The King's Blood

Camnipol for the opening of the season. This was the first time of any significance that Aster had spent away from his father, and the darkness of the holding at Ebbingbaugh had taken its toll. Geder had done what he could, but he’d never had a brother and few enough friends among his peers. They’d played cards together in the dark nights. It was the nearest thing to comfort he could offer.
    Basrahip, the high priest, was in his private room. The huge man sat on a low cushion, his eyes closed in meditation. For a moment it was hard to think why the room seemed bare. It had its bed, its desk, a tall cabinet with carved rosewood and inlays of ivory and jet. The fire grate had unlit logs and tinder ready for the spark. The carpet was a deep red with a pattern of gold that seemed to undulate in the lamp’s light. But it wasn’t littered with books and scrolls. So that was the difference.
    When Geder, in the doorway, cleared his throat the big man smiled.
    “Prince Geder,” Basrahip said.
    “Lord Palliako. I’m Lord Palliako. Or Baron Ebbing-baugh. Prince means something very particular here. It’s not like in the east.”
    “Of course, of course,” Basrahip said. “My apologies.”
    Geder waved the comment away even though the man’s eyes were still closed. Geder waited, shifting from foot to foot, until it became clear that Basrahip was neither likely to open them nor send Geder away.
    “Thank you for keeping Aster for the day. The ambassador’s come and gone.”
    “We are always pleased to see the young prince,” Basrahip said.
    “Good. Anyway. Thank you.”
    “Is there more?”
    “What? No, nothing else.”
    The priest’s eyes opened, and his dark eyes locked on Geder.
    “Fine,” Geder said. He’d tested the arcane powers of the Sinir Kushku often enough. He’d known the lie wouldn’t pass. In a way, he’d been counting on it. “May I come in?”
    Basrahip gestured toward the little desk with a broad-palmed hand. Geder sat. He felt a bit like a schoolboy answering to his tutor, except that his tutors hadn’t ever sat cross-legged on the floor.
    “Last year?” Geder began. “When we were in court, and you would tell me if someone was lying? That was very useful to me. When the ambassador came, it was a thing where if you had been there and could have told me what he meant, it would have… it would have helped.”
    “The power of the Righteous Servant burns through the lies of this fallen world,” Basrahip said, as if he were agreeing.
    “I know that the temple is your work, and I don’t want to take you from it… I mean I do, but I don’t.”
    “You wish the aid of the goddess,” Basrahip said.
    “I do. But I’m not comfortable asking. Do you see how that is?”
    Basrahip laughed. It was a rich sound, and filled the air like a thunderstorm. The high priest rose from the floor with the strength and grace of a dancer.
    “Prince Geder, you ask for what is already yours. You gave this temple to her. You brought her out of the wild and returned her to the world. For all this you are beloved in her sight.”
    “So it wouldn’t be too great a favor to ask?” Geder said, hope blooming in his breast.
    “It is already yours. I am your Righteous Servant. I will attend you at any time, or at all times. You need only keep the promise you made to her.”
    “Ah,” Geder said. “And which promise is that?”
    “In each city that comes beneath the power of your will, grant her a temple. It need not be so great as this. Do this for her, and I will never leave your side.”
    The relief was like putting cold water on a burn. Geder smiled.
    “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that,” he said. “Really. I’m really not cut out for court life.”
    The priest laid a huge hand on his shoulder and smiled gently.
    “You are, Prince Geder. So long as your Righteous Servant is with you, you are.”

Clara Kalliam, Baroness of Osterling Fells
     
    W
    inter was a different thing for men. She’d seen it for years. Decades now, and there was a thought. Decades. With autumn came the close of court, the ending of all the season’s intrigues and duels and political wrestling. The great houses folded up their belongings, put cloths over their furniture to keep the dust away, and returned to the lands that supported them. For a month or two, the lords worked their holdings. The tribute of the farmers and potters and tanners accepted in their name and absence were accounted. The magistrates