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UNA
“They’re too sweet.”Hava scrunched her cute face into one of disgust, then spit out the bite of maragord.
I laughed, nearly dropping my basket of ripe maragords the two of us had collected together.
“We treasure these in Issos,” I said. “They’re so hard to get, and only once a year do we receive a shipment from the northern region of Lumeria. I suppose I can have them anytime I want now.”
“No,” said Hava. “The maragord grove only bears fruit this time of year. But our cooks are brilliant. They make preserves in jars that last the year.” She made that disgusted face again. “I simply do not like them at all.”
“You prefer savory foods?” I asked.
Her red eyes widened with excitement. “Spicy foods. Mmmm. The cooks are preparing a rare feast with the eskel and tusked boar from the recent hunt. The feast we will have for the court following the Rite of Servium.”
I knew what that was, but not what would happen. “Can you tell me about the rite?”
“That is what Dalya is here for,” came the baritone voice behind me.
I turned suddenly, finding King Goll standing next to the maragord tree we’d just picked from, Dalya at his side. Their dark coloring and deep, moon-gray skin made them look like a perfect royal couple, like they belonged together.
The intrusive thought churned acid in my belly. Goll took a step closer to me, asking in a low voice, “Are you well, Mizrah?”
It reminded me of last night and all the feelings I’d had as I fell asleep with his cloak tucked in the bed with me. I’d been disgusted by myself this morning, folding the cloak by the door and had asked Hava to return it to him.
“Yes.” I looked past his shoulder to the High Oracle, her keen gaze on the two of us. “I would very much like to speak with Oracle Dalya about the rite.”
He stepped away. “I will see you at dinner.” He gave a look to Hava, who instantly dipped her head and left. Goll looked back at me, his expression inscrutable, no telling what he was thinking. Then he simply walked away.
When I turned to Dalya, she seemed to be waiting for me to say something first. It was a polite mannerism given to the host in Issos. I suppose this was my home, not hers, so I gestured down the path.
“There is a quiet place to sit and talk just beyond the grove.”
She nodded and fell in step next to me as I led the way. I’d only been here two days and one night, yet this grove was right below my window. I’d studied it from my bedchamber, and had spent the better part of today wandering its paths with Hava.
Where the grove ended, there was a manicured walkway with tall, thin evergreen trees lining either side. Up ahead, the tall evergreens surrounded a gray stone courtyard. At its center wasa statue of a fae female, her pointed ears prominent, her stare into the distance beguiling, her gown pressed to her body as if she stood facing an unseen wind. Since she had no webbed feet or hands and no wings, I knew she must be a wood fae.
“This is Vix’s Mizrah, is she not?” I asked, though I was sure she must be.
“Yes. The third wraith king of Northgall, Eerlion, had this statue commissioned for our god Vix’s mate, but he used his own mizrah as the model.”
“She is lovely.”
“She is.”
Stepping closer, I noted a small iron plaque. “There is an inscription.” It was in demon tongue.
“Vix is here,”I read. “He guards and keeps the realm of his demon kin. He gives the king the right to rule and gives him his beloved, fruitful treasure.And then in quotes, it says, ‘I choose you.’“
“Your translation is perfect.” Dalya smiled.
“Thank you.”
“I’ve spent many meditations with my priestesses in the palace gardens, but those are also ceremonial words.”
“Why do you meditate here?” I wondered aloud. In Issos, the priests and priestesses remained in their white temple for prayer and meditation.
“To the wraith fae, this place where Näkt Mir sits is the most sacred and hallowed of grounds. The palace itself was built from the volcanic rock left behind from our revered god Vix. When his mizrah died and he had laid her to rest, his grief caused the eruption of Vixet Krone thousands of years ago.”
I’d read something somewhat similar, but it was Vix’s anger that had caused the eruption. And it burned anyone who was too close, the fires of his wrath roasting them alive. But now, I wondered at the stories that had been written down andtranscribed, then taught to me and all other Issosians. There was a discrepancy somewhere. I simply wasn’t sure if it was more on our end or the dark faes.
