Lily lay on her back suspended, as warm water of the hot spring held her safe in its gentle embrace. Above her, the last leaves had fallen from the branches, which now spread like dark veins against the white sky.
“Make room! Here comes a big one!” Evan’s voice came from above.
She rose with a sigh, moving aside just in time to see Evan, with knees drawn tight to his chest in a weird attempt to form a human-shaped ball, slam into the surface, sending a wall of water splashing over the dark pool’s edge, some of it striking Rahl, who, along with two other guards stood waiting.
Rahl gasped, stepping back and shaking his wings like they were offended by water, while furiously trying to get moisture off his uniform.
Lily gave Evan a mock slap on the shoulder. “Look what you did! Apologize right now.”
“Sorry, Rahl!” Evan said, grinning. “But if you didn’t want to get wet, maybe you shouldn’t have stood so close to the pool.”
Rahl grunted, but said nothing, only retreated a couple of steps back.
“We’re only here because of them,” Lily said. “Be mindful.”
Evan nodded, then leaned against her ear. “But you have to admit he looked like a crazy chicken for a minute trying to shake the water off his feathers.”
Lily’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a laugh, but it still came out as undignified snort.
The incident on the Path of Glory had resulted in some unexpected benefits Eirran had bestowed to her and Evan; being able to visit the hot spring whenever they liked was one of them. Having to be followed by guards was a downside, but one couldn’t have it all, Lily guessed, as she leaned back into the warm wet blanket, and let the water muffle all the sounds.
And beyond the forest and the hill, in the white city by the sea, Fariah stepped inside the cold towering Temple.
Pale light sifted through the stained glass, the stone held silence like water.
Two acolytes waited for her at the threshold, and behind them stood the High Priest, Alerion.
His bow was deep, not sweet.
“Sister of the Lanterns,” he said in a voice that felt like silk slipping over a blade. “The Temple of Ellevath’s Light welcomes you. This way.”
He led her down the southern transept, the one bearing mosaic of an Archseraph with a scale in one hand and a sword in the other, above the crowd of the Ilari flying in golden light.
The lamps swayed as they passed; incense swirled, censers clinked; light and shadow and smoke danced like verses inside the mind.
“The Temple looks upon you with respect,” said Alerion when they stopped before a small altar.
“Not as the prince’s mother, but as a Sister of the Lanterns. You are the one who holds the candle in the darkest places, leading those who have strayed away back into the light.”
Fariah lowered her veil, her face beneath it expressionless.
“I might hold the candle,” she said. “But the winds are getting stronger. Its flame is flickering.”
“Perhaps you’re right about the winds,” said Alerion, with the calm certainty of a man on a mission. “But rest assured that the Temple will always be your refuge from the storm.”
Fariah nodded, in her eyes the barest hint of warmth. “I believe you might have been acquainted with the reason why I’m here.”
Alerion’s expression remained neutral, half-covered in shadow. “I might presume. I take it word of your son’s actions against the Temple and doctrine has reached you.”
“Indeed.” Fariah’s retort was dry. “It is my duty as a mother to return him to the right path. But his position makes it difficult.” She cast a brief glance toward the exit, where guards stood waiting. “My other son is silent on the matter. The Antarrila, who are Ellevath’s hand on Earth, refuse to act.”
Alerion gave a sympathetic nod. “It is the opium of power that makes one place oneself above Ellevath. I fear that the great power of the Antarrila has removed them too far from the Temple. I dare not presume the purity of their faith, of course.”
“Of course,” Fariah agreed, straightening her skirt. “But I must admit your words are not without merit. Their inaction in this matter speaks volumes.”
Alerion remained silent. A gentle ray of sun fell through the stained window, breaking into streaks of blue and red.
“The Temple has no sword,” he said carefully. “But we can always offer a word – a spiritual guidance for anyone who feels lost.” He spread his arms in welcome. “At times, the right word is mightier than a sword.”
A gust of draft passed by, shaking the gentle flames and swaying the hanging censers. Two of them clinked together in a sharp, crystal sound.
“A quarantine flag has risen in the harbor” said Fariah, words falling from her tongue like stones.
Alerion did not blink. “Yes. The ships brought the human plague. Human healers tend to the sick. Our priests pray.”
“A human sickness,” she echoed. “It strikes…” Her throat rasped, breaking her voice.
“Those born of mud,” finished Alerion, calmly. “So we are told.”
Fariah felt something shift inside her, pushing her forward and up, like a warm thermal under the wings.
“I was concerned, ” she said carefully, “that Temple might see it as a punishment.”
Alerion shook his head. “I would not call it punishment yet,” he retorted, equally quiet. “It is too soon. But a warning, perhaps. A sign.”
Fariah’s starless eyes shone. “So you, too, see it as a sign.”
Alerion hesitated. “I do not claim it with absolute certainty, but the coincidence is uncanny.” He shrugged. “I only pray the quarantine holds, that the sickness stays where it is. All else…” His gaze lifted upwards, palms open. “I leave to Ellevath.”
“A sign,” said Fariah, the word turning like a key in a lock. “And a test.”
Alerion remained quiet.
“I was told that Eirran defended his sin before the altar,” Fariah continued after a moment. “He spoke of mercy as a new law. He spoke as though scripture could be rewritten at will.”
“Perhaps there is a veil before his eyes,” said Alerion. “It might be woven of pride, even love, but it’s still a veil that obscures the sight.”
“You speak the truth,” Fariah agreed. “So, in order to restore his sight, the veil must be removed.”
Silence pooled among them, thick and dry.
“If the sign were sent…” her voice cracked.
Something inside her unfolded, both revelatory and sickening. She cleared her throat. “If, say, the fruit of sin were to… by chance… fall ill, that would be clear. Undeniable. No one could argue what the Condemned says is true.”
Alerion lowered his gaze to the altar slab, where the light from the stained glass drew cold blue stripes. When he looked back at her, his expression was deliberately neutral.
“In theory,” he said, measured, “it would be irrefutable proof. In practice, however, even clear signs can be blurred by interpretations.” He paused, sighing, his eyes drawn to the skies. “I only pray the quarantine remains firm. I pray no one tempts the Will of Ellevath. Tests come from Him, not from us. We only read the signs He sends to us. We do not create them.”
“Of course,” said Fariah quickly, nodding.
“I will pray with you,” said Alerion, placing his palm upon her head with a touch that was comforting in its coldness.
The scent of lamp oil and incense spread like the comfort of home.
“May the Light enlighten you. May it show you the path and give you solace.”
Alerion traced a sign above her in blessing. Fariah closed her eyes and touched her throat in three points.
“Stay,” he said. “Ellevath will listen to your prayer.”
And then he left with the acolytes, leaving her alone in the vast empty space, among the light that spilled in red and blue, swallowed by shadows – the silence broken by the gentle chime of metal chains upon which hung the censers, and that ever-present comfort of incense.
Fariah knelt before the altar.
The stone beneath her knees was cold and hard, and she needed that discomfort to clear her troubled mind.
She crossed her hands upon her chest, as when offering a lantern to the wind, drawing her wings close in submission.
“Ellevath,” she said. “I ask you to show me the way. If my thoughts are sinful and wrong – give me a sign. Raise walls between me and what I am about to do. Punish me now, give me pain if I have offended You with a thought.”
She waited. The Temple was coated in perfect quietness. The only sound that reached her ears was that of the breath in her chest, the heartbeat in her ears.
“If it is wrong,” she said, “stay my hand. Make me weak. If it is right – bless me with silence.”
Nothing.
She heard nothing.
In her mind came a thought so clear it sounded like a whisper to her ear: The veil must be removed.
It sounded like absolution.
She rose slowly.
Her knees ached, and it was good.
At the exit, in the shadows of the vestibule, she called a servant. “You will do exactly as I say,” she whispered – so quietly even she barely heard it. No one listened to what was said. No one saw the golden coin pass from Fariah’s hands to servant’s pocket. His eyes were focused, ears keen and obedient. He nodded once, and disappeared among the pillars.
The next afternoon found the same servant standing in the shadow of a cypress near the town square.
From his sleeve he drew a scrap of parchment, small as a wing of a butterfly.
Across the square, a young servant of the Sixth House paused beside the great fountain and bent to tie his sandal.
When he straightened, the parchment had found home in his pocket.
Back in the palace, Jereh sat on his favorite spot on the low wall in the southern courtyard and watched the bleak sun set beyond the ocean that spread like oil on canvas. Smoke rose from his pipe and mixed with the fresh scent of herbs from Mirna’s garden. He had been restless these days, his usual daily rhythm disturbed by the quarantine flag that now swayed above the docks.
Of course, that was only one of his troubles.
A shadow fell across him, followed by a faint rustle of feathers.
“Lily isn’t here,” Jereh said, not bothering to turn.
Eirran took a step closer. “I know. It is you I’ve come to see.”
That made Jereh turn his head sharply. “Me?”
Eirran nodded. “You.” He pointed to the empty spot on the wall. “May I?”
Jereh shrugged. “It’s your palace.”
Eirran settled in silence. For a while, neither of them spoke.
“I waited,” Eirran began, “for you or Mirna to storm up to my door. To threaten to leave again.”
Jereh puffed out a cloud of smoke. “Are you disappointed we haven’t?”
The arches of Eirran’s wings lifted a bit, then stilled. “No. But I am curious why.”
Jereh kept his eyes on the darkening sea.
“I won’t lie, I thought about it. After that day your mother took her, told her gods know what to make her so distraught. But Mirna said…” He paused. “It’ll be of no use.” He did his best to imitate the exact tilt of Mirna’s voice. “‘To separate them now would be like cutting her off from her roots. She might be safer, but the light in her eyes would be gone.’” A sigh. “I didn’t come because I realized she was right, even if it pains me to admit it.”
Only then did he turn to face Eirran fully. “There is a light in her that hasn’t been there before.” He seemed to weigh his words. “What you did with her… You didn’t take her away from us. Somehow it made her hug us tighter, laugh with us brighter. How can I hate that?”
“Perhaps she is like a tree,” Eirran said after a while. “She needs both sun and soil to thrive.”
“Perhaps,” Jereh conceded.
And the two men sat there in silence, as gold bled into grey. The lanterns were being lit, spilling warm orange light and dark shadows. The stone echoed with running footsteps and children’s laughter, which grew louder with every passing heartbeat.
A ball – uneven, made of straw and old cloth wheezed past the place where Jereh and Eirran sat, disappearing behind the thick bush near the opposite wall.
“Missed me!” Lily’s laughter rang, followed by the blur of blue dress and windswept dark hair. Another pair of footsteps sped up, rushing past her, going straight for the bushes, but she was faster, snatching the ball and throwing it toward Evan in a swift, precise motion. “Got you!” She laughed as the ball hit him in the chest, but he caught it, and shot it back at her in a straight, tight line. The ball cut the air with speed and intent that should’ve hit her in the shoulder, but she whirled on a heel, spine twisting in swift, fluid motion, catching the ball midair.
“Hey!” Evan called. “That’s not fair! How did you…” But Lily stuck out her tongue and tossed the ball at him. “Now you’re going to pay!” Evan caught the ball running towards her.
“Hey! Watch the garden, you two!” Jereh warned, but his words fell on deaf ears.
Lily shrieked and sped up, and the two children disappeared beyond the arcade.
“See?” Jereh almost smiled – almost – his mouth twitched and his eyes glinted . He puffed out a cloud of smoke. “That’s what I meant.”
Eirran nodded, and as the last traces of grey disappeared into black, he felt the glow of the lanterns warm up his bones.
Under cover of night, deft legs scuttled through the docks, up the narrow stairs, along places hidden in shadows and beyond the guards’ sight. A hand dressed in a leather glove slid from beneath a cloak. In it lay a small black box – its wood simple, unadorned. The hand that held it trembled, then tossed it under a thorny bush.
And while the milk for the children was warming on the stove, another hand took the dark little thing and carried the rot within to the heart of the white palace.
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