Bring Me Their Hearts(43)
I might not remember how often I went to blessing, but the temple’s shape is as familiar as an old scar; everything is made of stone, and in the very center is a massive pit, each level of it carved so as to make rings of seats. Even though all the nobles of Cavanos have seemingly gathered, it could seat so many more. Y’shennria takes the opportunity to pick a seat away from anyone else, and I sit beside her.
“It’s been years since I’ve been in one of these,” I whisper to her. Her face is so tense. “One time, when I was sick, I remember Mother brought me into a temple to pray for a cure, but I just ended up vomiting all over the eye.” I motion to the center point of the pit, where a huge eye of Kavar symbol rests, molded out of pure gold.
Y’shennria shoots me a look. “You lie.”
“Of course—I don’t have most of my old memories.” I smirk. “But you have to admit, it was an entertaining lie.”
She wrinkles her nose, a good change from tensed, at the very least. But as the final few nobles filter in with the priests, her anxiety returns, her fingers working over her rosary faster, and yet more hidden than before. The key harps stop, and the head priest enters with the royal family—King Sref and Queen Kolissa in fitted white garments. Prince Lucien lags behind them in a crisp white overcoat, his dark hair and eyes contrasting violently, his Beneather bodyguard in dark chainmail armor, grayish hair pale and short. They’re two perfectly inverted monochrome figures of each other. The prince and I meet gazes for a brief moment, the locket on my chest giving a start, but he quickly looks away to situate himself with his parents at the bottom ring of the pit. Did he get my letter, I wonder? He looks just as happy to be here as Y’shennria, but I’m certain that has more to do with who’s leading the sermon than religion itself. Gavik steps up to the eye altar with the high priest, and they speak in unison, their voices booming among the vaulted stone ceilings.
“Among friends and among foes.”
“Among friends and among foes,” the gathered nobles echo, Y’shennria’s voice only a bare murmur.
“From within and from without.” Gavik and the high priest leave a pause for the crowd to echo their every sentence. “His light of knowledge touches all who are true, his light of knowledge smites all who are false. In this law we pray, in this law we ask enlightenment.”
I glance at Y’shennria—I’ve never seen her worship. I never saw Nightsinger outwardly worship, either. I wonder how this compares to worship of the Old God, if there is any at all.
“Lifter of man and lighter of minds, may his enemies part before him as stone before copper, as flesh before blade. Let darkness of the unknown be chased into far corners by His light. In His name, Kavar.”
“In His name, Kavar.” The crowd finishes strong. Gavik clears his throat, the high priest seemingly deferring to him.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the court, I am heartened to see how few of these seats remain empty. I still remember thirty years ago, when I was but one of a handful to attend blessing. And yet now the temple’s bounty is full.” He smiles broadly. “This is just proof of how light can be found even in the darkness—that light can be born from war.”
A murmur goes around the temple, much softer than any palace whispering. It’s strange to think that the city of Vetris held both Old and New God worshippers before the Sunless War. You wouldn’t guess that from the state of things now.
“There may come a time when such light is needed,” Gavik continues. “Even now, the witches beat on our doors. I’m infinitely pleased to report our Crimson Lady has stopped five witches from entering Vetris just this fortnight. To think they would’ve been let loose on the streets if not for the polymaths and their invention—” He gives a theatrical shudder. “I quiver with fear at the possibility.”
“His bigotry might be strong,” I mutter, “but his acting is weak.”
Y’shennria doesn’t even reprimand me with an elbow to the side or a harsh look. And that’s how I know she’s really upset.
“But it is this fear that makes us strong.” Gavik makes a fist, touching it gently to the gold eye of Kavar. “It is by His knowledge that we endure—we’ve endured the witches. It was five witches this fortnight, but two the fortnight before, and one before that.”
The murmurs turn anxious, rapid. The Crimson Lady works perfectly, and yet here he is lying to them, for what purpose? To incite panic?
“Despite our best efforts, they are rising again, their foul magics returning them from the brink!” Gavik thunders. “My lawguards and the polymaths work night and day to ensure your safety from them. Many of you have attended my purges and seen this yourself—so many heathens must be purged, from within even our great wall. True peace is only an illusion, so long as a single witch remains alive in Cavanos!”
It turns my stomach to hear some nobles cheer at this. King Sref’s face remains emotionless, the queen’s likewise, but Lucien’s face brews with anger. Gavik, on the other hand, looks infinitely pleased.
“It is my hope Kavar will aid us and wipe them from the country with His swift justice!”
A louder cheer, but this time it dies down rapidly as Gavik gives center stage to the high priest, a tottering old man in white robes and a split hat with strings of crystal chimes on each end. He raises his liver-spotted hand and the key harps begin to play again. The priests all around the room join in song, in such specific and odd locations I can’t help but think it’s for acoustics. The head priest raises to his lips one of those copper volume-enhancing sticks I saw Gavik use at the purge and begins to sing, his voice powerful and rich despite his age. I can’t deny the song is beautiful, but it’s equal parts gorgeous and eerie. It’s so different from the witches—they don’t sing to their god, only speak.