“Famed for its rocky plains, its canyons and its mines, the northern duchies of Paar are akin to strongholds sculpted by nature. Keeps and castles built in mountains and connected by galleries, a seemingly infinite source of both common and precious ore, such are the strengths of these lands. The price of it, the Paarese pay by lacking cultivable lands and abounding in covetous neighbours.

-Euronel, A Study of Western Military and Statecraft”

* * *

Rina

She kept silent as Horace held her hand, feeling the shaking, feeling her pulse, and nodding mysteriously. The aching in her head would come and go – today, it was quite present. However marvellous Xito's blessing was for mending sliced flesh and broken bones, it seemed it did very little against plants. The bearded old man looked straight in her eyes, and even though there wasn't even a frown hinting at his thoughts, Rina knew that he wasn't approving of it.

“You're taking too much, your holiness,” he said at last, rising from his chair. “It is dangerous. No strychnine without my knowledge, from now on. I'd also ask that you be careful with nightshade.”

“If you say so.”

He pointed to her hands. “And those blisters, those calluses? You train too hard.”

“They'll go away,” she said, rubbing her hands together. They'd always disappear before she knew it, courtesy of her god. Horace wasn't wrong, though – ever since Bert had taken over as the master-at-arms of the temple, she had been spending more and more time in the armoury. Truth be told, Bert probably wasn't as good as Odel when it came to duelling, and his fencing certainly wasn't as elegant and gracious as the Vieran's. But she felt that the mercenary knew much more about life and death, and everything that came between these two things.

In any case, Bert's teachings were an interesting addition to her duelling sword and spear skills, and without a doubt Astrael would have been quite pleased with that. He always valued odd tricks and clever lessons over the rest.

Thinking of lessons, she threw Horace a glance. “If it's as dangerous as you say, why did you teach my brother about all... this?” She had never asked Astrael, but question had been there for a time.

Horace gazed at the sky between the curtains of her window. He was wearing his dull brown tunic, since he kept refusing to wear the red robes of a priest, insisting he wasn't a priest or anything remotely close to a holy man. “Why did he teach you all this?” he eventually questioned back.

“...To protect me,” she answered without much thinking.

Horace turned around and gave her a small smile. It was all it took to make her understand. There was no point to Astrael's protectiveness if she corrupted her own mind and body with the tools he gave her.

The old man went to the door and opened it. “Let us take a stroll in the garden, yes? The gentle autumn sun should be enjoyed while it lasts.”

They walked the small paths between the flowers and bushes and olive trees, the emerald leaves caressing her legs through her robes. The sunshine warmed up her crimson clothes, and she wondered if her family was enjoying it too. Father is probably out there in the fields, overseeing the harvest, she thought. Mother is probably helping out Horace's wife... Rina saw no reason why Horace couldn't bring his wife with him here in Callir, but the old man explained that the village needed a doctor. As for her brother? She had yet to receive another letter. She hoped he was sound and safe, in Akilne or wherever fate had brought him, and she hoped the sun was shining upon him, too.

Rina did her best to ignore the bloodsguard watching her from afar, following her a few steps behind, standing by her door or by the stairs. Leon wasn't here – he was busy in his manor, busy speaking with his brother Timenon, speaking about the meaning of family values and betrayal. Busy stopping Phiramel's schemes, nipping them in the bud.

“Old man,” she said softly, looking behind and waiting for Horace to catch up, “why did you leave Callir?”

He raised a thick black brow and chuckled. His hand brushed down against his face, scratching his cropped hair before passing a few fingers in his mighty dark beard. “How many times does this make, your holiness? I told you, I left when Callir became a place for wrathful revolts and spilled blood.”

“Hmm. Not today, eh,” she muttered. Perhaps you'll tell me one day. Faintly smiling, Rina faced away from him, and wandered toward the fountain. “Tell me a story, why don't you? Tell me of Euronel's last known student.”

“Ah, the final pupil... The king's most trusted adviser, is what we know him as. He was but a boy when Euronel was already at the dawn of his life, and still barely older than yourself when he became royal physician.”

“He must have been quite a bright student.”

“They all were, Euronel would choose them himself, regardless of age or birth – his sole criteria was intellect.” Horace paused, his eyes wandering somewhere for a short second, perhaps in his memory. “A tradition in which he believed strongly. Euronel's own master, too, was a talented scholar, as were the many masters before, even though they aren't nearly as famous now. Bright students in their youth, meant to become wise teachers in their old days, meant to teach the next generation of promising younglings.”

Rina glanced over her shoulder, and Horace gave her a knowing smile. She was free to interpret this however she wanted, and the old man probably knew it too. She pulled her red robes as she sat on the ledge of the fountain, as not to wet them.

“What happened to him when the king died?”

Horace shrugged. “Who knows.”

“Why did he serve an insane, cruel king?”

“Why indeed? Perhaps he felt it was his duty – perhaps he felt he could lessen the damage. Or perhaps he did not care.”

Rina looked down, biting the insides of her mouth. “Is it true that when Therenus and his soldiers barged into the king's chambers, they found him ill, hazy and unable to move, much less flee?”

“A most interesting rumour,” someone said, and Horace glanced to the side. Rina followed his gaze and got to her feet. “Sadly enough, all those who could confirm or deny it are deceased.”

You saw to it, Rina thought, staring at Phiramel. It felt to her like the greying and wrinkled high-priest was getting older with each day passing, and he looked somewhat small, thin and slouching under his floating scarlet robes. A sight accentuated by the presence of a younger, taller and, she had to admit, rather handsome man by his side.

“Your holiness,” Phiramel greeted with a bow, before exchanging a nod with Horace.

“And who might that be, your excellency?” she asked, observing the stranger with him. He must have been in his late thirties or his early forties, wore his dark hair short, had a thin and elegant moustache above his lip and a patch of blackness on his chin. A long tunic with odd square-shaped decorations, fastened with a belt of yellow cloth, and the undeniable air of pride and nobility in his demeanour.

“Allow me to introduce Jehon of Paar.”

Jehon casted his two glittering onyx eyes upon Rina before bowing. “An honour, and a pleasure, your holiness.” Under the spiced Vieran melody, there was another foreign accent that made his low voice somewhat exotic. He grinned, showing teeth whiter than pearls. “Forgive my rudeness, but your name would be... Rina, yes? A most exquisite name.”

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A charmer, Rina thought, and he knows it. Seeing as he was from the Paarese kingdom, she had to be especially careful around him, and it might prove useful to feign meekness.

“You're very kind, my lord.” She glimpsed at Phiramel, and she could swear she saw a hint of nervousness in his eyes. Surely this one wasn't a guest that should be offended... “But you're so far from home,” she carried on, displaying her best smile. “What could possibly bring you here, I wonder?”

“Politics, my fair lady, and complicated ones at that. A wholly bothersome matter, but it shan't stop me from appreciating the wonders of your city, fear not.”

She made it so that her smiling eyes enhanced the smile on her pink lips, which she knew to be at least captivating, and ran her fingers through her silky raven hair, which she also knew to be mesmerising – but deep down she found the man entirely condescending and displeasing. No one had ever called her fair lady or anything of the sort, and she had been grown used to the titles of young mistress and holiness. Being vexed for such a small slight came off as a surprise to her. Or perhaps it was because Jehon treated her as a mindless doll.

“...Well, well,” she finally said, bowing her head, “do not mind me, your excellency, your lordship. I don't wish to detain you, as you certainly have much to discuss.” She made one step forward, then stopped and glanced at the Paarese lord. “Enjoy your stay, Jehon of Paar.”

“Certainly, your holiness,” she heard from behind as she walked away, Horace following her. Rina turned around a tall bush, waited and lend an ear in hopes of hearing bribes of their conversation.

“...It is done, then? Callir won't follow Paar in this war unless we have certainty.”

“Even if some might prove reluctant, the decision was made by Gavnel himself. They don't have much of a choice, and my king wouldn't have agreed either without assurances.”

“That is good to know. My only concern is Akilne, I'll still send a pigeon in the morrow to confirm...”

The voices faded as they left the garden. Gavnel, she repeated in her mind. There was no mistake, she had heard correctly. The chosen of Viera... Was he involved in the conflict between Paar and Ocia? How, and for what purpose? And now Callir was involved too, for sure.

She realised Horace was staring at her with an amused expression, stroking his dark beard. “What is it?”

“Are you enjoying this, your holiness?”

Rina tilted her head, confused, wondering for a second what he meant. “No, why would I?” she replied, almost offended. “This isn't a game.”

The old man walked past her, hands behind his back, chuckling softly. “Oh, but it is, I assure you, and you think so too. I've seen plenty of people in your position and no matter how amusing or serious the game is to them, I can tell when someone is enjoying it... Just as I can tell when someone is being a hypocrite about it.”

She'd slap him right now and right here, only it would give him reason. It's neither amusing nor enjoyable. Phiramel, Jehon of Paar, Horace, even Astrael, perhaps they did see it as a game, yes. Hell, maybe it was indeed a game, a sinister and deadly one. But while they enjoyed it, she didn't.

I know I don't. It's my Duty.

“Should I let Phiramel drag the city-state in a pointless war that doesn't concern us?” she asked all of the sudden, both to herself and to Horace. If this was such a funny game, then that old man surely had the answers, and Rina was more than alright with cutting corners and cheating if it meant victory.

“That depends, your holiness. What is it that you want?” What is mine, she thought, but wasn't sure what is was. Authority? Freedom? Power? She did not answer, and let the old man continue. “If you speak against him now, you'll lose his trust, confuse the people and force the nobility's hand – they won't appreciate that. Nobody will join you so soon.”

The common people were indeed an issue, they were quite eager to be warring against the Vierans at the moment. She could always make the sibyl submit to her, and have the old woman spit whatever convenient prophecies she could come up with. That ought to put an end to this war nonsense. But could she really do that? Viriane was supposed to be a neutral party, yet Rina guessed that Phiramel had bought her already and with fear rather than coin, most likely. Nothing good could ever come from someone being pressured and threatened by both sides, so in the end Rina saw this option as unwise. She wouldn't be able to rise above Phiramel if she used the same intimidating means as him, anyway. That left the high-born families – unwilling to join her so soon, Horace said...

“You're supposed to take care of that issue. Didn't you tell me you'd speak with some old friends of yours in the nobility?” Rather, this is one of the reasons I brought you back...

“Yes, and I shall do it. In time. But for now, your holiness, I advise to stand back and watch. Let his excellency Phiramel wage his war. If he wins, both you and him will appear stronger in the eyes of the people, Callir will have found new allies, and afterwards you'll have all the time you need to... clean the church.”

“And if we lose the war?”

“Then have the high-priest take the blame,” he said with a shrug. “The old houses will side with you once they see which way the wind blows. Whether it happens as a consequence of a lost war or of the man's paranoia, is of no importance.”

To me, perhaps. What about the defeated soldiers? Their families? Were they a necessary sacrifice?

“There are hard choices to be made, your holiness,” Horace carried on, and so she knew he could read her face like an open book. “Tough decisions are what test one's will and set the strong apart from the weak. Your brother understood that from the beginning. What do you think he'd do, if such a choice was his to make?”

“I know what he'd do,” she said sharply as she walked away, not bothering to hide her annoyance. She returned to her room, only to find sister Julia waiting for her next to the knights. News from Leon? Not that she could ask that question, she wasn't supposed to know about their relationship.

“Your holiness,” Julia began, “someone asked to see you.”

Rina noticed the anxious look on the priestess, her eyes glancing away, her finger fidgeting with her long brown curls, and the faint flush of uneasiness on her cheeks. In the first place, it didn't make sense for Julia to announce a visitor. Rina had perhaps dozens of people who would ask to see her each day, but that was at mass, and outside of mass they were seldom mentioned.

“Who is it?”

“A... a man calling himself Demnir, your holiness.” For a second, Rina froze and her mind went blank. Only for a second, though – Julia knew Astrael's face, and if this Demnir here really was Rina's brother, the priestess would look much, much more nervous than that... and would probably be reporting to Phiramel instead.

“Have you told anyone? Where is he now? What does he look like?”

“I came to you directly after I made him wait somewhere safe. A middle aged man, your holiness. He... he is Vieran, I think, and claims to have a letter for you, something he cannot let anyone else see.”

A trap? An imposter? Or did Astrael send me a message at last? And there was another curious thing about this situation.

“Julia,” she said quietly, dragging her away from Horace and the bloodsguard. “What do you mean, you made him wait somewhere safe? He is a foreigner, a Vieran, requesting to meet me in person – didn't you think he was an assassin?”

“I-” The priestess pinched her lips and her cheeks went from pink to scarlet. “I swear, your holiness, I-”

“There is a reason you went to me directly, instead of warning Phiramel or anyone else. A reason you were willing to hear him out, to carry out his request. Tell me.”

But Julia wouldn't be answering anytime soon, Rina could guess. She couldn't, for she didn't want to. Her face hidden behind her hands, her almost teary eyes looking around for a solution, a way out... To Rina's knowledge, there weren't many things that could press a priestess of Xito. And there weren't many imbeciles who'd dare to knowingly torment one of her priestesses. But Julia was a priestess with a weakness...

“Do you perhaps have a secret he knows about, Julia? I won't ask what it is,” Rina whispered in her ear. I already know. The woman managed a nod. “Did he threaten you, Julia? Did he threaten to expose your secret if you didn't bring his request to me?” Another nod. “Then we don't want that. Shall we hear what he has to say?”

A surprised Julia was eventually able to calm down. Rina went to wait in her room, Horace remained at her side, standing by the window and gazing silently at the city crawling with people and horses and carriages, at the horizon beyond the walls, and at the keep where kings once lived and bled.

Before long, Julia came back, followed by a scrawny man with greying sideburns and an entirely nervous expression. What kind of blackmailer was Julia afraid of? she thought, amused. His skin was a shade darker than everyone else's, like Odel's used to be. Despite being Vieran, his face hadn't been shaved for a while, either because of his long journey or because he felt it was safer to wear the beard in Callir. All in all, it wasn't anything surprising for a lone Vieran to be scared in the middle of the Callirian temple.

“You claim to be Demnir?” Rina asked. The man glanced sideways, obviously unnerved by the terrifying glares the proud knights of the bloodsguard were giving him, each one of them clad in steel, hand wrapped around the hilt of their swords, the blades already half out of their scabbard. Julia's murderous stare was the most frightening thing in the room, though. He's not going to say anything about Leon, Rina wanted to tell her, to reassure her, but of course she couldn't.

“No, that was a lie,” he said, the melody of the Vieran cities somewhat wasted by his tired, broken voice. “My name is Vieric, a slave by birth, and Demnir is my master, and a merchant in Akilne. As per his instructions, I took his name and...” A glimpse of Julia's face, and he bowed his head. “I... bring you a letter from his hand, to be seen by your eyes only.” He slowly took the letter out, then looked around once more. “Y-your holiness,” he hastily concluded.

A knight received the letter, but in spite of his careful examination of the envelop, he didn't look like he came to any sort of interesting conclusion. Horace sighed and took it from the knight's hands, held it under the sunlight and looked through it, sniffed it, then shrugged. “It appears to be safe, your holiness.”

Rina broke the seal at last, and read the contents silently. She then glanced at Vieric, who had the expression of a man awaiting a death sentence. “You're dismissed,” she said to Julia and the knights. Before the slave could ask about his own fate, she addressed him. “Vieric, my... your master gifts you to me. We'll talk later, in the meantime sister Julia will find you a room for you to rest in.”

She was now alone with Horace, once more. Her eyes went through the letter a second time, and that one particular line, she read again and again. “You should convince Phiramel to help the Paarese in besieging Ocia, so that when Callir loses and he finds himself disgraced, you can get rid of him.”

The Vierans' victory seemed to be an established fact, in his mind. Brother, what are you up to? It was all in the letter, truly, but she didn't get why he'd go as far as to travel to Ocia and involve himself in the siege. For money? Or something else?

“What does it say?” Horace inquired, perhaps finding her silence curious.

Rina let out a loud breath, half a scoff and half a sigh. “It appears Phiramel will finally have a taste of war...”