“Some people would argue that the last king of Callir suffered from a terrible sickness, which led to his infamous bursts of anger and his vicious acts. The rumours said that he was very irritable, so much that he would be enraged at the slightest disturbance, though shortly after he would fall into a state of emptiness, awake yet asleep. Such stories became a taboo of sorts, because the people felt they risked justifying the king's cruelty.

-historical records of Callir”

* * *

Julia

Waiting at the southern gates with a pair of slaves, she studied the people going in and out to fight her boredom. Her holiness had sent them to greet this teacher of hers, but it seemed he was late. Thus, Julia observed the gates while she waited in front of her carriage, wishing she could simply sit down inside and rest her legs, but fearing she'd miss the man she was supposed to greet if she did so.

In truth, her eyes would wander rather than observe – but that was enough to notice some small changes in Callir. Peasants, for instance, had started to gather in town. Vigorous men with clothes covered in dirt, wearing boots that appeared to be centuries-old and riding donkeys that looked ever older. Caravans not filled with merchandise or slaves, but with free men, hurriedly jumping from the wagons and gaping in awe as they studied the square lookouts towering above the roofs of the houses. Strong kids that didn't really seem to know what to do or where to go in such a huge place, carrying canvas bags and whatnot, containing the few belongings they had, eating bread that was most likely harder than stone.

The citywatch would stop each of them at the gates, deliberately intimidating with their spears and swords. Some were clad in leather and mail, some wore shiny iron helms covering their rough, hairy faces. Some looked more like bandits and sellswords, if anything. The guards would search the nervous lads, and, sounding almost disappointed once they realised they were only penniless peasants, ushered them inside the city.

In the corner of her eye Julia noticed an old man who matched the description she was given, getting off one of the carriages that arrived just now. His hair was cropped close while his chin was hidden under a thick beard. His face was wrinkled but his eyes had no hint of fatigue, in spite of his bags and his dirtied mundane tunic suggesting his trip hadn't been much comfortable.

“Would you be... Horace?” she asked almost hesitantly as the man walked past her.

The man glanced at her and her crimson robes, then raised a brow before giving a faint chuckle. “My, it's been some time since I last saw a priestess of Xito.” His voice was coarse but his tone affectionate. “Yes, yes, my name's Horace, indeed. And you are?”

“Julia,” she said with a bow, before gesturing at the slaves to take care of the teacher's luggage. “I am sure you are tired, but her holiness awaits you.”

“Of course,” Horace said joyously, getting in the carriage at once. Julia followed, and while they made their way toward the temple, she stole a glance or two. She had been told the man was around his seventies, but he looked at least twenty years younger. It was as if his black hair had merely begun to fall around the temples, and Julia only noticed the rare greying spots in his equally dark beard because she was searching for them.

“Her holiness mentioned you used to teach her in the village,” Julia said, not sure herself whether she tried to break the ice because the silence was awkward, or because she felt intimidated.

“Yes, I did, and her brother too. Brilliant students, both of them,” he replied casually, as if unaware of what happened a few months ago. No, perhaps he truly was unaware? “I watched them as they grew up and learned how to read and write... among other things.”

Julia said nothing about Astrael, almost regretting that she brought it up. Doubtless Horace would learn about the brother's circumstances soon enough if he hadn't already – she'd rather stay silent and let the chosen explain all about her own sibling. Perhaps the old man felt the same uneasiness, because he changed the subject.

“Now that I think about it, we've met before, haven't we?”

“I...” Julia paused and thought for a bit. It could be that he saw her at the village when she accompanied Phiramel to meet the chosen, half a decade ago. But she had no memory of it – she probably never even saw his face because she was too focused on the chosen at the time, else she was certain she would have remembered him. “I believe we have, yes.”

“Hmm.” Horace nodded, before casting his gaze on the passersby in the streets. “I barely remember this city. Perhaps because the streets seem so crowded now, it's almost as if I'm visiting an entirely different place.”

So he has been here before, Julia observed. Couldn't he have found his way to the temple? Now she wasn't sure why she had to wait for him at the gates. “Many farmers left the countryside to come here,” she explained. “Most of them would have no real reason to ever come to the city during their lifetime...”

“...Yet here they are,” he replied, smiling. Indeed, here they were. Some said it was because the harvests wouldn't be that good this year, because there would be more jobs, more food, more silver to find here. “I don't see a lot of women and children,” he added.

Julia agreed with a nod. She gathered the men were indeed in search of a job, especially with his excellency's talks of war and whatnot. Since ancient times, the Callirian generals would often recruit the infantry's soldiers among peasants. They believe they're used to physical exertion, and that they can live with little food and bad weather without complaining. They often said that a legion comprised of already hardened peasants was less likely to give into mutiny during difficult campaigns, though Julia wouldn't know how true that was. But surely enough, even the regular citizens of Callir would have to get used to harsh conditions, now. With the trade between house Danalion and the Vierans gone, and the preparations for war, there was less food destined to the commoners these days. Can't say the same for the highborn families, though, she thought as her eyes spotted two palanquins in an alley. She would have forgotten about it a second later, if something hadn't caught her attention.

The carriers looked oddly familiar... So did the guards watching out for anyone who'd want to get somewhat close. Perhaps she had already seen these people in the temple? The balding man in leather, for instance, was the spitting image of Carius, the high-priest's new bodyguard. Uncanny.

Too uncanny, in fact. Frowning and squinting her eyes, Julia twisted her neck and bent to the side so that she could keep on watching. The curtains of both palanquins were closed and while there was no sigil on the first one, there was no mistake regarding the other. It was the Feanir crest. Now she recalled the faces of the carriers – she had seen them at the Feanir estate. They were Timenon's carriers, yes. They were the ones who helped him move around the house when he felt too sick and too weak, and they were also the ones carrying his palanquin on the rare occasions he wanted to go somewhere in the city.

“Is something the matter?” Horace inquired, almost startling Julia. His watchful eyes only helped to make her more uneasy than she already was.

“No,” she simply said with a forced smile, as the two palanquins disappeared behind the corner of a building. There was no room for doubt. One belonged to Timenon Feanir, the other was probably Phiramel's... Why would they hide in some back alley, as if they were afraid of being seen? Something felt wrong. I should ask Leon about this, she thought, even though she knew the tension between the high-priest and the noble family was playing an important part in her nervousness and her worries.

They eventually arrived in front of the temple. Before entering, Horace took a moment to gaze at the mighty pyramid, then faced the other side of the plaza to observe the sanctuary of Atharemine, grey and cold as ever among the warm sand-coloured streets. Just like the newly arrived peasants wandering around the gates because they had nowhere to sleep in Callir, the people who were used to sleeping here probably had little experience of comfort. The windows of the sanctuary seldom had glass or curtains, or any sort of way to fight against the winter nights. The unstoppable breeze was certainly welcome in summer – not so much in winter, during which the guests of Atharemine would improvise with rags and wooden planks to block the wind, when they had any.

The slaves carried Horace's belongings to his new chambers, while Julia led him upstairs, walking in front until they reached her holiness' floor. Once again, Julia gave Horace a stealthy glance. He looks like he barely broke a sweat. Entirely different from the deceased Therenus and his notoriously aching bones, or even the high-priest these days. Even Phiramel couldn't defend against the curse of ageing, and his health seemed to have degraded alongside his usual soundness of mind. Yet Horace stood straight with his chin held high and his chest stuck out, like a tireless athlete.

They were stopped by the bloodsguard in front of Rina's room. Leon stepped forward, with a faint but noticeable limp that would probably follow him for the rest of his life, and had Horace searched by his men. Behind strands of silky hair, his once charming and handsome features felt somewhat hard and cold nowadays. Maybe it was just Julia's imagination.

“The captain of the bloodsguard,” Horace observed once they were done, scratching his dark beard. “Lord Feanir's son, I presume?” The knight nodded, and Julia introduced him as sir Leon Feanir. “How is your father?”

The bloodsguard replied in a flat tone. “He is well.”

“As expected,” said the old man with a shrug. Leon blinked and gave him a strange look, but Horace's attention was already elsewhere as he made his way inside the room. Her holiness was reading a book while she waited, her beautiful black hair falling freely on her crimson robes. She looked up and gave a small smile.

“Horace,” she greeted as she got to her feet. “Thank you for coming.”

“Your holiness,” Horace replied, bowing promptly. “You invited me, and here I am. At your service.”

“More loyal and punctual than knight Egael himself was to his beloved, if I dare say.”

Horace chuckled. “A praise I'll heartily accept, though I also fancy myself a faithful citizen, unlike our dear Egael.”

With smiling eyes, Rina motioned for the man to take a seat, and had a servant girl pour them some tea. “We have much to discuss,” she eventually said, before facing the priestess. “That'll be all, sister Julia. Thank you.”

Julia bowed and left the chambers. On her way out, she exchanged glances with Leon. They had stopped seeing each other at the Feanir estate – no longer safe there, the knight would insist, though he never said the reason. Julia guessed the quarrel with Phiramel was at fault. There could be spies there, or it could simply be that the Feanir household was tense and on edge. In any case, that obviously didn't mean they couldn't meet in the temple, in certain places and at certain hours.

Tonight, she'd simply trade her red gown for a servant's robe. Hide her face under a hood as she would sneak inside Leon's room, while his men would be guarding the chosen's door.

Servant girls visit off-duty knights all the time, she told herself. And nobody seemed to care. Though she knew that Phiramel wouldn't let that pass if he heard about Leon breaking his vows – even if her disguise worked and it looked like it was with a servant. She wasn't sure about how Rina would react, but Phiramel? There was no doubt he'd use this as an opportunity to harm the Feanir family. Julia wouldn't admit it, but she felt a thrill every time they took such a risk. Perhaps this was the reason they had both broken their vows so easily – the thrill.

But today, the thrill she felt wasn't the one she was usually looking for. It wasn't even a thrill. She couldn't help thinking about the palanquins in the alley, about the Feanir crest, about Phiramel's bodyguard. What was the high-priest trying to do by meeting with the Feanir heir in secret? Oh, she could guess, she could imagine. And what she pictured in her mind, she didn't like one bit. She knew that Leon's father and the high-priest were on bad terms, and she knew that her decision would most likely help one of them, and pose a danger to the other.

Loyalty toward the church, toward her mentor, toward a man who started acting strangely ever since he sentenced his rival Therenus to death by bleeding... Or fealty toward her feelings, toward her lover who was obviously tormented by the unclear future of his family...

She didn't need to think about it. She wasn't even fooling herself by acting like she was torn between these two sides. The moment she peered into the alley, the moment doubt and worry crept up in her mind, she had already decided she'd warn Leon about it tonight.