Othrik lifted his chin. “It is important that the Vaich demonstrate his measure in the siring of children. The matter of the male druid makes your display all the more pertinent.”
Skyre gripped the armrests. “Then go speak with the Moon and renegotiate mybride.”
“Skyre,” Medhin scolded. “Othrik is right. The Moon Consort is not like queens of the past. However, the unionmustbe properly executed. Thus, you will treat it with due respect. After some time, we will consider the pursuit of outside matches—suitable courtesans who can bear the Vaich’s seed forth.”
“This is a fool’s charade,” Skyre grumbled.
“It is the lot we were given. We will proceed as the gods have ordained.”
“Ordained,” he repeated, bitterly. What they wanted couldn’t be more uncertain, but what he knew was this: if the gods had wished him a wife, they would have sent him a woman.
The An’Atherin’s façade was nothing more than wishful thinking. He could see it in their eyes.Fear.The prospect of all the world shifting beneath their feet.
“Then let us discuss the nature of the marriage,” said Othrik. “It is not to be ignored the bride’s…conviction.The An’Atherin will not recognize the heathen as a worthy spouse until some conditions have been met.”
Skyre said, “You speak of divine mandate, then question the woodwalker’s faith?”
“The druid is a heretic unblessed by the fires of the Sun. If he will not recognize Æon’Righ as king of gods, then he is an affront to these halls!”
“It is because of thegodswe are in this mess!” shouted Skyre.
The priest’s face reddened, but before he could argue, a figure stepped out from the shadow.
“MightIoffer some solution?” It was Hirí, the Nytherim’s elected Speaker.
With the Oracle returned to the Augeri, the priestess was his only thread to the Moon. Skyre watched her warily, but his interest grew. “Very well,” he said, “speak.”
“The consort should be treated as Nytherí. While his devotion to the old gods proves disruptive, he may be more easily brought withinourranks.Ifhe undergoes the Luin Cáronach, his mettle shall be tested by theNight Mistress herself. And should he emerge, he will be wholly cleansed; his body made pure for the Vaich.”
“And it could just as well kill him,” Medhin rebutted. “Most who undergo the lunar trials do not survive.”
Hirí smiled. “In both cases, victory persists. If he dies during the trial, it will be a consequence of divine retribution. If he emerges, then he will be worthy of the Vaich’s bedside.”
Skyre glanced between the two women, remembering a faraway past.“Do not give idly to the Nytherim,”Medhin had told him.
And he, a boy at her hip, had asked,“But Nythis is a goddess, mustn’t she be trusted?”
“Nythis was once a woman, mortal as I. She was beloved of Æon’Righ and granted the power of prophecy. But the nature of man is fallible and must always be held to a different measure. We take care not to let the Night Mistress grow bold. While the Sun rides in glory across the sky, his bride deals in shadow.”
“You play a dangerous game,” Medhin warned the Speaker.
“If the gods will it,” said Hirí, “what right have we to refute the Chosen of the Moon?”
Skyre considered the words. If the druid lived, there would no longer be question if he was favored by the gods. Just as Æon’Righ had elevated Nythis, so too would the druid be made sacred. Yet, if he were judged and failed, he would be altogether eradicated without the fell of the blade.
He would be…
Skyre’s words crawled through a sandy throat. “Does this solution appease the An’Atherin?”
Othrik looked reluctant, his pale lips pulled taut. “We shall consider it.Ifthe druid survives.”
If.
“The trials of Nythis are no simple matter,” whispered Skyre. “It is likely we send him to a watery grave.”
A knot twisted in the pit of his stomach. To rid himself of the druid… he wished for nothing more. But as he sat with the prospect, all his bite and bark went quiet.
“Be gone,” he said to the room. One by one, they bowed and left, leaving him alone with the empty hearth.
