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5
AURELIUS
“What is it, Beni?” said Aurelius with a sigh. He didn’t turn. There was only one person that made Teigra look like that.
“Mother is meeting with the simple folk,” said the little toad. “And for some unfathomable reason, she wants you there as well.”
Oh, but I do know why, baby brother. Even if you are too stupid to understand.
“Of course,” he said with a warm smile that made Benedict flinch. “I serve at the pleasure of the archon.”
Teigra started to move backward. She was probably hoping for a chance to get all boo-hooey over the dead bitch who loved nothing more than giving him piety lectures. The one who had always treated him like some kind of deranged pervert. “Well, it looks like you have some important business to attend to,” she said. “So, I’ll just—”
“Oh no you don’t!” hissed Aurelius in departing. “Move one muscle from this spot and I’ll get drunk and play personal matchmaker between you and Prince Boredom!”
The archon had moved to a little transept at the back of the temple, holding court with the lesser oracles of Vaticily, their hands held right to left, left to right. The lead oracle’s face was shaded dark beyond the deep green of her cowl, but they were definitely human.
Gorgons? he thought with another roll of his eyes. Poor Tiggy. She is obsessed with all that mythical monster rot. She really must spend less time in scrolls and more time in society.
Around the edges of the space, dignitaries from two of the other polities moved through a ridiculous diplomatic dance—equidistant, eyes diverted, deliberately oblivious to each other’s presence. One of the Rinathi was human, and the other was a great uniformed gryphon, a creature he had only heard about during long and boring days of tutelage.
On the Ondocian side, the Satrap was flanked by a small army of courtiers, including one woman with hair thick from sea salt, and a skirt that sparkled as if made of some blue metal, catching every flicker of light that filtered down through the oculus above.
The only outsider not participating in the dance was Prince Calix. Unlike the others, he had no fawning group of followers nor sharp-eyed guards. In fact, he wasn’t even in the transept. Instead, he was out in the temple proper, kneeling in front of the great statue of Ardor. His huge body was still, although if Aurelius strained, he could just see movement from the prince’s bearded jaw, whispering out some private prayer.
Benedict finally stopped a discreet distance behind the archon, alongside his grandmother Varena, who shot Aurelius a look of utter contempt.
Nice to see you again too, Granny.
The archon’s brilliant yellow stola was brocaded in bronze, not just with the tools of Mesti, but with holy symbols to all the Five: the flaming heart of the war priests of Rinath; a deep-ink pearl from the farthest depths of the Illhas Sea; the albino opium snake of Mount Vaticily; and of course, the eternal rose of Ardora.
It was a shameless show for the senators and the more pious members of the public—who loved nothing more than Mestibes being the glue that held the rest of the country together. The archon he knew would slit the throat of any of these guests in a heartbeat if it furthered her own ambition.
“I give you my blessing, Archon,” said the oracle, in a dreamlike voice. “I have warm memories of your sister’s visits to the mountain. Brief though they were.”
“It is my honor, Your Beatitude. My sister spoke fondly of the beauty and ferocity of your woods. Please let the high oracles know that as long as I sit on the Throne of Thought, Vaticily will have a friend in Mestibes.”
“Gratitude, Majesty.”
“Now, you will stay for the feast, won’t you? I’d love to hear your recollections of my dear sister.”
The oracle nodded warmly, bringing her crossed arms to her chest and giving a deep bow.
No sooner had she taken her leave than the Rinathi warlords clanked forward, shouldering each other uneasily for position—a contest easily won by the gryphon. They offered their profound horror at the death of the herald, which the archon accepted without so much as an argument.
And so, the process went on with pleasantry after excruciating pleasantry. Finally, they came to the last: Crown Prince Calix, who rose from the statue on cue and walked toward them.
No, not walked.
Prowled.
He moved like an apex predator, huge and confident. Up close, he was even bigger than Aurelius had realized, towering over him, and standing at least twice as broad.
But what surprised him most was not the man’s size.
It was his eyes.
Aurelius had expected a deep brown, matching his imposing presence. Instead, the crown prince’s irises were as golden as fresh honey.
