Chapter Twenty-Three
Ethyr poked his head into the High Priest’s repository, which earned him a soft chuckle from Poyut, so he self-consciously slipped the rest of his body inside.
He’d passed by the room on his lone excursion through the temple, but hadn’t been inside.
It was much smaller than the advisor’s study, but still packed with shelves.
Klara turned from putting a scroll on one.
“Your Divinity,” she said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I need your help finding a book,” he told her.
She blinked at him. “I didn’t think you were interested in reading.”
He stiffened his jaw to stop from scrunching his face. “I need to find a book on the history of Kulyar’s reign.”
She blinked again, taken aback. “What brought that name to your attention?”
“We spoke to Justice Malor this morning,” Poyut told her solemnly.
“I see.” Klara rubbed her chin. “Well, those books were all in Yorith’s study, so they must be in the palace library now.”
“Would Lyrian have destroyed them?” Ethyr asked worriedly.
“I’m not sure he knows they exist,” Klara said. “Or if he does, that he knew they were in the advisor’s study.”
As they made their way from the carriage to the palace, Poyut excused herself to train, apparently trusting Klara’s supervision enough to leave Ethyr alone with her.
They walked silently together through the palace halls to the library, Ethyr determined not to feel awkward about it.
Klara certainly didn’t seem put off. She straightened some books as they walked through the shelves.
“How do you know which one is which?” Ethyr asked.
“They’re ordered by category, then age,” she explained, stopping in front of a shelf.
“These should be from the end of the Kulyarian Era.” She trailed her finger over the sides of books and scrolls before landing on a book bound in dark leather.
She pulled it out and handed it to Ethyr, then continued.
He opened it to the title page. History of the State of Kulyar: Years One through Five.
“But… how do you know the exact one?”
“Usually I can recognize them, but I have all the publications memorized by date, so it’s easy enough to find.” Klara put another into Ethyr’s arms.
“Really?” Ethyr asked, awed. “You have the entire library memorized?”
“Both libraries, yes. It was part of my training. It helps protect the collection from exactly what you said—books being destroyed based off someone’s disagreement with them.” She added another book. It was starting to get heavy.
“Can you read the old tablets?” Ethyr asked, shuffling after her to another shelf. “The ones in the back corner?”
“Yes.” She said it absently, like it was a matter of course.
“What are they about? Are they about the Gods’ War?”
“Some of them. But they were written centuries after, so they’re more like transcribed legends than actual history.”
“What do they say about Kiaro?”
She paused, then turned to him. “Why?”
“He… he seems different from the other gods. Doesn’t he?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“I thought as High Priest you spoke to them?”
“Yes, but it is usually Ithna or Gnaeus who act as liaison for the whole. Occasionally Langath or Catocus. I don’t think any High Priest has seen Kiaro in centuries. Not since his old name.”
“His old name?” Ethyr asked.
“Yes, he was once called Kyarin.”
Ethyr halted.
“All the gods had different names back then.” Klara had turned back to the shelves, pulling out a scroll.
She unrolled it, looking it over before rolling it up again and returning it to its place.
“King Harius lifted our society from its barbarian roots and was the first to standardize our language and transition to proper forms of writing, on paper rather than clay. He decided the gods needed names that better represented their place in our society, names that differentiated them from the heathen wild gods.” She turned and, seeing Ethyr was no longer with her, lifted her gaze to him standing by the end of a bookcase. “Your Divinity?”
He swallowed and slowly caught up. “Is anyone… Would people still be named Kyarin?”
She hummed in thought. “I suppose they could be. Many rural communities still hold on to remnants of the old language and traditions. Your own name, for instance, uses the archaic ‘yr’ instead of ‘ius’. But it was never considered proper to name someone the same as a god. It is more acceptable to derive a name from theirs, like Lanaya. She was named after Langath.” Klara smiled.
“Though I don’t know that it is common to name your child after the god of deception. ”
“But he’s also known for being cunning and clever,” Ethyr pointed out. “Surely traits someone could want to bestow on their child?”
“I suppose so,” Klara said lightly. “Though if you want intelligence, most look to Langath, and for strategy, to Catocus. One cannot divorce the connotation of deceit from Kiaro’s name.” Klara looked him over. “Why the sudden interest in the gods and their names?”
He blushed, bringing his shoulders up. “I have to interact with them, don’t I? I like knowing what I can.”
“You’d do best not to call them by their old names,” she told him sternly. “They don’t take kindly to it.”
Ethyr blinked at her. “Why not?”
“I do not know. Perhaps, like humans, they want to put that period of their lives behind them.”
Ethyr took his pile of books to the sun room.
It was where Verusias had liked to read, Klara said.
Lounging on a cushioned chair, with the sun beating down on him, struggling to read boring political history, it was hard not to fall asleep.
He had no idea why Verusias had preferred this for his pastime.
There wasn’t much new information in the books, simply what Malor had told him repeated in longer form and with more tedious language.
Aedus had tried to overthrow the government, and Yorith had stopped him.
It was hard to know if he could even trust the stories without any real knowledge of who had written them and why.
If they had been in Yorith’s study, perhaps he’d been the one to commission them in the first place. That hardly seemed unbiased.
When he wasn’t fighting sleep, it was Klara’s words distracting him from reading.
Kyarin.
No, it was absurd. The god of deception and trickery wouldn’t save him from robbers. Right?
He was getting nowhere. He sighed and gathered the books up again to return them to the library, feeling thoroughly defeated and useless. Every time he tried to figure something out, he just got more questions and confusion. He didn’t know why he bothered.
The guard at the library entrance took the books from him and he made his way through the halls to the closest exit.
It brought him past Poyut’s room. The door was opened a sliver and he could hear her rustling around inside.
She must have finished training; maybe she’d walk the gardens with him.
He did feel an anxious urge to remedy the rift he’d caused between them.
He pushed open the door to find Satya rummaging through a chest at the end of the bed. She looked up in surprise and quickly straightened.
“What are you doing in here?” Ethyr demanded.
Satya cleared her throat and tucked her hands behind her back. “My apologies, Your Divinity. I thought the room could use some tidying up.”
“You’re Lyrian’s attendant,” Ethyr said sharply. “You have no reason to clean Poyut’s room.”
“I must contradict you, Your Divinity, I am Head Attendant now.”
Ethyr stared hard at her, though he was not surprised. Instead he had something more of a realization.
“Guards!” he called into the hall.
Satya startled. “I do not see how this situation requires force, Your Divinity.”
Two guards arrived at the door. Ethyr nodded to Satya. “Take her and follow me.”
They strode forward and Satya pulled angrily out of their grasps. “I will follow willingly,” she snapped. “I would have followed willingly, Your Divinity.” Ethyr did not listen, stalking out of the room.
The advisor’s doors were closed. They always were, now. Yorith had mostly left them open throughout the day. Lyrian looked up as the doors burst open. Seeing it was Ethyr, he set his pen aside and quickly rolled up the paper on the desk, spreading a smile onto his face.
“Your Divinity! What can I do for you?” His smile faltered when Satya was ushered into the room by the guards.
“Have you replaced Gionan with your own attendant?” Ethyr asked angrily.
Lyrian raised his eyebrows. “Of course. She was Head Attendant on my family estate for over forty years. She’s perfectly qualified.”
“I told you to consult me before any more decisions,” Ethyr barked. Lyrian’s eyebrows rose a fraction higher. “She was snooping around Poyut’s room. Did you tell her to do that, too?”
Lyrian offered a disarming smile and surreptitiously slipped the letter he’d been writing into a desk drawer before holding his hands out.
“Your Divinity, please. If you’re going to throw accusations at me you could at least do so with a bit more calm.
There’s no reason to work yourself up. Satya?
” Lyrian looked pointedly at the woman. “Were you in Poyut’s room? ”
Satya lowered her chin. “I was, sir.”
“And what compelled you to be in there?”
“As I told the king, sir, I was only trying to organize it a little.”
“The servants clean the rooms,” Ethyr reminded her harshly. “Not attendants.”
“His Divinity has a point,” Lyrian said solemnly. Ethyr cast him a suspicious glare, which he met with innocuous concern.
“I clean your room, sir,” Satya said quietly. “And you know I did some room tidying on the estate as well. It was only a habit.”
“What were you doing in Poyut’s chest?” Ethyr asked.
“Putting away some of the clothing that was left out, Your Divinity.”
“That’s not what it looked like,” Ethyr said.
“I cannot speak to what it looked like, Your Divinity, only what I was doing.”
Ethyr narrowed his eyes at her.