FIVE MONTHS EARLIER

"And you have no idea who was behind this attack?"

"No," Sonas replied. "The people that were following me only came up to the gate. They ran away after that"

"Any idea for a motive?" the Queen pressed further.

"No."

"Was there any message left behind?" Este asked, eyes piercing.

Sonas shook his head without any hesitation. "No, no message, other than the destruction."

The Queen's consort looked at her, shrugging. The two women and Sonas were sitting in one of the Queen's meetings rooms at the keep. Both Este and Velia had been inside the keep, sequestered in the administrative building’s main meeting room since the afternoon, but neither of them had heard anything. They had been too busy working.

"It must be the isolationists," Este said. "Who else, if not them?"

"I agreed," Velia nodded, rubbing her temples. "But what can we do? Harsh discipline is the only answer, yet that's out of the question because it would send them right into the Magister's open arms."

"And if there is no strict reply on this, you will appear weak and indecisive, and lose face. Which, again, is exactly what the Magister wants."

The Queen sighed. "Trapped between a rock and a hard place. Not doing anything will undermine me, but taking action will firmly put me on the opposite side of the Magister, when people are clearly not receptive to anyone from Ga'ani right now." She added, "Through no fault of your own, Sonas, of course.”

“He trapped you beautifully,” Este said.

“That he did.”

The Queen wanted to shout, slam her first against the table, but she restrained herself. “If only the bastard would open his eyes and work with use for once instead of against us,” she muttered and sighed again, getting the last residual anger out of her system before composing herself.

"So... what will happen then, if there's no solution?" Sonas asked, looking between the Queen and her consort.

It was the Queen that answered. "Truthfully, I don't know yet. I wish that I could bring those people to justice, I truly do, but you must understand that there is more at stake here than mere vandalism."

Sonas nodded. His face was unreadable, but his shoulders were drawn in, his back hunched. He hadn't truly expected that something would be done immediately, but still disappointment coursed through him. The Queen wasn’t the only one faced with a harsh decision.

Leaving Velia to think, Este stepped in and placed a reassuring hand on Sonas's shoulder. "Just because it's a complicated and delicate issue doesn't mean that the Queen won't do her best to find a solution," she said. "You are still our guest, and Rae promised you on our behalf that we would see you home. We don't intend to break that promise, and we will try harder to keep you safe until you can go back."

Before she could continue, the door slammed open as Rae ran in, out of breath. "Sonas!" he exclaimed, walking around the table until he was standing next to him. "I came as soon as I heard. Are you alright? Did they hurt you?"

"Just a bit bruised, but I'm okay," Sonas said, trying for a smile.

Rae looked him over, saw that he was more or less in one piece, nodded, then started pacing. He clearly looked like he had more to say, so Sonas reverted to being part of the background once more, quietly listening while everyone around him talked.

"We can't let this happen again," Rae said, running a hand through his hair. "They're just getting bolder and bolder. What will happen next? It isn't safe for him anymore here. What have you come up with so far? Is there anything we can do, to make sure this won't happen again?" The question was directed at his parents.

"That's what we're working on right now," Velia said slowly, still thinking. "Until then, Sonas, one idea would be that-"

Rae stopped in his pacing. “He should come live with us,” he interrupted, glancing between his parents. “You wouldn’t have to provide any separate guards to watch over him, and if we keep it quiet, then that wouldn’t force you to make such a public statement!”

"Actually, I was just going to ask that of Sonas," Velia said. "Este mentioned it off-handedly yesterday. I've been thinking about it, and I agree with her assessment."

Rae stopped, a surprised expression on his face. "Actually?" he asked excitedly. He didn't even look at his friend as he started wildly gesturing. "Ma’, this is brilliant! It can be the answer to everything. We could make it seem like we found travel and he’s leaving. As long as no one sees him, which shouldn’t be too hard, then they’ll all think he’s gone and won’t know any better. And that gives us a chance for things to settle down, especially since the isolationists won’t have their prime target anymore!”

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The Queen remained, neither disagreeing nor agreeing with her son's idea. She didn't reply to him, instead looking at Sonas. "What do you think, Sonas?" Velia prompted him.

"Huh? Come live with you?" Sonas stammered, surprised.

"Yes. It's no problem if you don't want to live with us, I will provide some guards, and we can think of other options and ways to ensure your safety. The choice is yours, however." She added, "Take your time, today's been a busy day. I don't want to rush you." Este nodded, showing her support.

Sonas looked in turn at the Queen, then her partner, and finally at Rae. "I- of course," he said after a long pause. "Yes, I want to. This option would be perfect. Thank you, thank you!"

“I am so glad you said that,” Rae smiled broadly, “And we’ll keep you safe, don’t worry. This time ni one will be able to get to you.”

The Ga’anite nodded, a relieved smile on his face.

Este and Velia looked at each other, a message passing through their eyes. This was just the beginning. They still had plenty of work ahead of them, most importantly figuring out how to address the hate crime, but Rae’s and Sonas’s happiness was contagious.

- - - - - - -

"Are you sure he got the message?"

"Yes, sir. I saw him burn it. He got the message all right.”

The Magister huffed, signing his name onto a letter with a vexed flourish. He was in his study, for once only working on the duties of his clergy position and not reading reports about the unrest in the nation. The mercenary stood in the centre of the room, hands clasped behind his back, waiting patiently for a reply.

"Here," the Magister said, passing to him the letter. "Deliver this to the inner temple for me. Don't come back until you have a reply. Understand?"

The mercenary took the letter hesitantly, looking from it to his employer. "Sir?" he asked uncertainly, suddenly finding himself on uneven footing. "Are you sure I should be the one for this job?"

Not just anyone was allowed into an inner temple, much less at such a late time in the day. Usually acolytes played the role of messengers if a priest was unable to go themselves. For someone of a higher position, of which the Magister certainly was, they would send their apprentice. The Magister’s own daughter served as his apprentice, but he often found excuses to keep her at an arm’s length. She was on one such unnecessarily lengthy and trivial “mission” right now. After her failure, after all he’d done for her… he couldn’t bear to be near her anymore.

"Of course I'm certain," the Magister said, banishing away the distracting thoughts. He looked to the mercenary, letting what he considered to be a benevolent smile flit across his face. "I noticed your interest in the structure the last time you accompanied me when we passed by.” He paused as the mercenary nodded, still unsure. “I thought I would give you a chance to see inside.”

The mercenary’s eyes widened. He clutched the letter to his chest, stammering his thanks to the Magister. He couldn't believe his luck. The chance to visit one of the Mother's inner temples! What an honour! He turned towards the direction of the window, dipped his head in a deep bow and offered a quick prayer of thanks to the Mother, then left quickly, before the Magister could change his mind.

The Magister watched him go, twirling the pen in his fingers, letting the feel of the quality wooden grain ground him. His go-to for most matters was a quill, but for spiritual matters he preferred the simple pen. The quill felt too extravagant, whereas the pen was much more modest, somehow more sincere in its function.

As he studied the pen’s passing through the air, he realised that he had gotten too caught up in everything. The hateful storm that had befallen the town, the one spreading over the whole nation, had drawn him in. It was a needed storm -- he had helped instigate it, after all -- but it was a hateful one nonetheless.

The Magister couldn’t remember what sparked his hate of the Ga’anities. He remembered being indifferent to them. What had been behind this change? He didn’t know, couldn’t point to one moment and confidently say that this had been the decisive one behind his hate.

What he failed to reflect on was that he’d had a long time to grow his hateful soul, years of it festering unchecked. His hatefulness used to bother him, sometimes, but he couldn’t say that it was a big disturbance. The Mother taught acceptance, so he learnt to accept his hate, view it as one of his only shortcomings. ‘You can’t control those, after all,’ he had thought and moved on with his day.

It had been a while since he thought of such things. Luckily, the upcoming solstice festival made for a fitting distraction. Magisters were usually too few, and too busy, for such tasks. Planning festivals -- important as they were -- was thought to be far beneath them. The Magister didn’t subscribe to that particular belief. It bothered him that people thought that organising a celebration dedicated to the Sun Mother was beneath him. He’d organised many such festivals before becoming a Magister, and didn’t see why things had to stop.

And, being part of the planning committee should help him get in touch with his roots once more, remember who he truly was. Remember why he was destroying his country. The Magister referred to himself as a patriot, but even his zealous patriotism had to be replenished every now and then. ‘Celebrating the Mother will help,’ he told himself.

A part of the clergy since he was young, the Magister couldn't remember life outside serving the Mother and the Wills. He had been sly and ambitious even then -- qualities he believed were gifted to him by the Wills -- and so he climbed up the ranks, rising from apprentice to Magister, guided by the faith he felt in his heart. It pained him to see the people of his land so broken up, suffering from the horrid wave of fear and anger. But he did it out of passion and love, and the desire for Kijah’dar to succeed and thrive just like he has.

"I'm going to repay what you have done for me by sharing it with everyone else," he said to himself, twirling his pen and looking out the window. "These are just growing pains. It will all be forgotten once this is through. No more fear and anger, no more injustice and discrimination. Everyone will be free." ‘They’ll see that eventually,’ he added silently.