Chapter XXIII #2
“How can you be so heartless?” she snapped. “That you could simply leave Ariana to suffer and die? She thinks the world of you, you know. There must be something we can do for her.”
The Priest let out a bitter, scoffing sound.
“You call me heartless? I’m not the reason she’s in a cell.
When Gileta spoke of regicide, I don’t think she intended for you to run back up this mountain and slaughter my brother at the first opportunity.
What is the point of forestalling a war in Caervallion if you spark a civil uprising here instead? ”
His anger was a cold flame compared to her heat, but at his accusation, Fia’s temper guttered and burned low.
“I—Priest, I didn’t kill Orden. How can you think that I did?”
He raised one scarred brow. “You’ve killed twice since coming to Inverlyn. And you were comfortable enough with it that I’m sure you’d taken lives before your arrival, as well. Who would a devout follower of the Three wish to snuff out more than an Inver king?”
“You,” Fia said sharply. “A bastard pagan who serves abominable gods in a desecrated sanctum. But behold, I haven’t knifed you yet.”
The Priest was silent, though she could see from his decisive movements and rigid posture that he was still seething. He finished filling his rucksack and set it aside, taking a stone crock of goat’s milk from the chest of drawers along with a clean rag.
“Come, little flame,” the Priest said quietly to Justus as he sat down on the bed next to his nephew’s bassinet. “Best to eat while you can; we’ve a long and trying road ahead.”
“Give him to me,” Fia said, holding out her hands. “I can feed him faster, if you’re truly bent on leaving. Let it be my last gift to him.”
The Priest’s mouth twisted. “I don’t think a final sup at the breast will quite negate you killing his father.”
Before the Priest could dip his rag in goat’s milk, Fia snatched his hand, pressing it firm to the back of her neck.
“By Bright Raea and my mark, I swear to you here and now that I never harmed Orden Inver, nor helped anyone else end his life. Should I mislead in my oath, may the sun strike me dead. Are you happy, you stubborn ass?”
A fraught moment passed. The Priest’s hand, which had been rigid against Fia’s skin, slowly relaxed, cupping her neck and the sacred place where her goddess mark rested.
“Fia, I—” he began, but she was not ready to relent.
“Thought that I am a fool? Worse than a fool, even? To kill a king with no plan for what comes after? Have I truly given you the impression that I am so full of spite and malice, with no room for foresight?”
The Priest kept his head low, accepting her words.
“What about you?” Fia hissed finally, though she did not let go of him.
She kept her hand over his, warm on the back of her neck, and moved her thumb against his fingers, tracing slow circles until she felt a frisson of desire, and heard a hitch in his breath.
“You have more reason to hate Orden and wish him dead than anyone else on this mountain. Swear to me it wasn’t you, Priest, and that you didn’t embroil Ariana and I in some old vendetta against your brother. ”
The Priest’s soft grip grew harder, near painful.
“If I wanted Orden dead,” he growled, “I’d have killed him years ago. And I would certainly not be saving his son.”
“I like that you’re saving his son,” Fia said with satisfaction as she leaned closer. “I like it very much, even if I disagree with the manner you’ve chosen for it. But if it wasn’t you, and it wasn’t me, who killed your brother?”
“Gileta, possibly, though I think she’d have managed things more neatly.
Afon, most likely,” the Priest answered, drawing away from her with a visible effort.
“If it was an Inver, they’d have come forward already, not wanting to risk the throne sitting empty and being claimed by someone else.
Their succession would have been immediate. Vesper, perhaps?”
“Not Vesper.” Fia was certain. Whatever bad blood existed between them, if Vesper had chosen to destabilize Honoria in such a way, Nikolau would have sent word to her, knowing she was at the castle.
The Priest looked as if he was about to speak, then shook off the question that hung unspoken between them.
“We all knew there had to be a reason Afon chose to appear at council, besides a liking for Ariana asking him—this is it,” the Priest stated instead.
“Worse yet, no one will make him pay. My people will be far too busy vying for power to bother with accusing Caervallion and renewing a war they can’t win without my brother’s guidance.
The moment we’re all fighting, Afon will annex Corrin unless Gileta stops him, which she won’t.
If she thinks he’s even likely to return to the fold, she’ll let him do it and call it a mercy for Corrin.
She wants the distinction of reforming a warlord, I think.
Gileta’s overfond of playing at being Silith’s Matria. After Corrin, we’ll be next.”
“No use worrying about Caervallion now,” Fia said, falling into the intense practicality of Raea’s chosen as she took Justus from his bassinet and put him to her breast. “We’ll have to focus on our most immediate problems first. We need to secure Ariana’s safety before worrying about who really toppled Orden. ”
“There’s nothing we can do for her, besides which, Ariana Lyrien has been brought up for martyrdom since she was a babe in arms,” the Priest answered grimly.
“She’s getting what she wants, no doubt.
A death that will erase any transgressions and missteps she made among us, and restore her in the eyes of her goddess.
None of that is my problem anymore. Neither is Honoria. ”
“Well, they’re my problems. And I’m not leaving,” Fia said, glowering.
“The moment I vanish, it will undo everything Ariana ever intended. Her death will truly be senseless—Lucian and whoever takes the throne will use my absence as proof of collusion with the queen, and reason enough to strike at Raea’s cloister.
I will not let her dying be for nothing, if she must die at all. ”
“She will die. And you will, too, if you stay. Whether Raea’s cloister falls depends on who takes the throne, but no Inver in power will let you live if there’s the slightest hint of suspicion that you might be the one who turned king killer, for fear you’ll do it again.”
Fia shifted toward him, and he swayed toward her, too, as if she was a lodestone and he the steel it drew.
Ever so gently, she cupped the Priest’s face with her free hand.
A shiver ran through him, and Fia smiled.
She knew, in this moment, with a bright and shining certainty, why she had come to Inverlyn.
Could see with perfect clarity the webs of power running out from the Priest’s cell and tangling themselves across all Honoria.
“You’re wrong,” she said. “There’s one Inver who would let me live, and who can ensure Ariana lives too.
Dolenza asked me once if I thought you would make a better ruler for Honoria than your brother.
I didn’t answer her then, but I’m answering now.
Silas Inver, I want you to rise. For Ari’s sake, for mine, for Justus’s, and even for your own.
You and Honoria will do well together, I know it.
So let us take a great and terrible chance.
We may not have killed Orden, but we can put you on his throne. ”
The Priest swallowed visibly. “The Invers barely accept me in my present role. They’ll never have me as their king. I don’t possess the temperament for it.”
“Not a king,” Fia said, relentless in her demands.
“I want a regent. I want a stable Honoria, and no civil war to come from all of this. I want Afon thwarted, and Ariana safe. Which means you standing against Lucian and whoever else grasps at power, and claiming the throne on Justus’s behalf.
Then, when the time comes for Justus to take the throne, I want the first bloodless succession in Inver history.
This is what we’ll grasp for, Priest—a better world because we were in it. ”
He aged before her, shoulders sagging with worry and care, and shook his head. “You sound like Orden, just before he died. Talking of a new Honoria and unprecedented unity.”
“I never disagreed with his goal,” Fia said. “Only with his methods. I don’t choose conquest as a weapon. I choose you, and I would wield you as regent. So answer me this, Priest. Will you run, or will you rise?”