Catherine had never met an individual as vile as Bishop Matthias. She watched as he raised a chunk of bread to his lips, mouthing it like a dog. Slowly, she chewed on the same piece of roasted pig she’d eaten three minutes before, unable to swallow—watching him had made her appetite disappear to such an extent that she wondered if she would ever feel hungry again.
“Are the other dishes not to your liking?” the queen asked, her eyes sliding over the dinner table. It was long enough to accommodate ten people, and the spread on top was grand, adorned with a variety of wines, stuffed meats, and steamed vegetable dishes.
The bishop waved a hand. “Why, I am just a humble servant of the Goddess! I could never partake in such an extravagant meal.”
Catherine stared at him in disbelief. It was he who asked to dine, and of course he would have known that he would not be served only bread. To her disgust, though, several of the servants were nodding to his words, and Catherine even thought she saw one of them mouth: ‘How sensible’.
“Anyway,” he said, “I would not request an audience just to take advantage of your hospitality. My concern is in regards to the recent incident involving the demons of the south.”
The queen paused, and Catherine quickly raised a hand to dismiss the servants from the room. Once the door had shut behind the last one, she folded her hands over her lap. “You speak of Mendel.”
He nodded. “Indeed, that is the name of their cursed city. As you know, on the winter solstice, a delegation was sent from Parma to deliver one of the afflicted. They were accompanied by one of our priests. None of those men have returned.”
Catherine took a sip from her glass of wine. “If I recall correctly, bishop, we’ve already discussed this incident. The Linnaean major, Richardson, sent us a letter explaining that the delegation attempted to hold the afflicted child hostage.”
The bishop shrugged. “Yes, that seems to be their story, though it is almost undoubtedly a fabrication. Your Majesties, this is a blatant attempt to test our boundaries.”
“My understanding was that those men acted on their own,” the queen said carefully. “Though I profess that I cannot understand why one of your priests was traveling with a delegation from Parma.”
“Regardless, the afflicted have not dared to threaten us in a century. We must now take stronger action, and it is the Holy Order, not the monarchy, with the power to do so.”
Catherine’s eyes narrowed with understanding. So, this was why he had wanted to meet—to demand that the reigns of power be handed to the church in order to communicate with the Linnaeans directly. “Is this the archbishop’s request or your own?” she asked.
Bishop Matthias’s face darkened. As the archbishop’s subordinate, it was his duty to fulfill his orders, and it was sacrilegious to suggest otherwise. The issue was that, like the king, the archbishop was advanced in age, and his orders were often subject to interpretation.
“Perhaps, through peaceful negotiation, we can have the men returned,” the queen offered. “It seemed from the letter that they might still be alive.”
“Forgive my impudence, but as the primary decision-making body of Ciradyl, it is the Holy Order that is equipped to navigate such a disaster.”
Catherine frowned. “What can you mean? My father is still commander in chief of our forces.”
The bishop had the gall to lean back and chuckle. His eyes shifted to the king, who was staring at a spot on the tablecloth. “In name, perhaps. But I think you will find that the army is loyal to the Holy Order.”
There was a moment of silence as Catherine seethed. Sure, it was true that the majority of Ciradyl’s small army (like the rest of the city, for that matter) attended church, but wasn’t it a stretch to say that they would side with the Holy Order over the monarchy? After all, they had served her family for hundreds of years.
“Perhaps it is time that we tell the public about this incident,” the bishop said suddenly. “I wonder how they will react to the news that the monarchy failed to act when one of their leaders met his demise at the hands of the demons.”
The queen made an involuntary noise of surprise, and a realization dawned on Catherine like a bucket of ice water dumped upon her head. The lost priest had not accompanied the envoy from Parma of his own volition; no, he had been ordered to do so for this very moment—a sacrifice for the advancement of the Holy Order.
“I am no Linnaean sympathizer,” Catherine said, and she meant it; she had been taught her whole life to fear the shadow of the South. “But my great-grandfather was on the council that ratified the treaty. He thought peace would be best for our people.”
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“Do you mean to say,” the bishop said slowly, “that you do not intend to entrust the negotiations to us?”
Catherine looked at her mother, who gave her a tiny nod. It was time, now, to draw a line in the sand before they lost what little power they had left. “That is correct,” she said, angling her chin upwards. “This duty has remained in my family for a hundred years, and that will not change today.”
“Hmm,” the bishop said, and his eyes were cold as he regarded her. “So be it.” And then, with no further protest, he stood up, bowed deeply, and exited the dining hall.
***
“Welcooome to History of Mendel,” Professor Bao said in a long, raspy drawl, “the one and only class that has been taught at the university since its inception thirty-six years ago. I personally have had the pleasure of being its professor for every semester except one, in which I was bedridden with the flu.”
Ember nodded along. The professor appeared positively ancient, and she wouldn’t have been surprised even if he had been among the first Linnaeans to arrive in Mendel. His face, mostly human with a wide jaw and short snout, had wrinkles so deep that they could have been etched into stone. His skin was thick and grey, and his head drooped from a long, withered neck. But most prominent was the weather-beaten, heavy shell that wrapped around his torso and sat upon his back.
The professor made a chewing motion, and Ember spotted half of a blade of grass hanging from the corner of his mouth. “Anyways,” he continued, “I appreciate you all choosing my class this semester, and I hope you’ll find it informative. Naturally, we’ll begin with Mendel’s geography, then progress to its founding, its early development, the negotiation of the treaty, and the ongoing communication with the city-states.”
Ember’s gaze slid over to a nearby classmate, exchanging a wry look. The rumors were true: Professor Bao had the most sleep-inducing voice she had ever heard, so slow and gentle that it could have been a lullaby. The class had just begun, yet the head of the student adjacent to her was already beginning to droop.
Bao squinted, drawing attention to his half-milky eyes, and Ember realized that he must be mostly blind. “Truthfully, I’m no good at remembering names, so we won’t spend any time on introductions. I trust that you all checked out our textbook from the library?”
As if in slow motion, he stooped, picking up a massive book from a drawer in his desk. Snapping out of their stupor, the students shuffled through their bags, drawing out their own copies, which were as heavy as a stack of bricks. Ember plopped hers down, where it threatened to topple the entire desk over.
“It’s quite well-written, and much of it is a first-person account,” Bao added, his long, clawed fingers tapping on the hardcover. “High quality, thorough, and enlightening.”
Ember glanced down at her copy, where the author’s name shone in silver leaf: Zinwick Bao, Doctor of History. She sighed. If the lecture thus far had been any indication, the book's merits would not include a compelling nature.
“Well, anyhow,” Bao said, having the dignity to sound slightly sheepish, “let’s begin with a brief geography lesson, which should be a review for you all.” He hobbled over to the board, where he unpinned and unrolled a map.
Ember sat up with interest. Maps were precious in both Mendel and the city-states, and most of the ones that she had seen were mostly blank to the east and south. Bao’s map was the most detailed that she had seen besides the three-dimensional one in Corax’s office.
“Our continent is quite large, about two million square miles in area, by our best estimates. Mendel is here, at the top of the southern peninsula,” he said, pointing at a little dot. “Our territory is bounded by the Old Forest to the north and the Blackwater Caves to the south. Further below is the true wild, which we know very little about. Only a few researchers have made the journey to the edge of the continent and back, the most successful being Dr. Salvatore Thompson.”
Ember quickly scribbled the name in her notebook, recognizing it from her meeting with Corax in mid-November. “According to his observations, the southern ocean lies about six hundred miles south of Mendel, as the crow flies. It’s important to mention, however, that Dr. Thompson was suffering from the dengue virus at this time, and his notes are stained with blood from self-stitching a wound from a jaguar attack.”
The professor delivered this shocking news in such a flat, emotionless tone, that Ember did a double take. A… a jaguar attack?
“Moving on,” Bao continued, “of the thirteen city-states, Draycott is our closest neighbor to the northeast. Ciradyl lies one-hundred-twenty miles directly above it, where the Hecatomb Mountain Range originates. Further along that chain, to the east, are the mining city-states of Serton and Vargas.” He dragged a shaky claw to the left, pointing at the center of the continent. “Here, we have Bushnell, Chibron, Oxbow, and Gibnor, in ascending order. These are the states of the plains and desert.”
Again, he moved his claw, this time to the southwest, where another mountain range cut across the map like jagged teeth. “To the right of the Valram mountains, the wooded cities of Elesmont and Parma; to the left, Westborren and Nekimir.”
He wiped his forehead, drawing a piece of wheat from his pocket on which to chew. “Then, last of all, Fesburg and Bayport on the western coast. Is that clear?”
He looked around expectantly. Ember grimaced, suddenly grateful that his vision was poor; at least a third of the class had closed their eyes, and several had begun to snore softly. Unlike them, she had fought the growing heaviness in her eyelids in order to draw a rough replica of Bao’s map, which she hoped would help her commit it to memory.
She set her jaw. She had to consider her father in Ciradyl and her grandparents—her best chance of finding out about her mother’s disappearance—in Maple Valley, a farming village outside of Vargas. Because no matter how much she might wish to, she couldn’t stay in Mendel forever.