Chapter I

Terrible Business

The temple of the gods sat atop a glorious hill, and before it came a long staircase: on those steps knelt Soryne, praying. Such was her habit and her favorite pastime, and she was bound by duty never to neglect it. Soryne was the muse of sacred hymns and praise, and it was her solemn appointment to represent the temple in the court of the queen.

Today, she was alone on the steps; usually there were many other worshippers who came to beg the gods to grant them their wishes. Soryne felt that it was useless to plead with the gods for anything. Surely they ordained how all things would come to pass long before they happened.

Soryne was alone because the rest of the kingdom was celebrating the arrival of the prince, who had just returned from war across the sea with a hundred men from his father’s troops. War had been long and there were ten years of it to look back on; but now they had secured the victory and so the prince had returned. His father, King Ophases, was to return in a few weeks with his oldest son and the rest of their soldiers. For now, however, the kingdom was taking advantage of the reason for high spirits and spending the day by the seaside in festive mood.

Not Soryne, though. She could not be prevailed upon to celebrate when there were prayers to be said and canticles to be sung.

She knelt about three-quarters of the way up the steps, and the sun beat upon her face. Soryne glanced up at the temple, her thoughts pausing for a moment while she gauged the time. The sun was nearly at the tip of the triangular roof of the temple, which meant that the afternoon was waning.

When Soryne came to the end of her prayers, she always thanked each of the gods for their mercy. First she thanked Stisla, the goddess of beginnings who spun the threads of life; then Lyatres, the god who wove the threads into tapestries; and finally Myphotos, who cut the threads, tied off the tapestries, and hung them either in the hall of the heavens to be remembered, or cast them into the fires beneath the earth to be forgotten.

Soryne stood, her knees aching from the hours that she had been kneeling for. The fabric of her dress was hot on her skin and she let out a sigh; now she must go and change for the evening.

“Excuse me,” said a voice from behind her. Soryne turned to find a young man nervously knotting his fingers a few steps below her.

“Yes?” Soryne asked, nodding her head in greeting.

“You are a priestess, I think,” the young man began, and Soryne nodded once more. It was her habit to act as one, if necessary, and her station allowed it.

“I was hoping that you might be able to pray to Myphotos for me,” said he, glancing up at the statue farthest to the right.

“Of course,” Soryne replied. “Perhaps you have an ailing relative?” She was accustomed to this; Myphotos was often called upon when someone was dying.

The young man opened his mouth, then closed it. Then he squinted as Soryne, and spoke. “Well, you could say that. My mother ails, maybe, but from a sort of head-sickness. You see, she is determined to murder my father.”

Soryne was taken aback, and nearly tripped over the higher step behind her in her surprise. “Well. That certainly… certainly needs to be prayed for at once.”

The young man knelt and began to mutter under his breath as he prayed. Soryne knelt next to him and pretended to do the same, but in truth she did more thinking than praying. How horrible this young man’s situation seemed… She hoped that he did not have younger siblings to receive the worst of the affair. He seemed to be nearing twenty-five at least, and it was possible that if there were young ones at home, it would fall on him to support them if the terrible business was carried out.

“You will forgive me,” interrupted Soryne, and glanced over at the young man. “But has your father committed any crimes?”

The young man sighed. “I… I do not know.”

Soryne raised her eyebrows and looked down at the steps again, resuming her prayers. How horrible, to plot a murder without a just motive– and to not let the queen handle the case.

There were no more words spoken between them and soon nearly fifteen minutes had gone by. The young man stood, and Soryne bid him good day.

“I hope your mother comes to her senses,” said she, knowing that even if the young man’s father had done something terrible, it would be more terrible still for a wife to murder her husband.

The young man looked at her intently for a moment, then clapped his hands together once. “I knew it!” He exclaimed, and Soryne knit her brow in confusion.

“I was praying the whole time that the gods might tell me what to do through you, and you have just told me that my mother’s intentions are not right. It will be hard to convince her of this, because Kechria is on mother’s side, but–”

“Kechria? You mean the princess?” Soryne’s mind had delayed, focusing first on the forwardness of such a thought; but at the mention of the princess she caught up.

The young man stopped talking, now stepping back and looking at Soryne curiously. “Yes,” he said slowly.

“You know her?”

The young man burst out laughing. “Of course! She and I have been at odds since birth.”

Soryne peered at him suspiciously. “Who are you?”

After a moment’s silence, the young man blurted, “Monepothes. I’m– I’m the brother of one of her friends.” Then he twiddled his fingers again, like when he first asked her to pray for him. “Really a shame, that we’ve never gotten along…” Now he grimaced, showing his fine teeth. This led Soryne to believe that perhaps he was not lying. Dental hygiene was not so common in the lower classes.

“I see,” Soryne breathed, not sure why the sudden confusion had given her such unease. “Well, if you are part of one of the noble families, I hope it does not cause too much of a scuffle.”

“Thank you,” said Monepothes, and with a nod of his head, he was gone.