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63
TEIGRA
Teigra dodged the whip of foliage. The branches were no thicker than her pinky, yet were impossibly strong, scratching every inch of her exposed skin.
“Is this what all of Vaticily is like?” she asked, ducking through the tangle.
“No, it is far worse,” came the voice of Ms. Securia, walking ahead with considerably less bother. “This is entirely the wrong climate for fate brush. On the path to the holy summit, it grows so thick you can’t see the sun. And snakes lurk in the undergrowth, with venom powerful enough to kill a man in seconds. Not to mention the gorgons and the drakons that stalk the forest. And the dryads getting snippy at you for messing with nature.”
“Goddess. It sounds awful.”
“That is rather the point of the pilgrimage, Ms. Cosmin.”
Well, let’s hope Xiber faces every one of those challenges.
Their path was on the northeastern side of the bay, around halfway between the city and the Ranios Grotto. It wasn’t a popular track. If not for Ms. Securia, she’d never have known it was here.
The branches soon gave way to a hollow among the brush. Morning light filtered over a strange sight—a floor of gray-white granite among the leaves and grass, upon which was formed a perfect spiral groove, starting from where they stood, wrapping around and around, until it came to the exact point in the middle.
It was so flawless it looked as if it must have been carved; and yet, it was so naturally worn, it was impossible to imagine that it had been.
“There’s no statue?” said Teigra.
“Do you think the god of the wild would want a statue in his temple?” said Ms. Securia, less unkindly than usual.
“No, I suppose not,” she said with a soft laugh.
This temple was the fourth they’d visited this morning—taking the mini-pilgrimage that Ms. Securia did once a week. Teigra had been shocked when the high envoy had invited her, and even more shocked by how different all the temples were.
In Mestibes, all the gods were worshipped in one place. But here, the temples were either the grand grounds where the Ardoralia had been held, or little unloved nooks, barely visited by the locals.
Rina’s “temple” was little more than a fireplace up back of a blacksmith. Ondo’s was a shack by the harbor, bustling with sailors dropping a single gold coin into a bronze chalice of salt water.
“Do they think we’re odd? Praying to the Five as equals?”
“Quaint, perhaps. People down here are more likely to pray to Ardor’s dozens of children than another High God. Krasi Ardor, the Goddess of Wine. Lagnos Ardor, the God of Lust. Elfoti Ardor, the God of Fraternity. Honestly, even now, after all these years, I am still uncovering little shrines and lesser gods I didn’t know existed.”
Teigra traced the spiral with her gaze. “I don’t suppose we should ask Vatic to give Xiber the wrong answer?”
“If it would bring you comfort, go ahead. But in my experience, Vatic favors boldness. I would expect the warlord will be viewed favorably.”
In her experience...
Teigra still hadn’t summoned the nerve to directly ask Ms. Securia again if she’d done the pilgrimage to Vaticily. And she didn’t intend to push the matter here. Not now that they were finally getting along.
Teigra said a small prayer, even though she knew her chances were slight. After a respectful amount of time, they departed, making their way through the tangled path and back toward the city.
“And how fares His Highness?” asked Ms. Securia when they were back on the bayside path.
“He fares well. He is a very good man.”
“Well, that is good, isn’t it,” she said, in a strange voice. It wasn’t genuinely happy. But nor did it carry her usual stiffness.
If anything, it had an air of sorrow.
An unusual boldness came over Teigra. “Ms. Securia. Have you ever been in love?”
The woman stopped dead. “What a thing to ask!”
