Nania POV

Since that time I had first accidentally wielded it, for five long years I had struggled to understand this strange and wonderful power. When making my escape with Talon I had managed to grasp it again, but had apparently used too much of it and only hurt myself. It was a stark reminder of just how little I understood of it, and the risks of using it. Every miracle had its price, after all, whether it be how it seemed to ravage my body, or in the looks people gave me now when I passed.

But even now I hadn’t given up on unraveling the mysteries of this power that could have been synchronicity.

While trying to understand those mysteries, however, I came across all kinds of theories on how channeling worked. The most popular one was that Crown Naruune heard everything in the world, even the silent prayers whispered in our hearts. It was comforting, I supposed, that whenever someone called for help the Gestalt Goddess would hear. While I could not say whether that was really true, between myself and Sarya, it soon became apparent that there was not a whisper in the temple we couldn’t reach. And playing goddess was quite fun.

Sarya reigned as the mistress of the rumor-mill, and was teaching me how useful such a position could really be. Meanwhile, I was learning that my dominion over the rooftops wasn’t just an escape from humdrum mundanities—it proved informative in its own right, as well.

This had seemed a place of freedom and escape when I was small. Of course, that wasn’t true. I didn’t have the courage to try to leave the city, not until I met Elian. Even then, I always ended up returning by day’s end. And I never, ever went near the windows of the Priestess’ quarters, or the king’s bedchambers while leaping about on rooftops. I especially never went near the Head Priestess’ bedchambers. But things were changing now, and now I found myself approaching them. Carefully I held my breath, as though the tiniest little whimper or gasp would alert her to my presence on her roof.

Accompanying the fear was an emotion that was becoming more and more of a friend: excitement. It seemed I was developing quite the rebellious streak, and I certainly didn’t mind.

As I approached, I strained my ears, listening for even the faintest of sounds. Low murmurings of voices reached my ears over the whipping wind. I stilled, racking my memories to identify them. One was higher and weaker, aged, feminine, almost certainly Forya’s. The other gave me pause; much deeper, a man’s voice. Not Ellie’s. And that was interesting.

The only man officially allowed in the Head Priestess’ chambers should be the King of Gresha. Perhaps a lower-ranked Priestess could avoid the scandal, but the Head Priestess would be much more closely scrutinized. And Forya knew it.

The best lies, Sarya had told me, had some kernel of truth at their core. We didn’t need evidence, to try to smear someone such as Head Priestess Forya—but it would certainly make the task much easier. I crept closer. Words became audible, but the wind still carried away far too many.

“...that boy think he’s doing,” Forya uttered. She had always been soft-spoken, for few were foolish enough to make her speak up. She said more, but it may as well have been in the birds’ tongue to me.

Fortunately, the man was louder. “It was rash, I agree, but you, my dear,” he spoke in a low baritone, “you are losing control quickly. I thought you would foresee…but now if he won’t trust you and you won’t work with him, I suppose our best option would be…”

From the sound of Forya’s voice, she was displeased with this advice. I tried to think back on if I’d ever heard this voice before, but I couldn’t say I had. This person must be a member of Gresha’s court, or else he wouldn’t even be allowed within the palace and temple. Priestess Candidates were assigned the odd internship keeping notes and attending courtiers in Gresha’s court, so I should know him—unfortunately, at every chance I could I had shirked those duties so I could spend time with Talon and Elian. Sarya was right, I really hadn’t been prepared to be Head Priestess before. I leaned in closer.

“...you deal with him,” Forya’s voice drifted in, her tone rising slightly by the end of her tirade.

The man withheld a snort. “Is retirement really so frightful, my dear? You’re at the age for it, anyways,” he said calmly. “Don’t waste…I told you, it’s too late for that…focus on selecting a successor…before that red-haired girl suffocates you in your sleep. She’s learned your methods well…her as a successor?”

“That girl has learned nothing from me, Aradenene!” Forya roared.

They're talking about me. My heart burst into a frenzied mess. I can’t have given myself away. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. Only when I stumbled back away from the rooftop’s edge did I calm down and realize they couldn’t have noticed me. Then my blood froze again, as I heard Forya say, “What’s that sound?”

From the clarity and volume of her voice, she must have been right by the window, perhaps looking out of it. I held my breath. The whole world seemed to do the same. An interminably long moment passed. Then something seemed to explode, like thunder, like drums. A cloud of pigeons burst upwards, forcing me to stagger backwards as they spiraled backwards into the sun. As I heaved a sigh of relief, the world seemed to resume, birdsong and marketplace hubbub as I heard Forya move away from the window.

“You’re growing paranoid…getting to you,” the man said. Forya’s response was quickly swallowed up into muffled tones, facing away from the outside world now. Any relief I might have felt was replaced by panic, as I realized I was losing my chance to identify this co-conspirator. Carefully I leaned over the roof’s edge, trying to glimpse Forya’s guest from upside-down. Briefly, I glimpsed a broad back and long, greying hair, but soon I slipped. A squeak of a gasp escaped my lips. Precariously, I scrambled for purchase on the roof, but then my heart leapt as I thought I saw Forya turn to me. So I dropped. Nimbly I landed on a ledge lower-down. Without looking back I leapt off, landing on the paved streets and darting off into the city, praying that neither Forya nor her guest had caught a glimpse of my distinctive red hair.

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Elian POV

The day’s events had been draining and humiliating, but there was more work to be done, no matter what the temple healers said. Upon escaping their predatory healers’ gaze, first a quick stop was made at the palace’s kitchens to place a few orders, then I skittered down to the temple’s basements. It was a strange feeling as I did so. As brightly-lit halls decorated with vibrant murals and historical statuary were replaced with dank, gloomy stairwells, I began to come back to myself. My thoughts became clearer, senses became sharper. The wetness below my feet, the acrid scent of the guttering torches.

Unlike the rooms that had been used to hold Lordrin and Nania and those others who had been judged above, here was where the true criminals of Gresha were kept. The worst of the criminals, and course, what foreigners we had ‘use’ for. Here was where Talon had stayed, until he found he way out. And here was where the other Angrans were kept.

The guards on standby did not give me much trouble, though exchanged looks of mild confusion and alarm. Neither did stop me from descending, nor did they stop me from opening the rune-locks and freeing the occupants within.

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I’d seen the conditions Talon had been enduring, and Talon had been friends with me before all of us—I didn’t blame him for hating me now. The feelings would serve him well. But we had been friends—these people knew me not at all, except as a stranger; a resident and king from the city-state that had imprisoned them with the intention to soon slaughter them.

They’d be frightened, hungry, and confused. Perhaps I didn’t need such preparations to make them do as I said, I was the one with all the power in the situation. But things would be much simpler if they did, indeed, trust me.

Dim and flickering light reflected within suspicious puddles. The air hung heavy and stale. Not much had changed since I had freed Talon…was it just a day ago? Two days ago? It felt like weeks, really. I approached one of the doors, carefully disengaging its rune-lock, and slid it open.

The duties of the king may have left me weakened and drained, but they had not dulled my reflexes any. A black blur exploded from the cell, tackling me. Moving to block its blows caused me to wince slightly, as pain again sparked down my arm. Pain that was easily ignored as I thrust gently, causing the blur to stumble. Beneath the callused and scarred skin of my palms I felt greasy hair and dirty skin. Despite my hesitancy to hurt this person, the prisoner I had just freed held no such qualms about hurting me. Like water in my hands, they darted out of my grasp and tried kicking my shins.

We both knew though, between my sturdiness and their weakness, their attacks were futile. I barely felt anything. Despite that, the Angran—a young boy perhaps, their face shadowed by dark, wild hair that contrasted their pale and lithe frame—immediately assumed a fighting stance. I retaliated with a pacifying, easygoing gesture, a grin placed slapdash on my face. “Hey there, I know you haven’t been treated well, but—”

A leg struck between my legs. I almost laughed at the look on their face when I barely reacted, remembering my first fight against Talon. In a shrill voice, the Angran cried, “You brute! Savages! Monsters!” —judging by their voice, perhaps they were actually a girl? Or, perhaps— “What have you done with him, where’s Sparrow! Let him go or I’ll wring your neck!”

“Seems you’re trying to wring my neck anyways,” I replied, sidestepping another of their blows. Restraining them might make this conversation physically easier, but it’d almost certainly make them impossible to negotiate with. “What’s your plan when you kill me, kid? How’re you gonna find Sparrow then? Actually, forget Sparrow—how’re you gonna leave the city, or even the temple?”

“I’ll kill all of you! I’ll free him myself! Let us go now!”

From up the stairs, I heard a voice. “King Elian? Are the rabble giving you trouble?” Then came the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

The short Angran’s dark eyes narrowed. “King? You liar. You’re one who locked us up in he—”

As the guards came into the range of the torchlight, I stepped past the Angran, one arm thrust out protectively. The guards froze on the stair, looking between the two of us. “Everything is fine. I have this handled. Go back up,” I told them.

A blur slipped beneath my arm—the kid. Both guards’ eyes widened, and they moved to attack. Though everything happened very quickly, I pushed aside the weariness and headache to act quicker. I grabbed the kid by the back of their tunic, as gently as I could. With one leg I tripped one guard, causing him to fall against the stairs. Then with my left arm I grabbed the remaining guard, slamming him hard against a wall. It would be fine to be a little rough with these men, they were much healthier than the Angrans must be, though I couldn’t say what this would do for my admittedly-odd reputation.

“I said, I have this handled,” I repeated. “Go back up. Ensure no one comes down here again. Only interrupt me if the kitchens send along the message that the meals I ordered are finished.”

“Y-yes, Crown-son!” one of them gulped. When I let them both go, they quickly skittered back up the stairs.

The Angran staggered back, dusting off his clothes and examining himself for injuries, just barely failing to seem unimpressed as I turned back to him. “You think I’ll fall all over myself, just because you turned on some of your own?” he spat. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No. I don’t think you’re stupid, and I don’t expect you to trust me. Which is why I’m telling you the truth.” I paused, there was a funny pang in my heart just then. “I’m not the King who ordered your capture. And I don’t intend to keep you, or Sparrow, or anyone of the other Angrans here. I ordered no more human sacrifice in Gresha.”

“Is that so?” Clearly, he did still think I was stupid.

“The guards didn’t drag me out, did they?” I eyed the stairs again.

The short, lithe Angran relaxed his posture slightly, though he still seemed ready to dart up the stairs and try to flee this place—but something was clearly stopping him. “Alright,” he finally said. “Where’s Sparrow?”

My hands shook a little more as I went to the other cell doors. Not from weakness, this time. If ‘Sparrow’ had been captured, then he was definitely down here, but I did not know how long the short Angran’s patience would last.

Not every cell was occupied. Out of two dozen cells, only six held occupants, counting the former cell of the short Angran currently glaring daggers into the back of my skull. Of all the freed Angrans, he was certainly the most energetic and aggressive. Most just seemed dazed and confused, blinking blearily even in the dim light of the torches. A few refused to even come out at all, staying wedged in the darkest corners of their cells. I was unwilling to drag them out by force, hoping instead that the scent of a warm meal might coax them instead.

The shorter Angran had fewer reservations. Every cell I opened that no one came out of, they poked around inside. The second time this happened, I heard a choked gasp. Briefly I worried something had happened, but then I heard the emotion in that little sound, the joy and the fear.

“Sparrow,” the short Angran whispered, almost reverently. I watched as his silhouette, just barely lit by the torchlight which didn’t reach very far, stooped down to grasp at a prone, almost skeletal figure. Something in my chest unclenched as the figure slowly stood, with help. Despite being a little hunched over, they were clearly quite tall, easily clearing Talon’s height and challenging Lordrin and I. With their spindly frame, however, I almost feared they’d be blown away by a stiff breeze, like a leaf on a stream.

“Shrike? You’re here, sister?” Sparrow whispered, his voice hoarse.

Shrike? From what Talon had told me, only Angran men who became warriors would bear the names of birds of prey. But with, I guess, her temperament it was easy to imagine her charging into battle.

Names aside, it wasn’t long before the small collection of Angrans were assembled in a loose semi-circle. Some looked at me with barely-disguised hostility and wariness, others seemed too dazed to muster up any emotion at all. Shrike seemed the liveliest of any of them, but now stood stalwartly, helping Sparrow to stand. Carefully, I took in all of them.

“As I said before, Gresha is under new kingship, and I intend to do things very differently from my predecessors,” I said, avoiding mention of ‘my patron’. It served my purposes for Talon to find out. It would ruin things if anyone else did the same. Especially other Angrans. “I really apologize for how you’ve been treated. I know there’s no way to ever regain your trust, but I’ll work to ensure this never happens again. If it helps, I’ll volunteer to share a meal with you, and then help you with your swift return home.”

Trust was something slowly built and easily broken. If I did not have enough time, then this would all be pointless anyways. But right now, I was the Greshan who understood Angran customs the best, and knew how to use them to send a message. Sharing a meal wasn’t just an offer of friendship, but a promise of safe food, without underhanded poison attempts. Something that almost seemed funny to me now. Though the various Angrans exchanged wary glances, they all agreed to my offer. Shrike surprised me by being the first to do so.

“I propose we share a stew,” she said, “and I’d be honored to allow you the first bowl.” Her dark eyes fixed mine with a piercing gaze. They were quite like Talon’s, both in color and intensity, but I could spot minute differences. They possessed little specks of umber that Talon’s lacked.

It had been a long day, between recovering from poison, ridding myself of Nania, and dealing with throne room politics. Just in time, my stomach rumbled. “It sounds wonderful. I look forward to getting to know each and every one of you!”