Listen to these words, The truth of her.

She who was called the Mercy of Mercies.

Who rose above the tower.

Who stood upon the lonely gate.

Who called upon the Chorus of Angels.

The Gospel According to the Holy First Handmaiden

Vallerian paid little heed to the finely carved marble wall he leaned against, Charlotte on his shoulder, and crystal vial twirling across his fingers. He let out a loud sigh. This vial was, somehow, the less dangerous one. Because of course, the blood of the heir to the most powerful throne in the world would be the ‘safer’ one to have when your other vial is full of divine blood. Enrage a king or invoke the wrath of a goddess, what fantastic choices for a man to have. Vallerian rolled his eyes at the situation he found himself in.

Shaking off the unsettling feeling, he instead just admired as the light shone across the fine crystal, red light glimmering off its expertly cut facets. He had long since overcome the anxiety of having the vials on his person. A fortnight with them and the most anyone had commented was a drunken Fershya merchant asking if it was an expensive vintage from out east.

A fortnight now since he had filled the second vial nestled in his chest pocket. Fourteen long days since he had betrayed the trust of the Prophetess of Ethinia. Necessary, he reminded himself, always necessary.

“What do you think Charlotte?” He asked, glancing over at the large hawk on his shoulder. She tried to nip at the crystal, and he quickly palmed it. “Don’t you go thinking you can dispose of the evidence now. We still need it if we ever want to go home.”

Charlotte cawed her response. Sassy as always, that one.

“Well, it’s the closest thing we have to a home.” Vallerian responded. It had been far more than just a fortnight since he had been back to The Forest, since he had been back to the tower in which his wife awaited him. The jury was still out on whether that was a good thing or not. The image of his wife awaiting him in bed always seemed to include her carrying a knife.

He knew, somewhere in the back of his skull, that he’d have to take the vials to the magi district eventually. That alone gave him chills, Vallerian had never like the place, even as a boy. But at some point, he would have to get them tested using whatever magic Crysilla had organized. That or continue leaping at every shadow that looked vaguely like a Theremya assassin. Odd how many of those their where. He would get to it though, eventually.

Still, Vallerian thought, this eventuality would have to come sooner or later. He was beginning to grow tired of jumping between seedy pubs and dirty inns with that overly stern boy in tow. Switching inns nightly so no daggers could find him passed out drunk in the middle of the night. There was only so long a man could avoid the ever-infamous Marchioness, and his dallying would catch up. Eventually.

Shaking his head, Vallerian looked up at the sky and tried to make sense of it all. There was something he was missing, and as his teacher had taught him, missing things left you dead in the gutter. Vallerian settled his gaze on a spider, casting her web from nearby tree bough to the top of the marble wall.

It was a question that had lingered in his mind, at least it had since he had first been burdened with those vials. Why did Crysilla doubt Celeste’s heritage? What did she know that he didn’t? Well, other than the obvious ‘a lot.’ But it wasn’t a simple matter of whispered secrets now was it? Celeste had the eyes, and no other of the royal house else had claimed her. Not Prince Therisant, not the few cousins who had the eyes. Not a single one.

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The spider crafted her web, casting long threads that at first Vallerian wasn’t sure where they would go, but always found their place. A piece of a puzzle only the spider knew. If it had been a matter of bastards, they would have shuffled her off quickly enough. But this? The royal family ignoring her despite her eyes? Perhaps there was something there. Perhaps she was really just a street girl whose eyes the bishop had gotten enchanted somehow. Those magi could do strange things with their crystals. Another reason not to trust them.

A little butterfly fluttered by through the air, dancing along the faintest breeze. Perhaps it was wishful thinking. The girl might be safer if she wasn’t the fabled ‘Lost Heir’ of Terminia. If she is, that would mean a whole host of other issues. Likely more headaches for him than anyone else. Crysilla would wrap that little girl up in her plots, he thought.

The butterfly crashed into the web, thrashing against the sticky threads frantically. Vallerian winced at the sight. What would Crysilla do with Celeste? Make her queen? Or just a puppet to gain the king’s favor? The spider dashed along the webs, wrapping up the butterfly with ruthless haste. How far would it all go? Would Celeste be subject to a succession war? Could Vallerian be part of that?

The spider worked quickly, and in seconds its prey was nothing more than a wriggling cocoon. It didn’t matter what Celeste was, Vallerian thought turning away from the gruesome feast. She was just a task. A duty for him to handle, nothing else.

A young man stepping out from the gilded gate nearby caught Vallerian’s gaze. A tight frustrated look on the boy’s face telling the evening’s story.

“That bad?” Vallerian asked, pushing off the wall and striding up to Kriss. Smile Vallerian, it’s a lord’s armor after all. Vallerian’s winced as his father’s words cut through his mind. But he did as he was told.

“She’s unhappy in there.” Kriss responded, chewing on the words. He looked much better now, ever since Vallerian had gotten him a fine wool doublet with a shoulder cape to match he did at least. Vallerian had tried for crushed velvet of course, but the boy had simple refused that much. I’m no lord. The boy had said, but that was hardly an excuse for sloppy dress.

“Is the girl ever really happy?” Vallerian chimed back in. “She’s a prophetess for a crying goddess after all.” He patted the boy on the back and pulled him down the street. The quicker they could be away from the temple, the quicker Vallerian would be away from a serendipitous encounter with the bishop. Right now, he would rather be in The Pits than the receiving end of that man’s vitriol.

“She was happy with us, Vallerian.” Kriss set his jaw, then gave a reluctant smile as Charlotte playfully nipped at his ear. Vallerian smiled as well, an honest one this time. It had taken nearly the full two weeks to get the boy to stop calling him ‘my lord’, but it had only taken days before Charlotte had taken a liking to him. The boy had won Charlotte over nearly as fast as Celeste had. Nearly, as Vallerian still wasn’t sure why the overstuffed chicken bowed every time the girl entered the room.

“Come along now.” Vallerian began with a flourish. “I heard about this inn while I was waiting for you. It’s on the other side of Southshore, but if we’re quick we’ll get there before it’s too busy.”

“Oh?” Kriss chuckled, a forced one but better than none. “What’s so special about this one? Another woman to put a dagger at your throat?”

Vallerian bristled at that. It had only happened twice now, and he hadn’t even said anything rude to either of them!

“It’s not about the women, my young friend, but the drink.” The pair stopped short in the street as a large cart stacked high with vegetables and fruit creaked by on the rough dirt road.

“And what makes this place’s ale any better than the rest we’ve been drowning our way through?” The young man stopped for a moment to help an older Jöln woman step up off the inset road. Ever the gallant one he was, like a knight from a children’s tale.

“This one sells krag my young friend. Ever have a mug of krag before? It’s a Khazimi drink, fermented goats’ milk I believe.” Vallerian explained dramatically, pretending to milk a goat in the air before him. Out the corner of his eye he noticed an odd sight: a group of large Korek men helping repair a fence for an old Fereni woman.

“That sounds terrible.” Kriss responded with a wince, passing the group by and waving at a few of the Korek who seemed to recognize him.

“Oh, it is.” Vallerian shot back with a smile. “But share a mug of it with a Khazimi and they’ll tell you everything you ever want to know.”

They both chuckled at that, then continued down the street making light banter.