courtiers beside the pools, but today she was closeted with advisors. But as he followed the winding, marjoram- and laurel-lined paths toward the center of the garden, he spotted a flash of red through a trellis. Curiosity drew him on, but he paused as he recognized the figure seated beside the pond.
The sanguine sweep of skirts belonged to Ahmar Asalar, keeper of the temple apiaries and personal secretary to the high priestess of the Unconquered Sun. Not someone he expected to find lounging in the gardens. Samar had said nothing of a meeting with her. He would have retreated to learn more, but the Asalar’s companion glanced up at his footfalls. He walked on, unstumbling, and came face-to-face with the priestess.
“Lord al Seth.” The Asalar smiled, as sleek and lovely as ever despite the heat. She was a tall, long-limbed woman with grace that rivaled Samar’s. The gilt-edged scarlet of her formal robes was too strong for her complexion, but her bright eyes and arching dark brows kept her from being washed out. More than faith brought crowds to the temple yard when Ahmar offered the honey alms.
“Your Radiance. An unexpected pleasure.” He bowed over her offered hand; incense clung to her skin and robes as well. The combination of perfume and the sun’s heat left him light-headed.
Ahmar’s hands bore the marks of her office: ink-stained nails and knuckles swollen with bee stings, as well as the blood-black ruby and honey-colored topaz in her rings. Ash streaked her fingers, smudged his skin in turn. At her touch he felt strength and quiet power—sanctity, the church would say, the Sun’s blessing. Asheris suspected it was merely a talent for magic turned inward with meditation. He also felt the usual frisson of being in the presence of the church; if the priests knew his true nature he would be banished or worse, and all who sheltered him cast out as heretics.
Another scarlet figure stood behind her, this one veiled and armed. The Khajirite Order—red pilgrims, they were more often called—was the strong sword-arm of the church. They guarded powerful clergy and poor faithful alike, and protected distant villages from the threat of demons or hungry spirits. And, more rarely, they gathered to serve the Illumined Chair’s will, a fierce red army that gave even imperial generals pause. This pilgrim stood silently with her hands clasped, but the sword-hilt at her shoulder and ivory-hilted jabiya in her belt spoke eloquently enough.
For one Khajiri to attend the Asalar was nothing unusual, except that Ahmar had visited the palace many times with far less deadly accompaniment.
“I came to speak to the empress,” Ahmar said, “but found her otherwise engaged. So now I wait.”
“Is there anything I can do to help, Your Radiance?”
“I’m afraid not, unless you wish to add your voice to our cause.”
For over a year, the church had petitioned the empress for a grant of land. Such gifts weren’t uncommon—the church owned farmland and forests and salt mines, the profits of which allowed it to thrive. This time, however, the Illumined Chair wanted part of the southern border, in the jungles of Iseth. Rich land, and well positioned to bring in new followers, which in turn meant fresh funds.
It would also mean more imperial troops needed to protect the new temples, and fresh unpleasantness with the native tribes. Samar had promised a halt to expansion when she took the throne, less money spent on war and fewer soldiers dying far from home. After three generations of emperors eager to expand their realm it was a welcome change, especially to poor families whose children swelled the army’s ranks.
Asheris had no desire to see the Unconquered Sun drive any more spirits from their homes. If the church’s power grew, the Fata would wither as dry and lifeless as the Sea of Glass.
“Mine is not a voice Her Majesty would give weight to in such matters,” he said. The taste of smoke and spices coated his
The sanguine sweep of skirts belonged to Ahmar Asalar, keeper of the temple apiaries and personal secretary to the high priestess of the Unconquered Sun. Not someone he expected to find lounging in the gardens. Samar had said nothing of a meeting with her. He would have retreated to learn more, but the Asalar’s companion glanced up at his footfalls. He walked on, unstumbling, and came face-to-face with the priestess.
“Lord al Seth.” The Asalar smiled, as sleek and lovely as ever despite the heat. She was a tall, long-limbed woman with grace that rivaled Samar’s. The gilt-edged scarlet of her formal robes was too strong for her complexion, but her bright eyes and arching dark brows kept her from being washed out. More than faith brought crowds to the temple yard when Ahmar offered the honey alms.
“Your Radiance. An unexpected pleasure.” He bowed over her offered hand; incense clung to her skin and robes as well. The combination of perfume and the sun’s heat left him light-headed.
Ahmar’s hands bore the marks of her office: ink-stained nails and knuckles swollen with bee stings, as well as the blood-black ruby and honey-colored topaz in her rings. Ash streaked her fingers, smudged his skin in turn. At her touch he felt strength and quiet power—sanctity, the church would say, the Sun’s blessing. Asheris suspected it was merely a talent for magic turned inward with meditation. He also felt the usual frisson of being in the presence of the church; if the priests knew his true nature he would be banished or worse, and all who sheltered him cast out as heretics.
Another scarlet figure stood behind her, this one veiled and armed. The Khajirite Order—red pilgrims, they were more often called—was the strong sword-arm of the church. They guarded powerful clergy and poor faithful alike, and protected distant villages from the threat of demons or hungry spirits. And, more rarely, they gathered to serve the Illumined Chair’s will, a fierce red army that gave even imperial generals pause. This pilgrim stood silently with her hands clasped, but the sword-hilt at her shoulder and ivory-hilted jabiya in her belt spoke eloquently enough.
For one Khajiri to attend the Asalar was nothing unusual, except that Ahmar had visited the palace many times with far less deadly accompaniment.
“I came to speak to the empress,” Ahmar said, “but found her otherwise engaged. So now I wait.”
“Is there anything I can do to help, Your Radiance?”
“I’m afraid not, unless you wish to add your voice to our cause.”
For over a year, the church had petitioned the empress for a grant of land. Such gifts weren’t uncommon—the church owned farmland and forests and salt mines, the profits of which allowed it to thrive. This time, however, the Illumined Chair wanted part of the southern border, in the jungles of Iseth. Rich land, and well positioned to bring in new followers, which in turn meant fresh funds.
It would also mean more imperial troops needed to protect the new temples, and fresh unpleasantness with the native tribes. Samar had promised a halt to expansion when she took the throne, less money spent on war and fewer soldiers dying far from home. After three generations of emperors eager to expand their realm it was a welcome change, especially to poor families whose children swelled the army’s ranks.
Asheris had no desire to see the Unconquered Sun drive any more spirits from their homes. If the church’s power grew, the Fata would wither as dry and lifeless as the Sea of Glass.
“Mine is not a voice Her Majesty would give weight to in such matters,” he said. The taste of smoke and spices coated his
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