Inessa was in bed, her back as straight as if a plank of wood had been nailed into her spine. Her breathing was soft, and she did everything she could not to be heard.
Martin was on the other side of the bed, almost falling off it in order to stay as far away from her as possible. Inessa closed her eyes and tried to sleep as she pretended tonight never happened. There were aspects of being a concubine she preferred not to think about.
Jina had obsessed about making her beautiful. The powders and oils to make her lips redder and cheeks rosier. She could almost taste the nasty mud drink Jina forced her to muscle down every day the first three months after her first menstrual cycle at twelve. A special concoction to make her hips large and her breasts larger. She and her older sister traded drinks and lotions, rubbed things into their faces, their hands, their body. Jina spent money on things to make her daughters beautiful, going without food at times.
On top of all that, Jina imparted her vast knowledge of how to know what men wanted before they realized it. Which is why Jina ran one of the most successful and secretive brothels in Venria, Inessa’s hometown, a town south enough to get occasional visits from High Elders, but not enough for them to discover what was going on.
It's the High Elders who are running the most successful brothel in all Santollia. I’m nothing but a whore for holy men.
Inessa closed her eyes, wanting to curl up into a ball, but too afraid. The bed was large, and the space between Martin and Inessa was more than enough, but both remained straight as they could against opposite ends of the bed. They were quiet, but not peaceful.
She reached down to grab the blanket, pulling it all the way to her neck. She was still in her nightclothes, per Martin’s request.
It was going to be a long night, where both pretended to sleep, but neither one would. Terrified of accidentally touching each other under the blankets despite all the touching that happened right before this. Martin would wait until the lonely son welcomed the dawn before he’d leave for the day. Inessa tucked some hair behind her ears, trying to force her body to relax. Martin shifted ever so slightly, his breathing just as shallow. He was going to fall off the bed. Honestly, he might have slept on the floor if Inessa suggested it. An idea popped into her head, one she gave serious thought to. He might be gentlemanly enough to accept it.
“Martin?” she asked before she could stop herself. He turned his head ever so slightly to indicate he heard her. “Now that we’re done, we should get some sleep.”
“I will, thank you,” Martin said.
“I mean, back to your room. That is where you’ll actually get some sleep. And so will I,” Inessa said.
He didn’t speak. The moon was bright, and her eyes adjusted to the dark well enough, but he still didn’t face her. This was the most they had ever talked after doing their duty as High Elder and concubine.
“That is thoughtful, but I need to spend the time here with you,” he said, still staring at the opposite wall, still so far over the edge that he might fall if she let go of the blankets.
“Is that what the law says?” Inessa asked.
“Well, no. No, it doesn’t.”
Maybe Sara didn’t want Martin to come back. Maybe him coming in late would have been too much for her. But Inessa knew they wouldn’t get any sleep here. She took a deep breath before mustering up her courage and turned around, facing Martin’s back. He had on his own nightclothes. She rested her head in her palm as she used the other hand to cover herself as much as possible with the blankets. “You’ve done what you came here to do. It’s no use pretending we can sleep afterwards.” She danced around the subject carefully. They never vocalized what they did. Somehow it made it easier to believe it never happened.
The bed creaked as Martin sat up, his feet dropping to the floor. He continued to study the opposite wall, not looking at her as he rested his arms on his knees. “Are you happy as my concubine?”
A knot came to her throat, and she looked away. As the role of concubine, Martin’s was by far the easiest. The bare minimum of once a month, and he requested nothing more than for her to lay on her back and not move or speak a word. But for everything else, it was the worst. The isolation, being ignored by every family member, the hostile looks she caught between Sara and Martin, she tried not to let it bother her, but it absolutely did.
The blankets were already around her throat, but she still rose them higher. “It brings wealth and honor to my family. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
Martin tore his gaze from the wall, his head turning to look at her for the first time since he entered her room. There was a forlorn look on his face before he averted his gaze again. He was deep in thought before he stood up. “It is thoughtful of you to notice my needs. We both need our sleep. I shall return next month.”
Inessa nodded in the moonlight before she turned around, giving Martin the privacy he needed to get dressed. He never left in his nightclothes. He always dressed, complete with his High Elder robes, before leaving, giving the pretense for anyone that might see him leaving her room that all they did was talk. Martin walked across the length of the room and opened the door. He didn’t look back as he closed it, his footfalls fading away down the hall toward the guest rooms.
Inessa eased her head on the pillow before pulling her knees up and hugging them tightly to her chest. She bowed her head toward her knees and let out a breath. The problem returned to her mind. They had done it. She drank the poppy root, so unless the female healer’s calculations were off, Inessa would not get pregnant. Another month down, that much closer to her time finished with Martin. She had to ask herself, would it be worth it to be sent home in disgrace? Her family shunning her and never allowed to speak to her again? Once she thought that was the more desirable option. Now she wasn’t so sure. But pregnancy? To remain in this isolation? To raise a baby in it? To, eventually, bring another one?
She shuddered at the idea. She had become too selfish, waiting too long. She should have had one back with Dalius, or even Navir. She had been reckless not to have one with them.
No, another thought entered her mind. You weren’t reckless. You were a child. You didn’t know.
Inessa tried to get comfort from that. It was true. She had been young. Still was. There was still a lot to discover about herself. But now she would have to deal with the paranoia and terror of going to the female healers, of praying they don’t find traces of the poppy root. She could put off the question of pregnancy or shame and disgrace for another month.
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True, there was always the dagger, but she knew the state of mind she’d need to be in to use it. She wasn’t there. Hopefully she’d never be there again.
***
Indenuel sat in the front pew at Sabbath worship. Martin gave the sermon, and it reminded him about the month-long travel, where he was giving every sermon. There was something distinctly different, though. Since coming to Santollia City, Indenuel had learned things about the High Elders that made him uncomfortable as the sermon of mercy continued. There was almost a desperation to Martin’s talk of mercy and forgiveness, like he was asking it for himself.
Indenuel’s mind wandered, thinking back over the week. It was quite the week, one that still brought shame to his soul. The recruit didn’t deserve what happened to him. He had gotten angry with Fadrique and took it out on the recruit. That was wrong. Indenuel’s eyes fell on Fadrique but didn’t linger. A part of him knew he should have taken his anger out on Fadrique instead, but Lucia wouldn’t have approved. He should have not lashed out on anyone. In a perfect world he’d have never lost his temper, and Fadrique would never be condescending.
He adjusted to a more comfortable position on the pew. His eyes wandered to the stain glass windows behind the Savior’s throne. His eyes briefly flickered to the one of the Warrior, but he forced himself to look at a different one. That man in the stained-glass window wasn’t him. He was trying not to think of what it would mean to go up alone against five hundred-
Grey eyes.
Indenuel frowned, then leaned closer, staring at the stained-glass window beside the Savior’s throne. There were two men in the glass with grey eyes. The Cathedral was built soon after the flood, well before Kiam was discovered. He never realized, because he didn’t care to notice. He just assumed he didn’t know the stories depicted there, but now he realized he did.
There were eight windows.
Martin ended his sermon and dismissed the congregation to meditate. Indenuel stayed in his seat, staring slack jawed.
“Indenuel?” Tolomon asked.
He barely acknowledged Tolomon before he stood, making his way to the front, standing as close to the Savior’s throne as he dared. Indenuel looked at them, one by one, marveling. There was the Warrior, floating above the battle. The next one had a woman and a man in regal clothing, both with crowns on their heads, both with blue eyes, the man holding the woman close to him and the woman holding a sleeping baby girl. The Princess and the King. He had read the Divine Ages a few days ago, but seeing their picture reminded him of them.
The Zimoran nobleman stood alone with his arms forward, holding back a darkness that covered the entire window. There were the Kiam twin brothers, identical in every way except their clothing with large swords to fight a black mass. The devil. Then there was the prophet in a pure white robe, the Dengrian, looking down among the worshipers with spirits weaving through the background as he held a sleeping baby boy. The three generals were next with their army below, fighting the same darkness as the Kiam twins. Indenuel’s eyes lingered on their faces, mystified at how someone from Kiam, Dengria, and Santollia would be unified enough to lead an army.
He then saw something he should have found strange to see in the Cathedral. A picture of an Oraminian and a Dengrian dancing, two people of a different race falling in love. Then the final one, the Savior himself, his eyes closed, and his entire stained glass filled with light from shimmering stars.
Martin appeared beside Indenuel. Tolomon receded to the background.
“Are these…”
“Yes,” Martin said quietly.
Indenuel looked back at his own. The Warrior figure above his battlefield. Alone.
“Are you alright, my boy?”
He shook his head, looking at his shoes. “It doesn’t seem possible, what I’m to do.”
Martin smiled as he looked at the windows. “Everything else has come true about you, so your victory will come true too.”
He again looked at the Warrior glass, his breathing turned shallow. It still bothered him that Jaakob never mentioned this penchant he had for using corruptive powers, but he couldn’t talk about that with Martin. “I’m going to be alone,” Indenuel whispered.
Martin reached over and grabbed Indenuel’s wrist, filling him with the healing power. He let the anxiety ebb away. “The Prophet Jaakob saw you win.”
Indenuel nodded, pulling his arm away to be released from the healing power. He had enough. Martin didn’t need to heal him all the time anymore. He again looked at the army, the artistic one he was supposed to defeat.
“Just like the Prophet Jaakob saw that we needed to leave the children?” Indenuel asked.
Martin busied himself with looking at the Dengrian prophet. “Obedience is important.”
“And yet despite all my pleading, you still abandoned them to Andres and Lola because that’s what the Prophet Jaakob foresaw?” Indenuel asked.
“If the Prophet Jaakob did not see them come, it meant the children needed to stay in the village because they have a purpose there. Maybe they will soften Andres and Lola’s hearts. To help change them to be something better,” Martin said.
“And what if they’re not?” Indenuel asked, beginning to panic.
“Have faith, Indenuel. Have faith.”
Indenuel sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you need to keep it a secret?”
“Not a secret, my boy. I kept those words sacred. I have full faith those children will be just fine,” Martin said.
Indenuel gnawed on the inside of his cheek. He did not have the same faith. He remembered who he was the day Martin discovered him. A scared, frightened boy with anger problems, who had only heard of the mythical High Elders but never met one. Lucia taught him to respect his elders. Sure, he had lost his temper at Andres, but with Martin, he was too terrified to fight for what he thought was right. Martin was, after all a High Elder of God’s Holy Church, and he should have the better, more righteous plan.
But now? Now Indenuel felt regret. He should have fought more. He should have demanded to bring the children or not come at all. If the High Elders needed him so badly, then they would also make the accommodations necessary for the children to come too. He should have made that gamble for the children. Martin might have had faith, but Indenuel started to feel anxious to have the children here with him, right now. In fact…
“The children will remain with me, then, once they’ve come,” Indenuel said.
Martin tore his gaze from the Dengrian prophet. “Pardon?”
“Once they’ve come, once Andres and Lola had their little holiday, they will return and I will keep the children,” Indenuel said.
Martin seemed to take this information and unpack it slowly. “What I said in Mountain Pass is still true. You do not have time for a distraction. The generals predict the end of the war is less than a year away, and you need to focus.”
The glare Indenuel gave was soft, but it was a glare. “The children remain with me, or I go back to Mountain Pass with them.” He did not drop Martin’s gaze. This wasn’t a lie. Those children would stay with him, no matter the cost.
Martin sighed, the first to drop his gaze. “We shall discuss this matter with Andres and Lola when they arrive and see what they think.”
The smallest of smiles crossed Indenuel’s face. It was a step. He doubted Andres and Lola wanted to keep the children, and he was willing to pay any sum to get them to go home without them. The children would be his, no matter the cost. Literally. “That was a lovely sermon today,” Indenuel said, facing forward, his eyes bouncing between the Kiam twins and the Dengrian prophet.
“Thank you, my boy,” Martin said, still looking at the Dengrian prophet.
“I like your sermons about mercy and forgiveness,” Indenuel said, folding his arms. “You seem to talk about it a lot.”
Martin’s smile was sad as he looked at the Savior’s window. “Because I need to hear it a lot. Come, let us go meditate.”
Indenuel followed him into the meditation room. He sat down in his regular seat, then took off his shoes, placing them squarely on the ground. He wasn’t going to practice all his powers today. Just one.
He closed his eyes, pushing his tree power forward. He tapped into the trees used for the main road, let the trees search his mind, tell them who he was looking for. They wouldn’t be in a carriage since it was the Sabbath, so he might actually sense them.
The trees lead him to them. Tears filled his eyes, and he cleared his throat. He sensed them, just as he had in Mountain Pass a few times. They were there, right within reach, eating their lunch on the grass of one of the towns. He couldn’t hear them, but as the twins stood up and started chasing each other, he had no doubt they laughed and shrieked. Matteo stayed on the grass, eating his lunch. They were healthy, the trees assured him. They did not sense any starvation from them. It was enough of an assurance for him that the first tears fell. They were there, they were healthy, they were coming to see him. And this time, Indenuel was going to keep them.