reason for my visit to the docks today. The arrival of my cousin.
The portraits don’t do her justice.
Only one word could accurately describe Allysa: devastating.
The lines of her face are bold yet exquisite.
The pale gold tone of her flawless skin shows off the gentle bronze on the cliffs of her cheeks, perfectly framing her plump, blood-red lips.
Her rich brunette hair holds secret tones of rubies and caramel, her sharp eyes study me like polished shards of dusky amber framed by thick, fluffy onyx lashes.
She’s wearing a simple dress, but the expensive burgundy fabric turns her out like a goddess manifest, the gossamer split sleeves twirling like magic on the sea breeze. A wicked smile slowly slips onto her face.
“Cousin,” she greets with warmth.
“Allysa,” I answer, keeping my tone friendly. We’d never met before, her spending her life in the Wheel City, me spending my life here. We know of each other of course, but until now we have never crossed paths.
“Urgh, that’s what my mother calls me.” She shudders in jest. “My friends call me Lysa.”
“Lysa, it’s lovely to finally meet you. How was the journey?”
“Rough.” She pouts, coming forwards, but shrugs her dainty shoulders casually. “But all the better for our meeting. It’s wonderful to finally know you in person.”
“Indeed,” I answer. “Lysa this is my friend Emilia, a brilliant architect.”
“Hi,” Emilia says nervously, shifting on her feet as though she’d really like to leave. Her eyes dart between us as though not sure if she should lunge for Lysa’s throat or deliver bright and welcoming smiles. Given my family’s history here of betrayal and blood, I do not blame her.
“A pleasure, signora,” Lysa says warmly, pretending not to see Emilia’s inner struggle. “I look forward to seeing some of your work.” Emilia nods politely before turning back to me.
“I should go. I don’t want to keep Alfie waiting and I have things to do…”
“Of course.” I nod in understanding. “I’ll see everyone soon, okay?”
I bid her goodbye as she turns away from us. Lysa comes to stand next to me. She might be a year my junior but she stands with the commanding presence of a seasoned general.
“And then there were two…” Lysa chuckles under her breath. “I’m honoured that you came to meet me off the ship in person, cousin. I would’ve thought you too busy, now you’re the Maestrus.”
“You have no idea,” I answer, aiming for levity but the exhaustion leaks through. “But I always make time for family, and handle our affairs personally.”
“So I’ve heard. Actively involved in the sting operations that landed my mother in a cell and Agosta in her grave.” Lysa says the words without shame or even a flicker or anger, fear or resentment. No, only humour lurks in the recesses of her eyes. I give her a sidelong look and she smirks.
“What? Get caught, pay the price.” Lysa chuckles, shrugging one slender shoulder. “That’s what happens when you lose the game.”
“This isn’t a game to me.”
“Really?” Lysa asks, flashing a wicked smile. “That’s a shame. You’re currently winning.”
“We’ll see for how long,” I mutter. The crowd seems to be getting more hostile, now yelling and booing. Thankfully Lysa seems utterly uncowed by the attention of the workers. I start walking, hoping that leaving will settle things down.
“The Maineri banking blockade goes into effect today. I’m sure you’ll start hearing about it from every corner soon enough,” Lysa says conversationally, linking her arm through mine like we’re the closest of confidantes.
“Fiora informed you of the plan?” I confirm with her quietly, just for the two of us. Lysa nods, tossing her luscious brown hair over her shoulder.
“Aunt Fiora told me everything. I love it.”
I nod and offer her a genuine smile. Someone shouts and throws something else. A bottle lands at my feet, the glass splintering and shattering across the stone.
“Let’s get you to the house,” I say, needing to swallow and clear my throat, “before all the commotion starts.”
“Here or politically?” Lysa asks, still seeming entirely unfazed. Fate’s Fury, how does she manage that?
“Both,” I answer, before leading her away.