Only the god and demon of obedience, the most likely to agree with each other, might say the empire is all right.
Singix Es Sun is twenty when her father begins earnestly seeking a consort for her, inviting proposals from the various islands, from the cousins of those serving on his council of avatars. But it’s the empire of Aharté that answers.
On the shore of the mainland, a two-day sail from the northernmost island, a great party of miran and priests arrives. They camp there at their southernmost steeple, arrayed with flags and pennants, and an envoy in a burnt-brown mask waits. It seems they wait for seven days straight, though probably several of them trade off with the mask shared between them.
When the Ceres captain allows the envoy and eight soldiers onto his flagship, the envoy speaks in crisp Ceres and immediately claims that it would be to the benefit of the islands to accept the offer of the Vertex Seal to marry into his family rather than face the inexorable momentum of the empire’s conquest.
Though it is known—isn’t it?—that the power of Aharté does not cross the sea, that assurance isn’t necessarily enough of a reason to gamble your entire nation of islands. Especially when you have a daughter who will make an acceptable trade.
The Ceres Remnants welcome the empire onto their third island. The envoy is feasted and traipsed around, and when he leaves it is with a proclamation from the king that the Remnants will welcome a personal proposal from the Vertex Seal.
It comes in the form of a letter, which is delivered to Singix without being opened.
Even as far north as Moonshadow, I have heard of your encounter with the demon of beauty. We do not have such beings here, but the god we do have, Aharté, I strive to meet every day, in every breath.
It is not the opening of his letter, nor the end, but part of the middle when Lyric mé Esmail His Glory attempts to woo, which is not an inclination he is naturally prone to. But Singix reads it, and considers it, and thinks this is a man she can appreciate. A partner she might be able to love, and create a better world with. A man worth the terror of leaving home never to return.
Because to her the nights she spent missing when she was six, when she met the demon of beauty and earned her unearned epithet, were inexplicable. Ephemeral, awesome, terrifying. To seek such a vibrating moment with every breath seems a thrilling way to live.
She leaves her home island with hope, a book of devotions hand-transcribed, and that first letter written by the Vertex Seal himself. It is a prayer, and a promise.
For a little bit, in the hope and fear of pre-wedding nerves, in the touch of an apostate, in the laughter of a god’s mistress and friends, Singix understands what it means to breathe with god.
She would have been a wonderful queen.
Apostasy
Iriset has never worked so quickly in her entire life as she does that night.
Sidoné argues vehemently against the scheme, but Her Glory says, “What will happen if we reveal this? War, at best. Devastation, heartbreak, and a murdering viper able to flee in the wake of their success at worst.Pluswar. Better to hold this secret and use the shake of confidence it will give the culprit to root them out. Investigate, do not let them think they won. There will be murder—the murder of a mere handmaiden—to use to our advantage. But we will still have bait. It is a good plan.”
“You want me to die,” Iriset says, but Sidoné talks over her, through gritted teeth:
“And your tool will be free and roaming and married to your brother!”
“I can’t marry the Vertex Seal!” Iriset cries.
Both Amaranth and Sidoné hush her.
Iriset grits her teeth and interrupts, “Even if I do this, we would only have two days until the marriage. A craftmask to fool from a distance is one thing, but a craftmask to fool sointimately has never been done. Not since the Apostate Age! It would requirerealhuman architecture. Changing my face, my hair, my eyes. Not a mask that can be removed, or a single body part or inner system reworked, but anentirephysiological transformation! I—”
“Can you?” Amaranth asks, still holding her gaze upon Sidoné.
“Yes,” Iriset says because she is, after all, prideful, “with time, but—”
Amaranth turns, leaning over her, and says with extreme calm, “Let me take this choice from your hands, kitten. You will do as I command, or I will swear that you murdered Singix, and reveal that you are Silk. Never forget what you owe me.”
Shock silences Iriset, and her heart pounds so viciously her ears ring, blocking all other thoughts and sounds.
Her Glory holds her hard, hot gaze on Iriset’s, exactly like it would be death to glance away.
Sidoné speaks, but Iriset doesn’t hear.
“I have no choice,” Iriset says slowly. She touches her bottom lip as if surprised by the words falling from her mouth.
In that moment she believes it: She has no choice. Who would take her word over that of the Moon-Eater’s Mistress? And sheisSilk. Once the accusation is made, there would be no hiding it.
“This is madness!” Sidoné says.
