The Empress of Xytae Page 6

  Chapter Four

  VITALIYA

  Vitaliya awoke the next morning as the sun rose, still cradled in the grass nest she’d spun for herself and Ioanna. In the night, a few wildflowers had bloomed around her, a side effect of the magic she’d poured into the spot.

  Vitaliya looked around, expecting to see Ioanna still asleep. But the space beside her was empty. She tried to get up, but her legs had become tangled in the long strands of woven grass, and she fell to the soft ground.

  Ioanna stood by the horses, staring out in the direction of the road. Her fingers were slightly curled like she was preparing to summon her magic. But she did not. She merely stood and watched.

  “Hello,” said Vitaliya. “Do you want more oranges?”

  Ioanna turned around, her face unreadable.

  “I can get us some,” continued Vitaliya, determined to be helpful. She wasn’t really in the mood for oranges. She wanted something warm and substantial, but they had no options. “Maybe I’ll pack some? In case we can’t find more food later.”

  Ioanna nodded, and Vitaliya went to the tree she’d poured her magic into last night. The branch was still laden with fruit, and she grabbed as many as she thought would fit in their bags.

  “Have there been any soldiers?” asked Vitaliya.

  “Not that I’ve seen. Perhaps they passed us in the night. Or maybe…”

  “Maybe Netheia gave up!” suggested Vitaliya, determined to interject a bit of cheer into the conversation.

  “Mm,” said Ioanna.

  “I can’t wait to meet your grandmother. I’ve heard of her, but nobody really seems to know much about her. She’s a very mysterious figure in Vesolda.”

  “In Xytae too,” said Ioanna, turning away from the road at last. “I don’t think there’s anyone in the world quite like her.”

  “I’d like to know why she gave up her crown. It must have been a difficult decision.”

  “Not at all.” Ioanna struggled to place her mount’s saddle on its back, and Vitaliya came around to help her with it. “She’s never made any secret of the fact she hated her title, and she’s quite pleased with herself for managing to shake free of it.”

  There were few people on the road at such an early hour, and the sun was not too strong yet. They rode along in silence for a time, and Vitaliya watched as the woods beside the road changed to neglected farms with broken fences.

  “These fields look terrible,” she observed, canting her head in their direction.

  “Well, it’s not time for planting yet,” began Ioanna, but Vitaliya shook her head.

  “This is more than just a season’s worth of growth. These fields haven’t been cleared or tended for years.”

  “Oh,” said Ioanna. “Well, I don’t know. Perhaps the soil is tainted?”

  “I don’t think so. The weeds are growing just fine.” Vitaliya would not pretend to be any sort of authority on farming practices, but her time spent using her blessing for the benefit of Vesolda had managed to teach her a few things. “I’ll ask when we go into town. That’s very strange.”

  Besides, everything Vitaliya knew about Xytae suggested they were shipping a significant amount of their harvest out to the war effort. She’d even heard rumors they were decreasing their sales to Thiyra, the mountainous continent to the west not suited for farming.

  Soon enough, Vitaliya caught sight of a little village with thatched roofs and more fields. As they rode toward it, Vitaliya glanced over at Ioanna. Her face appeared as solemn as ever, but her shoulders were tense as she examined the road ahead of them. Doubtless she was expecting soldiers to come intercept them. Vitaliya couldn’t bring herself to worry about that very much, though. They were outside of the city now, so surely Netheia would have given up? Vitaliya certainly would have if she’d been in Netheia’s place.

  But then, Vitaliya would never be in Netheia’s place. She had no intention of ever standing between her older brother and the Vesoldan throne. Being the Queen of Vesolda might be fun for a few days. But once the coronation and parties were all over, everyone would expect her to settle down and listen to their problems and never leave Bergavenna or do anything fun ever again. They might even try to talk her into getting married.

  Vitaliya looked at Ioanna again and wondered if she ought to suggest Ioanna forget about being empress and try to enjoy her life. Perhaps it would be a little insensitive given everything that had happened yesterday. Maybe it would be better if Ioanna worked it out for herself.

  As they arrived in town, Vitaliya could not help but compare it to the farming communities she’d visited to help with the harvest. True, those had all been within a few hours of Bergavenna, but they weren’t terribly far from Xyuluthe now. Yet this town looked rather sad. The homes were all in need of repairs, and a few of them were so poorly maintained Vitaliya hoped they were standing empty. No flowers, nor statues, nor any other kind of decoration added any sort of charm or personality to the community.

  Desperate to see something other than a dusty main road and wilted, withered trees, she looked around for a building that might be a temple. Back in Vesolda, a place like this would probably have a Temple of Eyvindr. Or if it wasn’t large enough to justify such a thing, they might have an undedicated temple, plain and simple, kept tidy by the children of the town and open for any traveling priest or priestess to use. The priestesses of Pemele, who performed marriages, and the priests of Adranus, who performed healing and cared for the sick or performed funeral rites for the dead, were the ones most frequently traveling from place to place.

  “Does anyone live here?” murmured Ioanna.

  That was an eerie thought. What if the entire town had been deserted? What if they went inside the nearest building and found corpses ravaged by a plague or mauled by a monster?

  “Maybe we should go,” suggested Vitaliya. “Forget this place. Forget the fields. Let’s just leave.”

  “No,” said Ioanna. “What if they need our help?”

  “Then they could have walked to Xyuluthe and asked.” Vitaliya hadn’t meant for it to come out as cruelly as it did, but she still thought she’d made a good point. They were only a day’s ride from the capital, even if it didn’t feel like it. Standing there in the middle of a quiet village, surrounded by nothing but sad, overgrown fields, it was difficult to believe they could be back at the Imperial Palace before sundown if they decided to give up and turn themselves in.

  It seemed as though they’d stepped into another world.

  “Maybe this is Iestil,” murmured Vitaliya, naming the plane of Adranus, God of Death and Tenth of the Ten. “Maybe we’re dead. Maybe we died in our sleep.”

  “It can’t be. I’m going to Solarium,” said Ioanna very seriously. “Besides, Iestil isn’t empty either. It’s filled with hundreds of thousands of people.”

  “Dead people.”

  “It’s just a village,” Ioanna insisted. “Come on, let’s knock on some doors.”

  Vitaliya wished she had a knife. All the Xytan nobles carried weapons, some openly at their belts and some tucked away. During her brief time in the palace, Vitaliya had taken note of rings that concealed needle-sharp blades, or long, decorative pendants that came to a sudden point, and even metal hairpins that had been sharpened into knives.

  If she carried such things in Vesolda, everyone would think she’d gone mad. But in Xytae it was normal, even expected. She wondered if Ioanna had any hidden weapons. From what she’d heard and seen, Vitaliya doubted it. And Ioanna had Iolar’s defensive magic, so perhaps she didn’t need such things.

  Vitaliya thought of her own magic, trying to imagine a way it might be turned into something she could use to defend herself. The only thing she could think of was calling up thorny vines, but that would be reliant on what plants were around at the time, and anyone with a sword would be able to cut through those in an instant.

  Besides, Eyvindr would probably be displeased if he saw her using his blessing to hurt people, even if only in
self-defense. Not that Vitaliya believed she’d be able to grow anything fast enough to intercept a soldier.

  Ioanna got down from her horse and moved in the direction of the nearest house. Vitaliya slowly did the same, remaining far enough behind her that she could turn and flee if there was something dreadful within.

  But Ioanna knocked, and knocked, and there was no reply.

  Vitaliya wasn’t sure if she wanted to suggest trying to force the door open. On the one hand, answers might be inside the house. On the other hand, so could any number of awful things…a trapped monster, a waiting wildcat, a rotting corpse.

  But Ioanna was already moving in the direction of the next dwelling, unafraid. “There must be people living here,” she insisted, despite all evidence to the contrary. “Even if it’s only a few.”

  Vitaliya turned her eyes back to the neglected fields. “Let’s just go. Please? I’m scared. This place is eerie. I feel like something’s about to jump out at us.”

  “It’s just a village,” Ioanna insisted again. But perhaps she was beginning to feel unsettled too because she nodded. “All right. We’ll just check the temple, and then we’ll go.”

  The temple, as Vitaliya had expected, was undedicated. It was very small, about the same size as the surrounding houses, and built from plain gray stone. The lack of decoration gave it a cold, austere feeling. But as they rounded the side to approach the front door, Vitaliya’s eyes fell upon a small, open-topped wagon and a donkey.

  “Someone’s here! Someone’s alive!” She went to the donkey and patted its neck affectionately. “Or if they’re dead, I guess we have a cart now.”

  “Stop saying people are dead,” said Ioanna.

  “People are dead. People have been dying for thousands of years.”

  “Maybe, but you don’t have to keep bringing it up.”

  The sight of the wagon made Vitaliya feel better, but she still stood back and allowed Ioanna to open the door to the temple. She stepped inside, and Vitaliya followed cautiously, keeping one foot in the doorway so the door could not slam shut and trap the two of them inside forever.

  The inside of the temple was made from the same plain stones as the exterior. A few small windows let in a little bit of daylight, but none of the candles had been lit. The floor had not been washed in a long time, and dried mud stuck to the flagstones. Enormous balls of dust gathered in each corner, and cobwebs grew over every surface. A few rows of hard wooden benches filled the largest part of the room, and near the front was a plain altar.

  But the temple’s strangest feature was certainly the red-brown chickens that wandered through the rows, pecking at spots on the ground and clucking softly as though they had every right to be there.

  And standing just before the altar, folding a blanket into careful quarters, was a middle-aged man in brown robes. At the sound of the door opening, he jumped and gave a cry of shock.

  “Oh!” he yelped. Then he took in the sight of Ioanna and Vitaliya. “Ladies—you nearly scared the life out of me! I thought I was the only one here.”

  He was a priest. The color of his robes meant he was from the Temple of Cyne. Cyne was the God of Animals, and Eleventh of the Ten in Ioshora. Mostly priests of Cyne were called upon to serve as healers to animals that were sick or injured. They could usually be found in farming communities.

  “We’re sorry,” said Ioanna. “We were only passing through and hoped to purchase supplies here. But it seems this village is abandoned.”

  “It is,” confirmed the priest. “All the residents have gone to war, died, or moved away. I only stopped here for the night to take shelter in the old temple. You’re not far from Xyuluthe, though. You can purchase whatever you need there.”

  “That’s where we’ve just come from, unfortunately,” said Ioanna. “We’re headed north.”

  “You’ve been to Xyuluthe?” The priest looked curious. He tucked his blanket under his arm, pulled a large leather rucksack onto his back, and began to walk toward them. “Here, let’s talk outside. I forgot how badly this place needs to be cleaned. I might have been better off in the cart after all.” He made a sound with his tongue, and the chickens hurried after him, their long claws clicking on the stone floors.

  “Has this village been abandoned for long?” asked Ioanna as they emerged into the daylight.

  “A few years, I think,” said the priest. “It didn’t happen overnight. I’ve lost a few small communities to the war, and I expect I’ll lose more in the coming years. You’ll probably pass more if you’re going to be traveling. Be careful—bandits have been known to use them for camps sometimes.”

  “I was never told of any abandoned villages,” said Ioanna, frowning deeply. “I’d think that would be important news.”

  The priest shrugged. “I’m sure it was a decade ago. But they’re quite common now. We’ve grown accustomed to them.”

  Ioanna did not appear to be at all consoled by this, and Vitaliya didn’t blame her.

  “I heard a rumor last night,” added the priest. “They say Emperor Ionnes is dead.”

  Ioanna nodded. “That is what they’re saying in the city as well.”

  “Two priestesses came through last night a few hours after I arrived here. From the Temple of Reygmadra. They were looking for two young ladies. Princesses.” He gave them both a meaningful look.

  Vitaliya really didn’t want to have to fight a priest, especially one of Cyne’s. She looked to Ioanna for help. But Ioanna’s face was stony and impassive and gave no indication of whether she thought the same thing.

  “What else did they say?” asked Ioanna.

  “Emperor Ionnes is dead, and Princess Netheia had been named his heir.” The priest paused again. “I asked how she could have been named after he was already dead, and they threatened to stab me. Very unpleasant women.”

  “It’s not true,” said Ioanna. “She’s not been named heir. She just…believes she ought to be.”

  “That’s about what I expected,” said the priest. “My name is Otho, by the way. I’ve got some spare robes if you want to be my acolytes.”

  Ioanna frowned. “You want to help us?”

  “If it means a chance at no more of this?” Otho made a broad gesture with his arm, indicating the entire abandoned village. “Yes. Certainly. If you don’t mind riding with the chickens. You are the princesses they’re looking for, aren’t you?”

  Vitaliya liked to believe the best of religious figures, and priests of Cyne were not known for their ambitious natures. But what if Otho’s intentions were bad? What if he turned them in to Netheia for a reward, and set aside his wagon and chickens for a life of leisure?

  But for some reason, Ioanna wasn’t suspicious. “Yes,” she said. “I am Ioanna of Xytae. And this is Vitaliya of Vesolda. We’d be very grateful for your aid. We’re very poorly equipped and don’t know this area.”

  “Where had you hoped to go?” asked Otho.

  “To my grandmother’s estate in Oredia.”

  Otho nodded. “The area I am assigned to does not cover that far north, but I know the way. I do not think anyone will miss me for a few days. It is not the lambing season yet.” He pulled some brown robes identical to his own from the back of the wagon. “Put these on. If the priestesses come this way again, I’ll tell them I’m training you.”

  The robe was loose enough that Vitaliya could wear her clothes underneath. It was a little too long and too large, but she supposed that was better than it being too tight. She drew the rope belt around her waist and knotted it, then looked over at Ioanna.

  Vitaliya stifled a laugh. Ioanna was all but drowning in the oversized robe and resembled a child dressing in her mother’s gown. She’d never pass for an acolyte.

  “Do you have scissors?” Vitaliya asked Otho. “We need to trim some fabric off, or she’ll break her neck when she takes a step.”

  Otho finished placing his things and his chickens in the back of the wagon. Then he removed a heavy set of shears from one o
f the many bags obviously meant for sheep. “Hold still,” he warned Ioanna. “I don’t want to cut any fingers off.”

  After the robe had been trimmed down to an acceptable length, Ioanna looked a little more dignified. And once she was back on horseback, it was harder to tell that beneath the robe was mostly air.

  “Are the chickens your only companions?” asked Vitaliya once she was back up on her mount.

  “Along with Daisy,” confirmed Otho, resting one hand on his donkey’s neck. “I had a dog, but he went to Ferra last winter, and I can’t bring myself to replace him yet. I expect one will adopt me soon enough, though. I’ve found I don’t frequently get a say in the matter.”

  Vitaliya knew she wouldn’t be able to tolerate the lifestyle of a traveling priest, but she thought it sounded nice in its own rustic way. Especially if animals were involved. Still, she’d spent enough time among farmers to know it was not all delivering litters of puppies and brushing horses. Cyne’s work could sometimes turn ugly or tragic. It was the nature of…well, of nature.

  As the wagon began to move, Vitaliya realized they wouldn’t be able to get to Oredia as soon now. But maybe slower was safer in this case. Especially if priestesses of Reygmadra were searching for them both. Besides, she wasn’t exactly in a hurry. She couldn’t go home until after the wedding, or else everyone might think she’d forgiven her father.

  She wondered how long it would take for news of what had happened in Xyuluthe to reach Bergavenna. Would everyone assume she’d been killed during Netheia’s coup? Vitaliya curled her toes in delight. They’d be so sorry! She imagined them at her funeral (for, of course, they’d have to hold a massive state funeral for her), murmuring their regrets to one another. If only we’d listened to her. If only we hadn’t told her she was being a melodramatic child. If only we had mourned Queen Isabetta a little bit longer.

  “What are you smiling about?” Otho asked Vitaliya.

  “Vengeance!” Vitaliya cried happily. Otho gave a snort of laughter.

  “Vengeance?” repeated Ioanna. “On Netheia?”

  “What? No. I’m hardly even mad at her anymore.” Besides, getting vengeance on Netheia would probably be more trouble than it was worth. “I meant on my family. I’m sure they’ll be worrying about me soon once they learn what happened.”