Rien's Rebellion: The Committed Ones

By C. Z. Edwards

Laarens is alone in the world. Rien is dead, Savrin has become fully Mathes’ puppet. Laarens may be the only remaining Ascendar, but he knows his life is cheap and getting cheaper.
At least, that’s what Rien needs Laarens to believe. She’s gambling both their lives on the lie that the two bodies found in her burnt office were Avah’s and her own. Avah is dead, but Rien has barely escaped with her life.
Nine years before, at Rien’s Elevation, Quin Tiwendar swore his life to Rien’s service, then vanished. Now, reluctantly reunited with his liege, Quin and his partners offer Rien temporary shelter.
But if Galantier is to survive, everyone must understand the commitments they have made to one another and the land of their birth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. Z. Edwards
• Release date: Oct 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781732710825

C. Z. Edwards

C. Z. is a writer in Boulder, Colorado. She can often be found on Twitter, snarking about fashion, posting kitty pics, and word counts. She is a fan of the Oxford comma, epic fantasy, The West Wing, and cinnamon.

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Maps

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Back matter:

Laarens is alone in the world. Rien is dead, Savrin has become fully Mathes’ puppet. Laarens may be the only remaining Ascendar, but he knows his life is cheap and getting cheaper.

At least, that’s what Rien needs Laarens to believe. She’s gambling both their lives on the lie that the two bodies found in her burnt office were Avah’s and her own. Avah is dead, but Rien has barely escaped with her life.

Nine years before, at Rien’s Elevation, Quin Tiwendar swore his life to Rien’s service, then vanished. Now, reluctantly reunited with his liege, Quin and his partners offer Rien temporary shelter.

But if Galantier is to survive, everyone must understand the commitments they have made to one another and the land of their birth.

Author’s Notes:

This book begins directly after the events of Rien’s Rebellion: Repudiation & Refuge . If this is your first exposure to this series, please start with Rien’s Rebellion: Kingdom . It’s free at czedwards.com

I publish all parts of Rebellion in chronological order for convenience, and that’s a good way to read the series. Just keep hitting next page at the end of a chapter. You can read chronologically, or pick a character and follow their links. That’s why my chapter headings are date stamps. Chapter heads will also tell you the primary voice. They’re not just decorative; they convey information. However, just because one character  knows something doesn’t mean everyone else does. You, as reader, get to know everything they choose to tell or show.

Since we live in a digital world, we’re not confined to the strict hegemony of the printed page. Rebellion was written in a word processor, beta read and edited in ebook readers and its best publication format is .epub, not paper. This book has internal links to maps , glossaries , external sources, and plot threads. If you want to read only Rien’s story without Laarens cluttering up the space, then follow her thread at the end of each chapter. You can always go back and read Laarens’ drivel later. Or, as Laarens would say it, his plot is the one with the action and the intrigue, while Rien just dallies. Bran is more than happy to have a natter about music, and Quin would like the company, too.  If a word hasn’t managed to stick in your head, hit the glossary — there’s no shame in looking something up. The maps are there because maps are pretty and knowing where places are is useful. 

Thanks for coming with me on this trip.

27 Storis - 1 Faculatis, 1138 — Laarens

I sent the heliograph to Savrin. Bringing Cazerien’s ashes. Have escort. 2 days. Prune Felicita’s Rose . Rien belonged with our ancestors under the thousand year old rose tree. With Uncle and Aunt Bella and her five baby brothers and sisters. The Prava deposed her, but Rien remains a Prazia of the House of Galene.

Goat-fuck Sav’s reply.

Sator Amaranth, Archilavast’s Senior, provided the escort — seven teaching Wisdomians , plus Cel and another man about my age. Those warrior priests collect and preserve knowledge — at any cost. Wisdomians with rare manuscripts make mamma hunting-cats protecting kittens look cuddly. It sounds like dangerous fun — roam the world, raid abandoned towers and collapsed dungeons, collect priceless books and listen to old women retelling their grandfathers’ war brags or document every known use of birch sap. Then come home, share the prize and train the next crop of young dare-demons. Magnificent warriors, even on the downhill side of middle age. They’re the only Galantierans who’ve ever infiltrated Spagna and returned .

Given that, I expected to be the young one on this grim funeral voyage. As we boarded, I noted a woman about Sav’s age. I’ve never seen a Wisdomian under forty at a Conversatory .

The man turned out to be Darav , Cel’s friend and the only other person at Archilavast Rien let inside her defenses. Literally. He’d worked with her ingeniae . I planned to avoid him.

I failed. I don’t like launch compartments. They’re cramped, you can’t see or predict when the river will turn rough, and they usually smell like whatever the cook burnt two days ago. I wedged myself between a couple of shipping cases on the deck and just watched the rain. That’s where Darav found me. What kind of tutors do Royal children get these days? he asked without any introduction. Rien had loads of potential. He sounded furious.

She had the best available tutors. Her ingeniae didn’t awake well.

He shook his head in professional disgust. "Something went badly so they coddled her. That explains much. Poor chick. Not her fault. She’d have been mortful scary if she got what she needed. Probably could have put out that fire if she got Incendas under proper harness, he said bitterly. I should have driven her harder."

He didn’t help. I tried not to show it.

Sorry. The day they taught tact, I heard tacks or maybe tax and kept away. Not your fault, neither. You’ve almost the same aspect — channels out of proportion to your apparent abilities — are you a bit —

Inadequate? I supplied. All three of us are. The Rose had someone investigate it a few years back. The scholars concluded that whatever in our blood causes floodings and stillbirths also limits our ingeniae. We’re over-bred puppies. You have my permission to read any documents they produced. Go away. State secrets be damned. Maybe if we were less discreet, my parent couldn’t have killed us so easily.

Not good, he said, ignoring my last bit. "The House of Galene can’t afford to lose a body. Specially with the Razin ’s... proclivities."

I glared at him.

I was in her head, he said. I didn’t gossip. I thought she was bosky ‘til I saw her whole plan. Brilliant woman, your Rien. Tragedy to lose her.

If I had to hear one more epitaph for Rien, I would go noisily mad. I walked back to the stern, where the young woman with fiery hair stood alert.

I left her alone, keeping my own watch until she was relieved. Thanks for letting me work, she said. I’m Kya. She smiled, a lovely expression that lit her face. Yes, I am on field assignment.

Escorting boxes of bones?

"That’s convenient. I’m testing communicative distance between bonded Ingeniae ."

I didn’t say in Galantieran please . I don’t like showing my idiocy to strangers if I can help it.

She smiled again. Some Ingeniae bond. We don’t know why, how or even who sometimes. I’m trying to understand it, and since I am bonded, this was a good chance to test distance. I’ll go on to Julianasport afterwards.

Like Evocata? I asked.

Not for me, she said. "I’m a decent Evocator , but my — her face softened, — other half isn’t. We share dreams."

Oi, I said, this trip lets you escape your beloved, who’s present even in sleep.

She snorted with frustration. I wish. I don’t know who he is. I’ve dreamed with him for five years and to my knowledge, I’ve never seen him.

That sounds miserable.

She shrugged. It has compensations. We never argue about laundry, but sometimes one wants one’s lover’s arms for a moment. Naps don’t work. She sighed. He’s close, both in time and distance, but I don’t know where.

"Have you considered a notice in the broadsheets ?"

That would ruin the experiment, she said lightly. "I don’t know his name or his face so an advertisement that read ‘ Have you dreamt of a curvy red-headed priestess for five years?’ would probably summon all the wrong sorts from the wainscoting." She grinned mischievously.

I had to laugh. It was the first normal conversation I’d had in a long pair of days and it emphasized why grief hurts so much. You trip over it, like a stupid but affectionate little dog. Do something normal, like laugh, then you remember that the dead don’t laugh. Your mind can’t stay in the black grief. It kicks you out of devastation into a grey numbness mined with idiot-bombs just under the surface. They explode and cut your legs out from under you. Being unexpected, they’re a million times worse than black grief.

I started leaking around the eyes as I recalled the urns below. Rien’s presence overwhelmed me.

Kya took my arm and literally dragged me into the boat’s deck shelter. The top of her head barely reached my chin, but she’s a Wisdomian — no weakling. She held me and let me cry for Rien, the first time I’d let myself weep. What I’d shared with Telia hadn’t been this — not purgative because we shared it. This felt like excising part of my grief and handing it to Kya. Telia’s other form of healing hadn’t been as successful as she’d hoped, either. Not that it wasn’t good — she’s extraordinarily skilled — but it felt like another farewell, and I never managed to forget. Even as she engulfed me, I felt nothing but bleak emptiness and a sense of futility. 

When I finished bawling like a tired toddler, I noticed the wounds to my masculinity. The big, tough General of the Western Front , snot-nosed and shaky, curled in a little priest’s arms. I pulled away from her and opened my mouth to make some defensive feint.

Kya held up a hand. Don’t, she said dryly. You need that like meat needs salt. You’ll need more of it. You lost a beloved, lovely sister. Of course you’re devastated, angry, bewildered. Don’t deny her that. Doesn’t she deserve to be missed?

I didn’t trust my voice.

You can’t… She looked away, then back at me. You’ll stagnate if you deny your heart. She couldn’t stay to finish, though she wanted to, so you must do it for her. She wouldn’t want you in such pain, but she didn’t want to die, either. For her sake, you can’t lose your path or your mind, because you now carry her into the future. No breath you ever take again will be entirely yours alone. Your blood is now part her. Right now, it feels like a burden beyond your capabilities, but her strength and fortitude are now yours, too. Grief is how you learn to feel the new shape of your heart, and build up your soul for the lives ahead. You must feel it so you can go on.

Did you know Rien?

Not well, to my regret. I’m currently a courier between Archilavast and the Adelbahanian and Gorthianian conversatories. We met a couple times, but this has been a busy year. Darav and Cel are my friends. I heard a lot, and I lost a sister a few years ago. I just said to you what I needed someone to tell me, but didn’t. I figure you’re already tired of hearing how much she’ll be missed. Death’s harder on the living, isn’t it? She patted my shoulder. Ready to go on?

She didn’t just mean the trip. The steam engine had that sorted. I’ll try, I said. I had no notion what came next.

That’s all any of us do. Try until it kills us. There are worse fates.

Like burning to death.

I knocked on Cel’s door with the boxed urn under my arm. I want to see the ashes, I said. We’d stopped a day outside Cimenarum for fuel. This would be my last chance.

She let me in, spread a mortem cloth on the table to ensure we lost nothing, then unlocked the box. They’ve been broken, to ensure the soul was released.

I know. I removed the urn. Bone fragments are grey, black, white; none were longer than my finger. I tipped them out.

I recognized some — spend enough time on a battlefield and you know skeletons, both rotted and cremated. The arch of the pelvis, a splintered fragment of wrist. The small, dense bones were almost whole, covered with a fine, greasy ash. A kneecap, cracked vertebrae. Oh, Rien . How can so much life be reduced to so little?

Memory twanged in the back of my head. Something in my sight’s wrong. I’ve stood pyre details — after a bad battle, everyone standing tends the fires. I’ve crushed my comrades’ bones to send home to their families. When Rien was eight, she tripped on the stairs and broke her wrist. She’d been Healed , and Healed bones turn pewter-silver, slightly shiny. These bones weren’t.

Am I wrong? I checked. No, that’s the right bone. None of these had been Healed.

My eye fell on the pelvic arch. They’re the last bones to burn. The skull usually shatters because brains are mostly fat and burn hot, but the pelvis is dense and heavy. In someone skinny like Rien, it burns poorly. That arch was too sharp, too narrow. I found the other fragments and fitted them together.

"Cel, Bone Healer , right?"

Yes.

What do you see? I had a man’s pelvis before me. Rien was flat-chested and not curvy, but she had hips. Not much padding, but at seventeen, the midwives said she’d bear a child safely. She’d nagged me to marry so the Prava would stop throwing candidates at her and let her work.

Cel looked puzzled. That’s not right.

Whoever this was, it wasn’t Rien. This is who killed her.

Where’s Avah? Or... where’s Rien?

I put the fragments back, ensuring the pelvis was mixed with the others.

What are you about, brat?

She belongs under Felicita’s Rose, Savrin, I said.

Uncle says it’s a bad precedent, he said from the depths of the armchair. Felicita’s Rose is for the Monarchs, their Consorts and legitimate children.

You bloody well know she was legitimate!

I didn’t make that ruling —

And you didn’t reverse it!

I can’t, now, he said. He rubbed his temples and drew his knees to his chest. That was true, as of two days ago. The Royal Powers decree had finally passed, just after Rien’s death was announced. Her last legacy. Mathes and the Optimus both said to wait a year, that she deserved the time away from the Curia , he said. I should have done it anyway. It would have made her happy and brought her back.

I paced his private room, disgusted with him. Uncle would be appalled to see what had happened. If there’s an Afterworld, I hope Fordea’s forests or Archilia ’s Halls keep him distracted. You’re ruining our House and can’t even treat Rien’s ashes with respect. What a sick mockery of everything Uncle wanted and planned.

Laarens, I didn’t know what to do. I hoped Rien just needed time and Uncle said she wanted it — she always worked too hard and it made her sick — I thought she’d come home and she’d see how much good... how much I... how simple it could be —

What? I crossed the room in three long steps to stand over him. What?

"I would marry her. She’d be Razia — she’d be Consorta first, then Prazia again, but — "

Why in hells would she agree, Sav? After you broke every promise to her?

I wouldn’t have forced her, Laarens, I love her... How can she be dead?

Because of you, I shouted down at him. You agreed to the nomination, didn’t you? They promised you she’d marry you if you were Razin. You knew Mathes and Tiwendar would declare her illegitimate. You had to, you gave them the block vote. You did it intentionally to force her hand.

He said nothing, just folded in on himself. He looked all of ten... not much different than he looked the first time he asked Rien to marry him.

Dammit, Savrin! I yanked his chin off his chest. You manipulated her. Just like always. How could you do that when you say you love her — that’s love?

She never loved me. Not like she loved you.

She’s my sister and yours, too. There’s something sick in you if you can’t see that. Of course she left. You raped her. You’re a monster. I let go and walked away. I couldn’t be near him right now.

Laarens, I need you.

Too bad. I slammed the door.

Once the asheriam closed on Rien’s ashes, my parent left the Karsai , delighted with himself. He’d won twice. His niece was dead and forever dishonored and disclaimed. Maybe he hid his smug satisfaction  from most people, but I’ve seen and received it regularly for thirty years.

His speech had been a thing of beauty, if you see beauty in veiled barbs at the Radicals , the Royalists , the Egalitarians , the Archilians and everyone who disagreed with the Reformists. It emphasized Rien’s few feminine skills and qualities and ignored her political and intellectual ones. He didn’t intend it for her true mourners. It outraged us. It would be reprinted in the broadsheets, where the false notes couldn’t be heard. He turned her funeral an insult. Because he could.

Maybe those bones aren’t Rien’s . If anything of her soul remains, she would have animated the splinters, flown from the urn and impaled the pointiest bits in my parent’s eye.

I wasn’t convinced. I’ve seen few women’s pelvises. Rien was thin. Cel and I might be wrong, or we could have mistaken Avah’s ashes for Rien’s. Avah’s hips had been even narrower than Rien’s, if I recalled correctly. I never looked. It felt incestuous, eying Rien’s near-twin. There’s a reason only small, dark, curvy women catch my increasingly uninterested eye.

Ayuh, assume an assassin. Except you have to assume a pair, because Mathes isn’t stupid and neither Avah nor Rien were defenseless Curia flowers. As a pair, Rien and Avah could probably defeat one before being overwhelmed. Maybe the survivor kidnapped Rien and she was now dying in a cubilata . Maybe he killed Rien and took Avah for his own twisted pleasure. I couldn’t know. Bones don’t speak.

I brooded in my corner by Felicita’s Rose , ignoring everyone.

My most sincere condolences, Your Valor, the Optimus said. Reginal Tiwendar had aged in the last half-year. Grey frosted his entire head. Bags under his eyes and his reddening face suggested insomnia and brandy. He grasped my hand.

I palmed the card he’d pressed on me, but before I could reply, he vanished. Like his son. Family trait.

I burned it in the privacy of Rien’s townhouse once I memorized it. Late that night, I set out.

Alone. Armed, but had I been attacked, I might not have retaliated. Rien once said hate takes more energy than it’s worth. Sometimes, so does living.

The Sardani temple appeared empty — hall, solarium and sanctum — until I entered the asheria around the private pyre. Midnight meetings among the tombs might seem dramatic, but the Optimus made a point — the asheria were private, walled on all sides, roofed and nobody could approach without us noticing. Also, protected from the storm that had followed us south, as if the heavens wept for Avah and Rien. I joined him on the contemplatives’ bench in the center of the vault lined room.

Condolences and apologies change nothing, Reginal said, but you have mine.

You could have said that in the Karsai, I said.

Yes, but... I... He hesitated. "Couldn’t ask... about the... Ascendar’s Sword."

What about it?

It’s... missing.

How does a piece of regalia go missing? I asked. Most watched objects in the kingdom, I’d think.

He looked ill and anxious. Did you see the Ascendar’s Sword in the wreckage? I’ve reason to believe that... Her Ascendency was sent it.

I stared at him. It’s treason to call her that.

Who would you tell?

What’s your game, Reginal?

He grimaced and put his head in his hands. All gods, I wish this were a game. You didn’t see the sword?

The fire burned bone — one puddle of metal —

That sword wouldn’t burn.

I didn’t closely examine the ruins. A bit distracted by Rien’s death.

Anyone who found it would have brought it to your attention, he said.

True. Where’s your son, Tiwendar? I’ve misplaced Quin and we were once friends.

If anything, he shrank further. Yes. He’s at home. Letters reach him but he’s a terrible correspondent.

The lie rang like a false note in a boys’ choir. After a half-year as a practicing Advocate, I finally understood what Rien always meant about not trusting anything that comes out of people’s mouths. With Perceptio primed for it, I hear lies everywhere. I ventured my own. Funny, that. Is he ill? I had some Rassath men in my command who haven’t seen him in years.

His ingeniae keep him at home. Reginal swallowed as sweat beaded the back of his neck.

"Right, a touch of Tracking . Hospitals gave him the wobblies, but don’t they do that for everyone? Nine years. Who’d he marry? His wife must keep him — "

No, he said uncertainly.

He better get cracking. We’re both staring at thirty, and only sons. I loomed over Reginal. Where’s Quin?

I doubted he’d answer. His voice came subdued and dispirited. I don’t know.

"Since when? A missing Pronator rates some concern."

He inhaled, straightened and looked me in the eye. He seemed to weigh something, then said, How are your defenses?

I could be honest since my Mind-Healer finished rebuilding me. I can’t be read unless I allow it. I don’t.

Good. He stared at the roof’s series of painted suns phasing through an eclipse. "I’m virtually prosaic . I always know which way a flipped coin will land, but I can’t defend myself. Forty-five years ago, minor Ingeniae didn’t get much training. Our mistake. He looked back at me, his eyes so dark and deep they resembled holes in his skull. I trust you’ll get me home safely. In return, I’ll answer what I can. Deal?"

Why?

Yes or no, Laarens.

He didn’t threaten me. I could toss him in a cab or turn him over to the Judicatura if he’d been behind Uncle’s death. Or Rien’s. Not that this government would do anything. Deal.

He sighed, equal parts relief and trepidation, as he took brandy and a needle vial from an inner pocket. "Ensure I drink it all. You’ll have about a quarter-hour before I’m too far gone. Just take me home. My man knows what to do." He snapped the tip from the vial and emptied the faintly grey powder into the brandy. I stopped him before he raised it.

Poisoning yourself, or chasing death to the bottom of a bottle? That’s enough brandy to flatten three men.

Unintentionally, the latter. I can’t explain yet. Count 300 heartbeats.

He drained the bottle while I counted to myself, but the drug hit fast and hard. His pupils dilated. "It’s acantha . My sins haunt me. In an hour, if you told me to jump from the Karsai battlements, I would, assuming I could climb the stairs. Tomorrow, I won’t remember anything past noon today. Nasty stuff. I think it’s killing me, but when dealing with Mathes... a man likes some privacy."

Where’s your son?

I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since Cazerien’s Elevation, or heard from him since the spring following. I’ve looked. He vanished. He was alive last year, but I don’t know where.

You kept it quiet.

On Mathes’ orders. Losing him was an embarrassment.

Would he harm Rien?

Reginal laughed a tipsy man’s bitter chortle. Not if we tore off his jewels. Mathes wanted to, but I’ve only one child left.

What did you do to Quin?

The worst a father can. Betrayed him. Drove him away.

Because he swore fealty to Rien?

To save him. Laarens, time’s wasting. Ask the important questions. Cazerien’s dead and Quin’s gone.

Good point. Did you know my uncle would be assassinated?

Figured that, did you? Warned Mathes you’re clever.

It’s obvious when you think about it.

I learned that morning, too late. It wasn’t supposed to be Vohan. I told Mathes we need Cazerien, but he won’t listen. He wanted her dead that day, but turned out, he got what he wanted.

Which was?

Reginal eyed me with the bleary skepticism of the profound drunk attempting sobriety. Savrin, on the throne. Don’t be dense.

Who killed him?

I don’t know. Mathes kept that to himself.

How’d he get the schedule? I asked.

Your man. Name’s like yours... Lyden? Lamin?

Lynel? I supplied as a flicker of rage caught fire.

Ayuh. Tries to sell... filthy gossip.

I smothered my rage. His clock wound down, though the temple’s disagreed. He overestimated his time.   Why keep Rien off the throne?

"Somebody’s tried to kill her at least once every three tendays for the last four years. It’s just a matter of time ’fore someone got lucky. If she’d been crowned, she’d be a station’ry target. I figger Savrin couldn’t last long and the Judicatura’s got enough to hang Mathes. If she was on the throne with them alive, she’d be dead in a year. I just... laid my bets wrong."

Then why depose Rien?

Mathes was gonna do it no matter what. I went along to get her outta the fire. Mathes knew she’d control Savrin. He loves her. Too much. He shuddered. Boy’s wrong.

That, I know. Was she assassinated?

Don’t know. I think so. There was a plan, I told him she wasn’t a threat. I tried to stop it. The plan changed, last minute. He wouldn’t listen.

Mathes or Savrin?

Mathes.

Why do you think Rien had the Ascendar’s Sword?

Cuz I got a card, few ten’ays back. He was starting to slur badly. In Vohan’s han’. Steal it. Got a couple more, with other ’structions. Tol’ me what to do, where t’ sen’. You don’ dizobey the Razin. She’s good wif a sword. Figgered she’d use it.

Reginal, you’re insane, I breathed. What did that mean? Uncle’s hand... but now?

Acantha does that, he said, trying to focus. Stop dithering.

Why tell me this?

"Good luck proving it. I’m ravin’ drunk. I won’t ‘member. No risk. You got good reason to lie ‘bout me. But you need to know. What can happen? Kill me? Hooray! Savrin’s bad. Disaster. Before... gods, the poor girls. No family, no langreve . Damn pride. Too far in, can’t get out. Try. Long defeat hopin’ for the cavalry. No surrender. He poked my chest. You’re the cavalry."

He was fading, but I pressed on. Am I next?

Probly. Haven’t heard. Wif Mafes...

What you don’t hear is the danger, I supplied.

Reginal tried to touch his nose in agreement. He missed. Finks I’m soft. Unre-liiii-able. ‘Fonly he knew. He leaned over and retched, the brandy coming up hard. I tried to wipe his face, but he turned away. M’boy. Her Ascendency. Gods I’m so sorry. He’d reached the weepy, drunk nonsense stage and the muffled night bells were starting to toll .

Let’s get you home, old man, I said, suddenly envying Quin. His father might be a miserable, drug-addled drunk neck deep in corruption, but at least Reginal hadn’t dived in and never surfaced. Beneath everything else, the man seemed to have a good heart and mind. I’d check with Cel before she left, but if I remembered acantha properly, it was almost impossible to lie under its influence. Reginal might have convinced himself what he’d said was true, but it fit what I already knew.

As I dragged him through the temple and dropped a magna in the offering box for the mess, I realized another task had been placed on my list. Find Quin. While trying to run twelve langreves, adjudicate over idiots and keep my head on my shoulders. Simple.

If Rien’s alive, I don’t blame her for ducking this. If this is what a Prima Ascendara had to deal with, I’d have bolted at the first chance, too.

Follow Laarens

1-7 Faculatis, 1138 — Laarens

Selenar lay between Cimenarum and the border, if I took the southern route. I took a couple days at Revinsel , the closest I have to a home, but I spent little time in my paele . Mostly, I walked the rocky crags above the sea, trying to grieve and understand.

She stayed such a presence beside me. Even in this place she’d never visited, I felt her. How can she be dead? I’m lost without her in the world, like the sun’s turned grey. She was the first person I ever chose to love.

The bones muddied my thoughts, not clarified. Maybe I’d seen Avah’s bones. I’d know if Avah’s family let me see her ashes.

Even if Rien escaped, she probably didn’t get far. Good with a sword in practice, and maybe she had one, but no warrior, her. She rides well, but an assassin’ll ride better and she didn’t have a horse. None missing in Celestan. She probably can’t blend into the countryside, and she can’t hide in Celestan. She doesn’t know how to be ordinary. I barely do and I wasn’t so overprotected. I kept arguing away what brief hope I discovered.

At Selenar, I offered my condolences and ensured Avah’s death benefit had been paid. I took fondal with her marriage-mother in a shrouded parlor. I’ve never been good at social calls, especially not ones in an elegant room, sipping too-sweet fondal from tiny, egg-shell thin cups, with three women who looked like vinegar had been thrown in their eyes. I wasted the trip, too; Avah’s ashes had been placed in her asheriam. Still, Teregenia Selenar offered me a roof for the night. I took the chance.

Avah had two sisters still at home, and three small half-siblings. With the paele in mourning, I retired to my room after supper .

The house had grown quiet and my eyes burned over my book when something scratched at my door. Avah’s youngest sister, Hanna, just fifteen, stood there. I didn’t meet Avah when she was this young, but Hanna took after their Haelens’ mother, amber eyes and dark golden hair, not fair like the Selenars. She didn’t look like a very young Rien; instead, she resembled my very first memory of her aunt, Ethene. You should be abed, ma’am, I said.

Oi, please, she whispered. I shan’t seduce you. I let her in, but she stood just inside the closed door, her hand on the latch. You could have learned everything you asked Mim from Dadda. You just saw him, so you’re here for something else. Why come at all? We’re out of the way from Cimenarum to Command One.

Smart girl, I said. Will you marry me?

I won’t marry. Why are you here?

I’m serious about that, I said.

So’m I. You’re turnabout. Answer me. Something’s strange about Avah’s death, wasn’t it?

I nodded.

Murder?

I wobbled my head right and left, a maybe.

You want to see her ashes?

Yes.

You can’t, she said. We seal our ashes, but I saw them. They’re wrong.

How do you know?

"I’m training to be a Healer . That fire was too hot. Teeth don’t shatter on a pyre, unless they had to add fuel oil to it."

No, I said. There’s rumors of Holy Fire.

"The Avatar of Cresaria’s supposed to walk the earth, too, she scoffed. What’d you want to know about her bones?"

Were any of them silvery? Like pewter?

Yes, she said, but only what I expect.

I started to explain about pelvic bones and Hanna stopped me. I know, and I saw Avah’s. Nobody’s but hers.

How do you know? I demanded.

Because Avah spent her first four years and a couple seasons after with the Bone Healers. She was born with a pelvic skew. She cupped her hands before her. Normal pelvis. She shifted one hand forward. "The skew. To let her walk, they had to alter and fuse her bones. Her entire pelvis was silvered. When I first got Valenas-sight , I pestered Avah to let me look. I was a real brat, but she let me study her if I let her study her books. So no tickling and no messing with the work."

That’s uncommon? I checked. The skew, not annoying younger siblings.

She nodded. And no two corrections are alike. Avah’s is thousands of layers of fine tracery all webbed together, because they started so young. It looks like lace. We have my sister’s ashes. Why does it matter, and what does it have to do with that fire being too hot?

Clever and driven aren’t comfortable when trying to conceal something. I don’t know, I said.

If my sister was murdered, you’re going to let me help get justice, right? she asked.

Clever, driven and a talented lawyer’s hero-worshipping baby sister. Also, fifteen and still in school. If there’s something you can do, I’ll ask, I promised. A hedge, but we could both keep the markers and she’d feel better for it. Thank you. I leaned forward and gave her a brotherly kiss atop her head. If you ever reconsider marriage to a very tolerant turnabout, write me a letter.

She sniffed and grinned. I like girls.

Tolerant, I reminded her.

Rather defeats the purpose of a Royal marriage if we’re both chasing others. And we don’t have enough Healers that we can waste me as your Prazia. Thanks, though. Then she slipped out, leaving me with a strange mix of hope and despair.

Follow Quin

Follow Laarens

27 Storis, 1138 — Quin

Love at first sight is a myth. So why can’t you convince yourself it didn’t happen?

Our conclave lasted all afternoon. Towards dark, we needed a break. Bran collared Daval and dragged him downstairs. Ced emptied his pack and, as expected, he’d bought books, not wine, women or whatever entertainment graced Celestan. He managed to draw Her Ascendency — Rien , I reminded myself — into conversation. I probably should have remained, but I needed time with my head.

I crossed the rope-bridge to the half-finished second treehouse we’d been building over the last year. We’d finished the floors, walls, struts and roof, but it wasn’t habitable. It needed shelves and cupboards, braziers, and sealing. For now, it was storage. We better finish this, damned soon. I can’t ask her to leave, so she needs her own room.

I paced, ducking under the struts. Bran isn’t wrong — we want more people. Just not her. I can’t imagine a less suitable place for her.

From the time I knew there was a world beyond Tiwendar paele, I’ve never been unaware of the Prazia. When I was four, we attended the Prazia’s naming celebrations. That was my first memory of Cimenarum or the Curia . Later that year, my grandfather died and my father took over Tiwendar’s seat. When he’d returned at his first recess, he told me about her. She’s a lovely baby, already walking. Almost running. In a couple years, you’ll accompany me and share her lessons. Her cousin’s like her big brother, and he’s just your age. Mina Haelens and Tarev Klept will come too, and someday, my son, you’ll all take care of Galantier together.

It hadn’t happened. The Prenceps-Teregenitor flattered my father, offered him the Adjutor’s position in his new faction. My father didn’t realize supporting Mathes would set him against the Razin until too late. Mam hated his position; they’d fought over it whenever he came home. She despised the Reformists and what Mathes asked of my father. He’d move the moon if Mam asked, but Tiwendar’s in his blood and bone. Or so I thought.

When my ingeniae showed itself spectacularly, Mam put me at the Sardani Conversatory , just a few milliae from home. My father objected, but one doesn’t remove a child from tuition unless it’s not working, and over the next seven years I learned my ingeniae and the basics of Galantieran law, history, literature and mathematics. I came home at thirteen to be Mam’s apprentice on the langreve and study with a tutor. Cimenarum meant nothing to me. I barely realized we had a Monarch. I should have gone to the War College three years later, but the black year shifted the world.

At the War College, Laarens and I shouldn’t have been friends. He was my senior officer and the sort of natural warrior that armies pray for. I’m not. But we were the same age, which means much at seventeen. My father kept me poor, so I skipped the brothel crawls and taverns that most young Pronators take as rights. Laarens ducked for his own reasons; security, primarily, but he had sophisticated tastes even then, and preferred excellent brandy and elegant Companions to bad beer and common tarts. We spent many evenings in the salle together, and I’m competent with a sword only thanks to him. He almost understands maths in exchange.

Halfway through my first year, we both remained instead of going home for the autumn Cresarian festival. I couldn’t face another half-tenday of cold silences and vitriol; Laarens never got on with his parent. The Razin and the Prazia were on progress, and he claimed the Karsai would kill him, by hypothermia if not loneliness. Between a fire at our feet, shared brandy and the rain, we shifted from comrades to friends in that half-tenday. He was talking about his Caria and how he’d cracked her head on a chimney pot while racing on the Karsai roof. And there’s me, thinking, bloody Ancestors, Uncle’s gonna have to remarry, cuz he’ll kill me if I’ve killed her. He’d tried for humor, but his voice thickened.

She’s everything to you, I said.

He nodded seriously, staring into the fire. Everything I do is for her. She’ll be brilliant and thank the ancestors we’ve got her. I’d be miserable and Savrin... got a little brother, Quin?

No. I’d had a sister, but the black year took her.

Lucky you, he said. Annoying beasts. Sav’ll grow up, if none of us drown him. He handed me a folded sheet from his coat pocket. It’s a few days old, but I don’t get my daily letter when they’re on progress.

Cazerien dat Vohan’s spiky, spare script was my first introduction.

Da almost cancelled this progress since the weather looked grim but Aunt Bella practically threw him into the carriage. Almost wish he had. He’s worried I’ll get sick again though I’ve been fine for a quarter year. We’re stuck at Suliven with Ruteri’s demonspawn. Neralas is now a permanent enemy — I bested him four out of five. I’m careful — I don’t even eat around him. He challenged me, and I tried to quit when we were even — ayuh, I threw it, I was bored — but he insisted no girl could best him.  He’s all lumbering brute, no finesse at all.

Sulaven and Ruteri are thick as thieves (Why are thieves thick? A good one’s clever, right?) but Andrasel’s here, too, and the animosity’s chewy. There will be blood on the Prava floor . Da’s got all three with him now, but it’s like the farmer, the geese and the hungry dog puzzle, keeping them out of each other’s way.

The letter went into code. I asked.

Laarens grinned. Literally, it says His Majesty finds other companions more congenial.

In translation? I asked.

My Uncle’s hopin’ for an excuse to skewer Ruteri.

Thus I’m pressed into service since anteminea prazis —

She’s fluent in Porsirian, Laarens interrupted. "Means bloodshed before princes. I had to look it up."

— would certainly be untoward. I find I agree with Da about Ruteri. The weather better improve soon. We should leave and let them return to staring suspiciously across their borders.

I know you believe letting each Teregenitor recruit a home militia is necessary for national security, but after this, I think it’s inviting Gorthania’s anarchy. The Teregenis don’t declare war on one another now only because they’re always under Da’s eye and they lack private forces. While the border langreves need defense, the interior doesn’t. Militiae will cause more problems than they solve. Our army works. Let’s not break it. We can’t become like Gorthania, with all borders fortified. So no, you shan’t move me on this. A national Metropolita , yes, under the authority of Crown and Judicatura — certainly, but not military forces under the jurisdiction of the Teregenis. I doubt that law can be written equitably and unfair laws exacerbate problems.

Ethene’s tapping her clock — the messenger’s waiting, so other than a slow simmer of personal strife, all is well. Da wants to leave — so do I. I wish you’d come, but I understand why you didn’t. We get you at Midwinter — no arguments. I love you, be careful, be brilliant, and don’t let your unit break you too badly. That’s my job.

Her wit came through the page. "She’s thirteen? She’s brilliant," I said.

Ayuh, Laarens agreed. I’ll never be Razin. If the universe is good, nobody’ll ever suggest it. I’ve known that all her life.

"But you’re Prim Ascendar — "

For another two years and sixty-three days. And uh… He looked at the clock. Seven hours. You’ve faith in something, so do me a favor, Tiwendar. Pray my uncle doesn’t get the plague."

After that, Laarens talked about her more; through him, I started to admire her. He kept every letter and they wrote every day. She wasn’t perfect — she’s got a temper and how two people fight by letter, I don’t know, but they managed. Then we went our separate ways, him into a command, me to the Land Ministry .

I spent two years building what Galantier needed — firewatch platforms, bridges, barracks, heliograph stations. Not my first choice, but I enjoyed the challenge. I barely saw Cimenarum, and at the end of the day, I just wanted my quiet rooms, no people. Which was hard on Meri. [Note 1] I had been fond of her, but we weren’t good together. More a convenient pairing than a deathless love match.

I ran into Laarens a few tendays before the Elevation at the army supply closet where I was building a granary. He’d come for a supply conference, but we scraped a couple hours to catch up over brandy. How’s Cazerien? I’d eventually asked.

"Sitting her Advocate’s Exams. Trying to top Aunt Bella’s perfect scores. Don’t ask me how that works. He stared into his glass. She’s well, but... lonely."

In the Karsai, surrounded by millions?

Scores, he amended and scrubbed a hand over his face. "You’ve been spared the Curia . It’s easy to be alone in that mob. Somebody always wants her ear, but they’re not friends . Sav’s at the War College, trying his damnedest to fail. He’s never home. The Pronatiae are mostly boy-dizzy — but Caria doesn’t get that choice. She intimidates almost everyone."

"You said she’s built like a tentpole — she intimidates people?"

It’s her mind. I’m clever —

No shame in you, I cracked.

He grinned. Nyuh. You’re scary clever.

Thanks, maybe.

Maybe you’re welcome. She makes both of us look like idiots. He sobered and put his head in his hands. "She scares me sometimes — too brilliant, bloody stubborn and a temper like Mount Porsir — she’s the definition of difficult. But thank all the gods who aren’t there she’s got no malice in her. Uncle’s crammed everything he could into her head but she’s never been in the world so she’s innocent as a kitten, and she’s determined to work for Women and Children . Uncle wants her at Chancery , but she says she’ll be better prepared if she sees how the law affects people who have the least voice."

She’s not wrong, I said.

I know, he’d complained, "but I’d rather Her Innocence not consort with whores and wipe orphan noses. It’s not my most charitable quality, but there