The Empress of Xytae Page 8

  The young man was so taken aback that he didn’t reply. But one of the children behind him lowered their bow and said, “He is?”

  Ioanna looked at the child, dressed in a short but billowy robe, sewn in the style of those frequently worn by neutroi in Xytae. Clothing was not always a reliable indicator of gender, but in this situation, she could only make her best guess until she had a chance to clarify.

  “Yes,” said Ioanna. “We received the news only yesterday.”

  “She’s lying!” cried the young man. “She’s just tryin’ to distract us! Don’t listen to her!”

  “Cassian, we’re not gonna rob her,” said the child patiently. “She’s got magic. Good magic. We don’t have a chance. I wanna hear if he’s really dead.”

  “He was killed in battle,” explained Ioanna. “In a duel. One of the Masimi challenged him, and he accepted. Or at least, that’s what I heard.”

  “Who cares?” demanded Cassian. “So a rich man died! What does it matter? The next one’ll be just as bad as him! Nothing’s gonna change! They’re all the same in the capital! We might as well be dead if we’re not fighting in their wars or paying their taxes.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Ioanna, stricken. “I had no idea things were this bad.”

  “Then you don’t have eyes, do you?”

  “Don’t be rude, Cassian,” said the child. “She’s just a priestess. It’s not her fault the nobles—”

  “She talks like the nobles.”

  “Well, nobles are allowed to become priestesses if they want.”

  Cassian eyed Ioanna warily. “Is that true? You’re a noble?”

  “My family,” said Ioanna. “But I don’t agree with them on many things.” She waited for the pain to hit her, but it did not. It was all technically the truth. “I wish I could do more to help you.”

  “We’re all right,” said the child, which was also a lie but a soft one. “It’s the priestesses of Reygmadra we have to watch out for. If they see you, they’ll bring you in to help the soldiers—taking care of horses, carrying things, or doing the washing.”

  “What is the Temple of Pemele doing to help you?” asked Ioanna. Orphans ought to fall under their jurisdiction, not the Temple of Reygmadra’s.

  “The priestesses are nice, but they warn you if you go to their temples for help. They warn you that if you stay, you might get taken, and they can’t do anything about it. Some children decide it’s worth it. We didn’t think so.”

  “I’m sorry,” murmured Ioanna again, and it felt so pathetic and inadequate against everything she’d just been told. “I didn’t know.”

  “The priestesses of Pemele are nice,” the child said encouragingly. “Right, Cassian? And most of the other temples too, except Reygmadra’s. They don’t report us, and we try not to bother them.”

  “Except now,” said Vitaliya. Then perhaps sensing she was being unkind, she added, “I meant it about the oranges, though. We’ve got lots. Or, no, wait! I can wake up the fruit trees for you! Are there any nearby?”

  The child looked puzzled but nodded.

  “Lead me to them, and I’ll make them grow some fruit. It won’t last more than a few days, but it will help you.”

  “But that’s not Cyne’s blessing either,” said Cassian helplessly.

  “There’s no rule saying you have to have Cyne’s blessing to join the temple,” Otho pointed out. “That’s just the assumption most people make. But we don’t bar anyone from joining.”

  “I’ve got Eyvindr’s blessing, but you can’t hug a plant,” said Vitaliya. “Or maybe you can if it’s big enough. But it’s not the same.” She leaned forward and embraced her mount around the neck. “See? So much nicer.”

  The children still seemed a bit uncertain, but Vitaliya said, “Never mind that. Show me where the trees are! You need to eat something.”

  The children led them further down the road, though they refused to travel on it. Instead, they kept to the trees, ducking in and out of shadows and peeking warily ahead before continuing onward. Ioanna supposed she understood this and wondered what would be worse—being caught by soldiers or being caught by the priestesses of Reygmadra.

  How had she failed to realize things were so terrible outside the capital? She spent every day at her mother’s side, and though she was concerned about the war draining their resources, she’d never had the slightest inkling things had come to this. Someone…someone ought to have said something.

  Did her mother know things were this bad? Did her father? She might believe her father hadn’t known, for he was so seldom at home. But her mother had no such excuse. Unless the nobles had been deliberately keeping it from her, for fear that implying the war was having adverse effects on their people would provoke her ire.

  Or perhaps she knew but did not care.

  “Oh, very nice!” cried Vitaliya happily, pulling Ioanna out of her thoughts. Ioanna realized she was peering into the trees. She watched as Vitaliya got down from her mount and walked into the woods.

  “What is it?” asked Ioanna.

  “Fig trees. See those big leaves? That’s how you can tell. There’s a whole grove of them deeper in.”

  Now that Vitaliya mentioned it, the leaves were a little odd, but Ioanna would have never noticed it on her own.

  “Be careful,” said Ioanna. “Don’t, don’t drain yourself.”

  “I’ll be all right.” But then she paused, considering. “I’ll have to go more slowly than I usually do and put less magic into each plant. They’ll take longer to give fruit, but they’ll have more in the end.”

  “I’ll go with her,” Ioanna said to Otho. “Just…in case.” It was not that she mistrusted the children, for attacking them now would be the most foolish decision the group could make. But Vitaliya just seemed like the sort of person who needed looking after. There was no telling what she might do if impulse struck her.

  Ioanna tied her horse and the one Vitaliya abandoned to the wagon, leaving Otho there on the road. Hopefully, if any travelers passed by, Otho would be able to think up an explanation for why they’d stopped.

  She tried to step carefully, avoiding large stones that might cut her sandals and branches that might trip her, but she was unaccustomed to moving through such dense greenery. By the time she caught up to Vitaliya, she was already pressing her hands onto the trunk of the nearest tree.

  But this time she did not remain at the tree for long before she removed her hand, still glowing green, and pressed it to the next tree, and then the next, and the next. Within minutes, Ioanna could see the start of new growth in the branches. Little green bulbs would soon darken to purple.

  The children all began to shout eagerly, and Vitaliya laughed. She took a step backward but stumbled, and Ioanna rushed forward to catch her. Vitaliya laughed again like she was drunk.

  “I think I’m out of magic now!” she cried. “I hope we don’t have to fight a…a something. Something that hates plants. What hates plants?”

  “Come on. You can rest in the wagon,” said Ioanna.

  “With the chickens!” But Vitaliya sounded excited rather than disgusted. “They’re so nice.”

  “I suppose,” said Ioanna, who had no real opinion on this.

  The children followed them back to the road but seemed reluctant to step out of the trees.

  “She’s fine. Just drained,” Ioanna reported to Otho. Vitaliya pulled free of her and climbed awkwardly into the wagon.

  “Wait. Let me put down a blanket first—” began Ioanna, but Vitaliya had already collapsed onto the dirty wooden slats. Her eyes were already closed, but one of her arms curled around a chicken.

  “Is she all right?” called one of the children.

  “She’ll be fine. She just needs to rest,” explained Ioanna. Did none of them have magic of their own? She supposed they must not, or they’d have gone to the temples instead of living out here. She pulled one of the blankets out and draped it over Vitaliya. Then she took as many of the oranges as
she could carry and brought them back over to the group.

  “Now, be careful in the next few days,” Ioanna advised. “The priestesses of Reygmadra might come back this way.” She wished she could do more for them, but her Truthsayer magic was worthless in this situation. Could she bring them to Oredia? No. A gaggle of children would raise countless questions and might cause people to look more closely at Ioanna and Vitaliya.

  Ioanna told herself she had to be rational. If she was captured now, she would never be able to help these children as empress—or anyone like them. For she knew for certain these children weren’t the only ones who had been forced to turn to banditry to survive. If they’d made it for this long, they could probably survive a few more weeks.

  She hoped they could.

  With great reluctance they moved on, leaving the would-be bandits behind, but the matter weighed on Ioanna’s mind. Did her mother know about this? Did any of the nobles? First the abandoned villages, and now this. Someone had to know what was happening outside the capital.

  The Temple of Reygmadra always spoke as though freedom was the most important thing in the world, and the only way to ensure it was with military might. But what about the freedom of those children? They’d been forced into banditry when their parents had been drafted, and they’d likely be drafted too if they were caught. Was that freedom?

  She could visualize Archpriestess Seia’s sneer and her response. More proof that Iolar’s followers hate freedom. No, that was unfair of Ioanna. Seia could make better arguments. She would probably say the children could earn their freedom through military service, and it wasn’t the Temple’s fault they’d chosen to hide away.

  Vitaliya remained sound asleep in the wagon, so still she might have been dead. Ioanna had no idea how anyone could sleep with the road so badly maintained, but Vitaliya did not stir.

  Ioanna had never run out of magic before—at least, not by accident. There was never much reason to use her blessing for prolonged periods of time, and detecting lies did not seem to drain her the way actively conjuring shields did. The priests had forced her to drain herself once, though, just so she could see what it felt like. When she was about nine years old, she’d held a shield for hours while Archpriest Lailus read to her from a book to keep her entertained.

  The exercise had not been done out of sadism nor scientific curiosity. The priests insisted she must know, for her own safety, what it felt like to become drained of magic. It had taken a very, very long time, but gradually the world had grown quiet, and Ioanna realized Archpriest Lailus’s voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere far away even though he sat directly in front of her. When she tried to step forward, she’d stumbled, and the world had tilted. This was what being drained was like, Lailus explained to her. And if she ever felt this way again, she must stop whatever she was doing and rest. If she carried on for too much longer, her life would be in danger.

  It was rare for someone to die of overusing magic, but it did happen occasionally. Every temple had an anecdote about some foolish young person who had only wanted to prove they were more powerful or talented than their mentors. They would feel the drowsiness come on but convince themselves they could hold out for just a little longer. Soon the drowsiness would turn to searing pain, and by then it would be too late.

  Ioanna looked at Vitaliya again. It was hard to tell, given the movement of the wagon, but she was still breathing. No doubt she had been just as carefully trained as Ioanna herself—if not more so—and underwent the same exercise as a girl, pulling up crops at accelerated speeds or making flowers bloom until she grew too tired to continue, followed by a stern warning to never forget the feeling.

  Ioanna knew that if Vitaliya was not crying out in pain, she would be fine after she rested.

  Still, it was very quiet without her around. Ioanna had nothing to distract her from her own thoughts and how dreadfully useless she felt. The Xytan people were faring badly, and there was nothing she could do to help them. Not in the way Vitaliya could.

  The only thing Ioanna’s magic was good for was frightening people.

  Chapter Six

  VITALIYA

  “What’s the matter with this one?”

  The words, harsh and far too loud, pulled Vitaliya out of her sleep. For a moment, she wondered where she was and why her back hurt so badly, and then she remembered. She’d fallen asleep in the wagon.

  “She drained herself” came Otho’s voice from a little further off. “Earlier today. Dealing with an injured horse. We’re letting her rest until…”

  “I’m alive!” Vitaliya opened her eyes and sat upright, nearly smashing her forehead against the woman leaning over her. It was only the other woman’s quick reflexes that saved them from collision. “Oh! No! I’m so sorry!”

  The woman, Vitaliya realized, was a priestess of Reygmadra, dressed in a short red robe over padded leather armor. Vitaliya decided to try to smile. The woman did not smile back. Instead, she turned away from the wagon and said, “Remember what I’ve told you.”

  “I will,” promised Otho. “Good evening.”

  For it was evening with the sun sinking low in the sky. Had she slept the entire day? She’d never drained herself so completely before, not even when she’d gone to the farms. There had always been priests and guards there to keep an eye on her to make sure she didn’t overexert herself.

  She felt fine now, but running out of magic was never fun. At least she’d managed to help those children.

  Vitaliya looked back at the priestess, but the woman walked away, either satisfied or just too irritated to ask any further questions. She watched as the woman moved further down the road where a second priestess on horseback and another saddled horse were waiting. Within moments, they were gone.

  “That was unexpected,” murmured Otho. “I didn’t think we’d see more of them.”

  “Those weren’t the ones you met earlier?” asked Ioanna in an equally soft voice.

  “No, and I’m glad for that. They’d have known I didn’t have two acolytes yesterday.”

  “What happened?” mumbled Vitaliya. “I missed everything. I missed the whole day.”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t think they suspected anything,” said Ioanna. “They came up on us so quickly that I didn’t have time to wake you. Are you rested now, or do you want to go back to sleep?”

  “I don’t know.” Vitaliya paused. “I suppose I’m rested. Or rested enough to weave us some beds.”

  “You don’t have to do that. We’re going to reach a town within the hour,” said Otho. “We’ll stop there for the night. If we’re lucky, we might reach Oredia by tomorrow night. If not, then certainly the day after.”

  Vitaliya got up and jumped down over the side of the wagon. Her horse had been tied to it, and she went to set it free. “Warm food?” she said. “I would die for warm food.”

  “I’m sure they’ll give us some, if we ask,” said Otho.

  “I don’t want to ask. I want to pay for it,” said Vitaliya. “I feel bad just taking things, especially since times are so difficult.” If only she hadn’t left her coin purse behind when they’d fled! She had enough gold to revolutionize the entire region or perhaps bring it to ruin through inflation.

  “Don’t worry. These people are accustomed to sharing with traveling priests. We pay them back through our service. I do not keep track of how many animals I tend to, and they do not keep track of how many loaves of bread they give away. All will right itself in the end.”

  “If you’re certain.” Vitaliya glanced at Ioanna. She could tell the other princess was equally mistrustful of this philosophy. It certainly sounded nice, but Vitaliya had grown up in a world of paper, charts, and taxes, no matter that she’d done her best to keep away from all three. A kingdom could not run itself on goodwill. There would always be someone waiting to take advantage.

  Her back was sore and stiff after spending so many hours asleep in the wagon. So she decided to walk rather than ride, leading her
horse for when her legs grew tired. For now, though, she enjoyed stretching her limbs, and the wagon moved slowly enough that she could keep up easily.

  The town wasn’t too much larger than the last one had been. The residents greeted Otho in the way Vitaliya was growing accustomed to. Otho introduced the princesses as Floriana and Lucia again, prompting Vitaliya to wonder what might happen if she simply remained with Otho and went on being Floriana for the rest of her life.

  Well, that probably wouldn’t be allowed because the Temple of Cyne would learn about her sooner or later, and then someone would look at the books and realize there wasn’t an acolyte named Floriana in Xytae—or if there was, she hadn’t been assigned to Otho. And then the entire ruse would fall apart, and Otho would probably get in trouble because of her.

  She could still join the temple on her own time, but joining officially seemed so permanent and intimidating. It was more fun to pretend because then she had the option to run away once things became too difficult.

  Vitaliya looked over at Ioanna, who appeared as uncomfortable as ever under so much scrutiny. Vitaliya wasn’t sure how to tell her it would only get worse once she became empress. But then, maybe Ioanna already knew and wouldn’t appreciate the reminder.

  The town had an undedicated temple, and Vitaliya was wary at first, remembering the awful, dirty place they’d seen when they first encountered one another. But when Otho opened the doors, Vitaliya saw this temple was clean and well maintained. There was also enough ornamentation within that she could tell it had once been a Temple of Eyvindr.

  “You have a good eye,” said Otho when Vitaliya commented on this. “The Temple of Eyvindr used to have a permanent presence here. Unfortunately, as many of them have been called to work the Imperial Fields, citizens have been forced to rely on traveling priests.”

  “The Imperial Fields?” asked Vitaliya. “What’s that?”

  “Land owned by the crown, located in the south nearer to the war effort,” explained Otho. “Everything grown on those farms goes directly to the soldiers. I’ve never seen them with my own eyes, but I’ve heard they’re quite impressive in size, and at their peak grew at triple the rate of ordinary farms, until…”