Chapter III

“Split it again,” Kamal said.

Floating just over the palm of Aryn’s hand were the tiny shards of a diamond. Originally they’d been just one stone, but as part of her exercise that day she’d broken them down into smaller and smaller parts. “I don’t understand,” Aryn protested to the geomancer, “What good does it do to learn this?”

“Finish the lesson, then I will explain.”

Aryn turned her attention back to the diamond shards in her hand and focused carefully on them. After a few seconds each shard split in half again. They were now little more than dust floating in the air.

Kamal brushed his curls out of his face and said, “Good good. Now, rebuild the stone.”

As Aryn stared the individual, tiny shards all pulled back together into one ball, but it was an uneven mess, and they clearly were not one stone again.

“No no no! Think about it, you broke the diamond down along the cleavage planes, weak-points that ran through the stone. Think of it like a puzzle, then.”

Aryn rolled her eyes and focused again on the diamond shards. She squinted so that she could see the edges where she’d split the diamond down into smaller parts. Slowly, she began to reassemble the original gemstone. Pieces slid together along the broken edges, piece by piece, until she had indeed fully reconstructed the stone to its original shape.

“See? Easy to take it apart, hard to put it back together.”

“I fail to see the relevance of this exercise,” Aryn said, setting the diamond down on the table. “I’m learning geomancy from you for practical reasons, not so I can perform silly little tricks.”

“True. What are the practical applications of geomancy, then, in your eyes, your grace?”

“It’s the art of moving and manipulating stone with your will, so…practical applications? Building, crafting, and fighting.”

“Those are all very practical ways to use geomancy, yes,” Kamal said, scratching his beard. “It was geomancers who built this very castle. Without geomancy building a fortress this size would have taken years, but they finished it in a fortnight. Those diamond weapons that the paladins use to protect us from demons? Made by geomancers and blessed by priests. It would be impossible to craft weapons like that any other way. As for fighting, yes, being able to throw massive stones at your enemies by sheer thought and a wave of your hand is a huge advantage in a battle. Even greater is what the geomancers did at the second battle of Ten Red pass, sixteen years ago, where they shook the earth and nearly made the pass crumble on the invading Nihilite army. But geomancy is so much more than that.” Kamal smiled, “Think about it, the Law was first written on stone, was it not?”

“It was, yes.”

“And angels, they are made of diamond, yes? The strongest of all stones.”

“True.”

“And God commands us to craft temples out of stone rather than wood or clay. Why do you suppose that is?”

“Because stone is strong.”

“Aye, indeed, but it’s more than that, your Grace. The Law was first written in stone because it was meant to be a reminder that the Law is permanent, unchanging. Had it been written on paper the ink would have faded, smeared, and the paper itself would have crumbled eventually. The Law was written on stone because it was meant to last forever, a symbol of how the Law was meant to last forever.”

“So…”

“So it is useful as an analogy.” Kamal picked up the diamond and held it in front of Aryn’s face. “A diamond is symbolic of the soul, of your soul. It’s beautiful, clear, and shines in the light. Notice, though, all of the little imperfections?” Kamal pointed out all of the little spots where different colors showed up in the diamond, “Those compromise the strength of the diamond, just as we, as human beings, are not perfect, and our imperfections compromise the strength of our souls. When you disobey the Law do you think it is the Law that breaks?” The diamond split in half in Kamal’s hand, cleanly cut along a cleavage plane, “No, it is your soul that breaks. Maybe a tiny break, maybe a major break, depending on how horrible the crime. Each time we do wrong our souls break a little more.” The diamond broke down into smaller pieces, splitting along those same cleavage planes over and over, “Until the soul is little more than dust. There’s hope, however. We can put the soul back together. We can do so by making amends for our crimes, apologizing to those who hurt us, fixing what damage we’ve done, and even by asking God to help us fix our fractured souls.” All of the pieces of the diamond began to slide back together, reassembling the original gemstone, slowly. “But that takes more time, more effort. And, if you look carefully, some pieces will be lost forever, some little bits of that soul will never be recovered, it’ll never be the same again.”

Before Aryn could finish processing this moral lesson there was a knock at the door that interrupted their train of thought. Kamal waved his hand and the marble handle on the door turned, opening it for the royal messenger, Malachi, on the other side, “Your highness,” Malachi said with a bow, “The suitors have arrived.”

“Thank you,” said Aryn, “Kamal, we’ll resume this lesson later, right now duty calls.”

Standing just outside and off to the left of the door was Milo, who followed Aryn once she'd come out into the hall. “How are the lessons going?” He asked.

“Well enough. Still think some of it is unnecessary.” Nearly every lesson Kamal tried to slip in some proverb or some preachy little message about morality. He meant well, Aryn knew that, but she had priests to teach her morality, she went to Kamal to learn magic.

“From what I can tell you learn fast,” Milo said, “Kamal says he's never had a student like you.”

“That's not always a compliment.”

“It was in this case. He says you're brilliant. Learned in weeks what most people take months, in years what most people take decades.”

She could hear it in his voice again, an emotion that could only be described as pride. Her bodyguard was proud of her. It made sense, in a way, with her father having died when she was just a girl Milo was one of a handful of men in her life who had been like a father to her, and Milo more than most. From what Aryn heard, Milo used to hold her when she was a baby, feed her and change her, tasks more typical for a wet nurse than a bodyguard, especially since he was also her mother's bodyguard at the time.

Sarahi met Aryn and Milo in the hall and walked with them, “The suitors arrived a little earlier than I expected,” said Sarahi.

“Have you seen any of them?” asked Aryn.

“I have.”

“And...?”

“And what?”

“I think she's asking how they looked,” Milo said.

“Oh. Well, one or two were handsome, I guess,” Sarahi shrugged, “Bear in mind that looks-”

“Aren't everything,” Milo jumped in.

“Says the woman who married a man whom everyone always tells me was one of the most handsome men alive,” said Aryn.

“Well, yes, your father was strapping,” Sarahi exchanged a glance with Milo and both nodded, “But that's not why I married him.”

“Right, that marriage was arranged,” said Aryn, “Still can't imagine it was terribly unpleasant.”

“No, I was happy with him,” Sarahi said, “But not because he was handsome, because he was good to me. Because he was unselfish, kind, and always put me first.”

“Do I have a deadline to choose a husband?” Aryn asked.

“Well...yes and no...” Sarahi replied.

“Ah. Well, thank you for clearing that up.”

Milo laughed and chimed in, “What your mother means is, technically there's not a set date by which you need to 'have a husband or else', but at the same time the longer you wait the more anxious the Council and the nobility will get. They expect you to make heirs at some point, and to do that you need a husband. It's kind of hard to do on your own.”

“But in your case you get to pick one,” Sarahi said.

Finally they came to the throne room, where all of the suitors and their bodyguards waited. Each suitor had at least three bodyguards and attendants. One attendant for each suitor was carrying a banner representing the noble house or foreign land the suitor came from. Acquiring the land of Nihilus and, by extension, its iron mines had made Arx more prosperous than ever before, so everyone wanted to secure an alliance with them, and a marriage alliance was the most solid alliance one could form.

Standing near the throne were the advisers, learned men and women whom Sarahi had hired to help Aryn, as she was still a young queen. Aryn took her seat upon the throne, Milo standing on her left and Sarahi on her right, and the first suitor approached. He was a boy of only thirteen, at the oldest, with short, curly black hair and freckles across his nose. His eyes were big and colored like bronze, and his clothes were purple with red and gold trim. Even for a boy of thirteen he was short, tiny really. For a moment, Aryn thought maybe he was a messenger for one of the suitors, or a squire, but all of his attendants and bodyguards wore clothes less expensive than his. His family's banner was a golden chalice, full of purple wine that was spilling over the edge. The man who held the banner was around Aryn's age, with short red hair, a muscular build, and a very handsome face. He noticed Aryn's eyes lingering on him and gave her a brief wink. Why couldn't that young man be the prince instead of the boy before her?

“Your Grace,” the boy began, “I am Prince Paolo of the city of Uvino, second son of King Gianni.” A prince from the city-states in the West. Aryn suspected there would be many suitors from the western cities. He was nervous as he spoke. While Aryn was not really impressed with him she couldn't help but feel some affection for the kid. Sure, he was only two years younger than her, but at that age two years and short stature make all the difference. In her eyes he was a child, a dear and adorable one, but a child nonetheless. Surely she could not be expected to marry him. One of the attendants handed Paolo a large bottle of wine, and he held the bottle out to Aryn. “Oh beautiful queen, please accept this gift as a sign of our friendship, and as a sign of our wealth. The city of Uvino was built around a great vineyard, where the sweetest grapes in all the world grow, and we make the finest wine.” The words were rehearsed, it was easy to tell.

“Thank you, Prince Paolo. I feel that any woman would be most fortunate to be your wife, and I also pray that even if we do not become man and wife that we may be friends.” Aryn accepted the wine and gave Paolo a friendly smile, to which he blushed and looked away.

Once Paolo and his entourage had left, Sarahi whispered to Aryn, “I know he's hardly the sort of man you'd be interested in...”

“Boy,” Aryn corrected her.

“Boy, yes. But he comes from a rich family, which could help our kingdom to prosper. What's more, a timid boy like that won't try to control you and rule the kingdom through you.”

Aryn had to admit these were valid points. She would like to think that when she got married she'd at least have SOME feelings for her husband, but she had to think about strategy as well. What was good for the kingdom? Would it not make sense for her to pick a husband she was unlikely to ever love to help the kingdom thrive?

The next suitor soon approached, his banner a bear bowing to a many-pointed star. The star was the symbol of the Agalmite God. This suitor was a strange contradiction of brutish, masculine strength and almost feminine grooming. He was a tall and very strong man, with soft blonde hair in braids, clad in the furs of foxes, minks, and bears. He smelled of flowers as he approached, and when he spoke his voice was so deep Aryn could feel it in her chest. “I am Eilert, your highness, son of Queen Haldis of Shadia.” Shadia was the vast, cold land north of Arx. The land was so brutal that the people who lived there had to be very strong to survive. Most were giants, like the young prince standing before Aryn. “My mother has sent me here to request your hand, and she offers you this gift.” Eilert reached into the furs wrapped around him and pulled out a short sword. Immediately Milo drew his own diamond-bladed claymore and pointed it at the barbarian prince.

Eilert held the sword carefully by the blade and extended the handle to Aryn, who cautiously took it and looked it over. Milo put his sword away once he realized that Eilert was not threatening the Queen. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the metal or the make, it was a pretty standard blade, really.

“If we are wed,” Eilert continued, “Your enemies will be mine. That's what that blade means. Anyone who threatens you will taste my steel.”

“Thank you, Prince Eilert.” Really it was all Aryn could say. She felt more than a little intimidated by the giant barbarian who towered over her. Admittedly, though, that fear was mixed with a level of desire. There was something appealing, even sexy about this terrifying giant.

Eilert bowed his head, and then turned and left with his entourage in tow.

“Did you hear him say that he was the son of Queen Haldis?” Sarahi whispered. “Notice he didn't say 'second son,' he's the heir to the throne. If you marry him our two kingdoms will be joined as one.”

“Can't imagine I'd be the one in charge,” Aryn whispered back. Her heartbeat slowly returned to a normal pace. “He doesn't strike me as someone who'd share power with his wife.”

The next suitor approached. Judging by his clothes this one was from Arx, not another foreign prince. He was in his early twenties, and stood just a head taller than Aryn, with short black hair and bright green eyes. “My name is Shiloh, your grace, third son of Count Tovi of Matanah.” Matanah was one of the counties in the Duchy of Nihilus. Strategically it would make sense to form a strong marriage alliance with Count Tovi, it would allow her to keep a closer eye on what was going on there and ensure the Count's fierce loyalty.

One after another the suitors paraded by, most of them local nobility, like Shiloh, but a few others foreign princes. Each time a local noble presented himself, Aryn had to think “Will marrying this one create factions and possibly cause a civil war?” and each time a foreign prince presented himself Aryn had to think “Will marrying this one encourage a foreign kingdom to try to rule over us?” When a handsome or charming suitor approached Aryn had to wonder if she could trust him. When an unattractive or off-putting suitor approached she wondered if she could really handle spending her life with him. This one was a brave warrior, but perhaps a bit of a war-monger as well. That one was peaceful and kind, but perhaps a bit of a coward or a bit weak. There was no rule saying she had to make her choice that day, indeed she was probably expected to take some time to make this decision, but even as each suitor who paraded in front of her tried to present himself as better than the last one, each one spoke ever more flattering words, she realized that the longer she waited the more this verbal arms-race would escalate. She wasn't sure how long she could stomach their honeyed words and false smiles.

Once every suitor had presented himself Aryn stood from the throne and cleared her throat. The whole room went silent, waiting to hear what she would say. “I have come to a decision regarding the one I shall marry,” every suitor in the room, along with his entourage, waited on her words. The more handsome ones puffed out their chests and pushed their shoulders back, as if trying to remind her of how good-looking they were. She did all she could to restrain herself from rolling her eyes or even laughing at them.

Sarahi wanted to interrupt Aryn, warn her to hold off on making such a major decision, but to cut her off and reprimand her, especially in front of all of these strangers, would be a political disaster, one far worse than Aryn was likely about to cause herself. Sarahi braced herself for her daughter's decision.

Aryn let them all wait and stare a few moments longer, each suitor hoping it would be him, some of them certain it would be, and then she took a deep breath and said, “Prince Paolo of Uvino.”