The Reverend Empress Joelle-Severine, mother to the city and Venerable Sister of the Order Solas, strode into the Creche unaccompanied and unannounced, just on the ringing of the seventh bell. She ignored the servitors drawing tall shades against the morning glow, making directly for the shadowed corner that housed the newest full citizens of the empire. Scanning the loose constellation of surprised junior Sisters and nursemen on duty, she selected one at random -- fixing the young novice with a piercing look.
“You! Attend me. The rest of you, leave us.” She turned and approached the nearest nursing bed without waiting to observe the retreat.
“Give me your name, Sister. And tell me about this latest brood.”
The Sister bobbed her head nervously. “Novice Ilya, Reverend Mother. The birthing season is nearly complete. Seventeen male and nine female. One set of identical twins, male. All spared by the Dragon and viable, except . . .”
“Except?”
“One girl is . . . well, this one seems to be blind, your Highness.”
The Empress approached the bed in question. The baby lay quietly for a moment, wrapped in white and silver. But the child turned her head instinctively at the sound of the approaching footsteps, took a deep breath and began to wail. For a brief moment the Reverend Mother was confronted with the featureless white orbs of the child’s eyes, before turning her own gaze away in disgust.
“So then. Sixteen unique male and eight female.”
“Yes, Reverend Mother. An auspicious ratio, don’t you think? We haven’t had so many female children in five seasons.”
The older woman met the novice’s hopeful eyes and suppressed a sharper reply.
Eight girls among twenty-four viable children, in a nursery designed for a thousand. Fifty thousand citizens in a city designed for half a million.
“Yes, undoubtedly. Auspicious." The Empress sighed. “See to your charges, Sister Ilya. Keep to the Discipline, and may the Dragon spare you.”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
May the Dragon spare us all.
The Protectress Superior was, unsurprisingly, waiting for her just outside the doors of the Creche. Her bow was respectful enough, but anxiety was plain on her face as the Empress emerged.
“Blessed Night to you, Reverend Mother. How did your Reverence find the season’s miracles? Is the Order Lunas keeping them well?”
“I expect you know perfectly well how they are doing, Vidanya. Everyone in this bloody building is afraid to tell me what is actually happening, and most of them are afraid NOT to tell you!” The Empress shook her head and smiled at her friend sheepishly. “I shouldn’t have said that out loud. Of course your diligence is a blessing to us all, Protectress. May the Miracle forgive me.”
They walked in familiar silence for awhile, footsteps echoing from the high ceilings. Gilt mirrors and framed icons paneled the dusty corridors, whole regiments of saints and martyrs standing for inspection as the two Mothers passed. Eventually the younger woman coughed discreetly and they stopped at a side gallery.
“The viability rates are not recovering, Reverence.”
“It’s worse than anyone knows, V’anya. Lunas tells me privately, that we have barely three generations.” She sighed heavily. “At that rate I might not even have to choose a successor!”
Then her voice hardened. “But the Discipline forbids despair. Maybe I should take up carpentry. Or weaving. Don’t the Nadhists prescribe labor as a balm for all suffering?”
Vidanya carefully ignored the blasphemy. “There is one bit of good news, Reverence. Our — ‘experiment’ — on the eastern border has been successful beyond our hopes. The passage east is clear and the track is repaired all the way to the river Ymr.”
“Successful, you say? How much of the supply did we use?”
“Ahem. Ah, all of it, Reverence. I fear we have lost the three Mission Sisters, however.”
“Three! Miracle watch over them. So you’re ready to proceed with our gamble. Have you selected a courier?”
“I have. One of my most Disciplined young Sisters. She’ll be traveling with the new engineer and survey laborers, accompanying a novice of Order Lunas.”
“Lunas? You involved them without consulting me?”
“They think the task is to retrieve the eastern lineage tables, Reverence. It’s plausible enough, possibly even useful. And the novice is one of those historical romantics. She won’t pose any trouble.”
The Empress stood quietly for a moment, casting her gaze up and down the ancient, magnificent, dust-strewn, nearly abandoned halls.
“A thousand years of the Lineage have come down to this, Protectress Vidanya. We must trust in the Discipline, and may the Dragon spare us.”
She turned and strode towards her chambers. “Send them. I will pray for guidance from the Miracle. If they return, we shall face some terrible choices. If they don’t return, we shall have none at all.”