Prologue
Stories of Heresy
Seventeen Years Ago
The storm was going to tear the mansion apart. Howling, the winds drove sheets of rain, pounding the stone walls like fists. Outside, the sea threw itself on the beach, again and again, reaching for the house as if seeking to pull it in and drown it. A flash of lightning outside lit up the servants’ quarters of the Sutherland mansion, revealing, for a split second, the barefoot six-year-old girl wandering through the corridors. Though the servants’ quarters were pitch black, Poppy navigated her way deftly until she reached a door at the end of the hallway. She pushed it open tentatively.
“Nanny,” Poppy whispered as thunder shook the house, “can I sleep with you?”
Poppy’s nanny sat upright in her cot, rubbing her eyes as the sheet fell away from her. To her right, a small form stirred?—Nanny’s own four-year-old daughter, Samina.
“What are you doing down here, Poppy?” Nanny asked. “You know you’re not supposed to be in the servants’ quarters.”
“Mother said I’m too old to sleep with her.” Poppy sniffled. “She said I’m a big girl now. But I’m still scared.”
Nanny sighed and patted the left side of the cot. “Come, child.”
Poppy didn’t have to be told twice. She scrambled up into the cot, tucking herself in against Nanny’s soft, comforting body. Though her father had hired Nanny years ago with the explicit instruction to teach Poppy Welkish, sometimes, when it was just the two of them, she still spoke to her in Virian. She did so now, her rolling consonants and vowels just as comforting as her hand stroking Poppy’s hair.
“You don’t have to fear the storm, Poppy.”
“It’s so angry.” Poppy cringed at another clap of thunder. “What if Viryana sinks?”
“It will not,” Nanny said firmly. “The rains are good, a gift to the land so that things can grow. This happens every year. We’ve had storms like this as long as our people have lived on the island.”
Even though Nanny was a servant, and Poppy’s father, the Duke of Cloudcliff, was the viceroy, she didn’t view Poppy as any different from herself.Our people,she said.Virians.
“But how come the storms never destroy the island?” Poppy asked. “How have people survived so long?”
Nanny smiled, teeth bright against her warm-brown skin. “Let me tell you a story. Once, over a thousand years ago?—”
“A thousand? Was the Founder there?”
“No, child. This story takes place long before the Founder’s empire was created, before the man himself was born.”
Poppy couldn’t imagine a world before the empire, but she remained silent as Nanny continued.
“Over a thousand years ago, disasters plagued the island of Viryana. The storms raised the seas, and the skies flooded the lands, drowning the people. The volcano spewed fire and ash, burning and choking those nearby. Strong winds would catch fishermen’s boats and dash them against the rocks. The earth itself would slide in great heaps or tremble and quake, destroying whole villages at a time. All this was caused by divine energy, the restless nature of the gods.
“But the people of the island cried out to the gods and begged for mercy. All they wanted was to live on the island, to be safe and prosperous. The gods listened to the cries of the holiest few, and on them, they bestowed the gift of control over the four respective elements of water, fire, air, and earth. Those with the gift used it to tame the sea and the sky, quiet the volcano, calm the winds, and steady the earth. With control over the elements, humans were able to flourish on Viryana. Those who could control the elements were considered gods-blessed, and so the people made them maharajas and maharanis, kings and queens, whose job was to protect their subjects, who did not have power of their own.
“And so, the people of Viryana lived safely and happily, with the gods-blessed maharajas of old watching over them, for many generations.”
Poppy yawned, her fear of the storm forgotten. “Nanny, isn’t controlling the elements like doing magic? Father says magic is unnatural. He says it’sheresy.” She sounded out the last word carefully, breaking it into three:hair-is-see.
“Different people sometimes see things differently, and they may use different words to describe and explain things that are actually the same. This divine energy comes from our gods, our land; it is very much a part of nature. It only came to be called ‘heresy’ or ‘magic’ under the emperor’s rule. But for our people, ‘magic’ really isn’t bad at all?—it’s a divine gift.”
“There are no more kings in Viryana,” Poppy said. “Does that mean there’s no more divine energy?”
For a long stretch, Nanny was quiet. Poppy’s eyelids had grown heavy and had already slid shut when she heard Nanny respond. “No,” she whispered. “There are still Virians with that gift, Poppy, but many of them hide it.”
“Because it’s heresy?”
“Because the Welkish have declared it heresy,” Nanny said. “There is no gift more dangerous to them than one they cannot control. But just because they have said it is so doesn’t always mean that it is. Do you understand?”
Poppy did not respond to that; at last, sleep had pulled her under.
• • •
