Tybraes is an unforgiving world, splintered by races at war convinced their fundamental differences far outweigh any common ground. The botanic, fey Erahs seek to remain hidden from the violent warring of the leporine Shae and the red giants, the Ganroth. When an Erahs “Blade Spirit” is found, a gifted time-bender of a lost monk order, the Nelenr, the Shae claim Khes Adaia for their own-- a weapon in their war against the Ganroth. In truth, she is a single cog in a much larger machination against the Ganroth's waking old god, Uvall, who threatens to consume them all. If the mystery of “The Motherless,” why Khes is so important, and how to kill a god is not discovered, a petty political coup will be a good day in Tybraes. They simply need more time.

Some content may be considered sensitive for some readers.

"Waters of Bitterness" | A Tybraes Cycle Short Story

Author's Note: "Waters of Bitterness" is not a chapter in "When Comes the Firetide: Emergents." It is a short story, separate from the novel. It is set prior to the first book, and the current Tybraes Cycle "When Comes the Firetide," which is set in the year 8178. "Waters of Bitterness" tells a portion of Tybraes history dating back to the year 7453. As these events are not in the novel itself (part one or two,) nor fit within the general timeline of the 'Firetide' Cycle, there are no 'spoilers' contained within the short story. It serves only as background information about the world, its history and a compelling story of some of Tybraes' legendary figures whose lives and actions helped to shape the world you know now.  Enjoy.



In Kyr 7, the Year of 7625, slavery was officially abolished throughout Tybraes. Firm laws were set by the Jaed Aonach and the Temple Omíkhlæssectia, enforced by the Advocacy and the Ganroth Kiths. In honor of this social progress, the next, and sixty-second Liturgical Era was named for the Martyr Melandre Jaed, whose story was heralded as a catalyst for change within the Aonach. History was romanticized as it was retold among Shae, Ganroth and Erahs of all ages, men and women alike. The story of the brave Jaed's daughter, who boldly spoke out against the Aonach on behalf of the last Venerate of the Jasuuk clan. The wise, exceptional young woman who fought for a people who were not her own in the name of the Goddess Naaris. She, who weilded compassion and knowledge as any knight brandishes a sword.  The story of the beautiful Martyr, who sacrificed herself to expose the viper within the Temple poisoning the wellspring of the Jaed Seat, the Aonach and the Temple itself.  It was a tale of a saint, a savior, who put her life down for the reaping to clear the curse of secret Malifica from her father's crown, thus bringing an end to Jaed Wyshard's tyranical reign of blood.

This is not that story.

- - - -

Viridian Cattedrale, Viridian Enclave
1st Som in the month of Inundation, in Kyr 7, the year 7453 of the Liturgical Era of Precisian Esseylt

Deep chiseling in the clouds gave the appearance of shattered rock. Hard granite with a rough, tumultuous surface caught the light, hid it in deep crevaces. The distortion of the day gave what ambient glow remained a sickly yellow hue, perhaps indicative of coming rain. Melandre preferred to believe it was the goddess Naaris indicating her opinion on the proceedings in the plaza below.  All the enclave was gathered to hear Jaed Wyshard speak upon the first day of the Cleansing Festival. The sky did not show signs of blessings to come. Rain, yes. Lush crops to be well-fed, yes. But the sallow cast did not speak to the Jaed's daughter of a goddess' approval. She very much doubted there would be many children bestowed upon the Shae this season.

Arms folded, she stood in one of the four large windows of the northeast tower.  The two facing east overlooked the plaza. Below her the throngs loyal to the holy seat crowded against the line of Knights awaiting word from their God-King.  When her father finally stepped out upon the balcony to address them, the sycophantic cheers churned Melandre's stomach.  For that brief moment, her lies of feeling ill rang as truth.  Half-turning away, she leaned against the stone window frame as the 'Herald of the Second Purge' raised his voice and the fur of her hide.

“Good people of Tybraes, blessings of Telloran upon you all!”

Unable to restrain her snuff of agitation, she hung her head. The arrogance, to invoke the name of Telloran in opening a festival of blessings from Naaris.

“In this apex marking the era of Precisian Esseylt, I feel we need be reminded of her struggle. We live in impious times. People have become reckless.  Laws are disregarded, devalorized. Far more egregious, the will of the gods is cast aside in favor of debauchery! ”

A sneer twitched her lip as she turned back toward the window to study the crowd. Uncommonly quiet, no cheers of agreement, or rally cries were uttered. Among the crowd she saw mostly Shae, Ganroth, beside some of these on one knee was their Erahs slave. Faint nausea echoed the disgust she felt that they would bring them here. She had no doubt most others standing about had a house stable of their own. However, they had the decency not to bring them here, to subject them to--

“Have the executions begun yet?”

Hands lowered to her hips, drew her back from the window just a step. The wave of qualm she felt had not just been her disgust. It was the Waverer as he entered the tower unseen. As the man nuzzled at her neck, she muttered, “give him time. Of course, his supporters all brought their... pets... will force them to watch.”

“Naturally. Must keep them kowtowed.”

“It is for their own amusement,” she hissed. “How can you be so dismissive?”

Jaed Wyshard's voice rose up in a roar, “we will embrace our Erahs neighbors to broker peace. However, I swear to you on this, the first of the Cleansing Festival, we will remain steadfast by Precisian Esseylt's example! The sanctity of the Temple comes above all else! The purity of the Jaed Throne sits above all others. So yes, we shall embrace, but it will not be as whores bedding away our principles in the name of a hollow peace!”

The Jasuuk wrapped his arms about her, held her tight. “I am not dismissive. You have known this all your life... all of your not yet second tenth year, yes?”  Melandre dipped her head in shame.  His nose nuzzled at her long, draping ear lobe. “I have known it centuries, and I will know it many more.  My people have known it for Kyr beyond the counting of it.”

Ashamed, feeling childish, she whispered, “I am sorry, Shon.”

Gentle hands turned her to face him.  His black eyes sparkled with an amusement she was never certain was not mockery. That he was so much older, impossibly older, yet dallied with one like a baby to him--

“You are doing it again.”

Lengths of ravenesque hair swung down in front of her face as she lowered her head. A lilac-grey hand rose to caress her cheek, his whisper husky, but earnest. “Mel... if I wanted a mere daliance, there are far less deadly beds to find such fun.”  Though he lifted her face, he kissed at her throat as his other hand roamed to grip her buttock firmly through her gown. “Freer women...” his hand slid from her face down her neck to push at the shoulder of her dress. “Less formal women...”  A pant of desire puffed her breasts as he exposed one. “Easier to see...”

With a tug, he drew her further from the window toward her chaise. “Perhaps not in the dark, my Mith'Enndrejatr,” he winked.
          (“...my little Wisp.”)

In their staggering, his fingers deftly pulled the ribbon ties to let slip the upper fold of her dress.  The neckline fell aside, without hesitation, he pushed the silk back over her shoulders. Her hands reached down, unclasped the hard leather loin-guard and tailer of his ceremonial armor. Decorative more than functional, Melandre relished the look of it, like enormous dragon scales. Under it, he had the wrapped linen skirt but no breechcloth.

“Do the other Palignr know you wear so little under your armor?” she giggled into his ear as her hands parted the folds open to caress his bare skin.

Like a dominant dance partner, he backed her up to drop onto the chaise. On his knees, he crawled forward over her with a sly grin. “It is not part of our daily inspections.”

Desirous hands took hold of her with reined passion, not too aggressive, just a reflection of her own want. He met and held her gaze as their bodies joined in a slow, focused connection. “Sylf thae'esh hal, Melandre.”
          (“I love you, Melandre.”)

“IT SHALL NOT BE TOLERATED!” Jaed Wyshard's voice bellowed out again, rising through the window in a fevered pitch higher than his previous droning. “The allowances I have given, clearly have proven to be too much freedom! NO MORE! We will begin this Cleansing Festival with a true cleansing. Before we can plant the seed of progress and conceive of bringing together Shae and Erahs--”  a brief pause preceded, “and of course Ganroth, our laws must be understood and mutually agreed. Foremost of these, we cannot as a society abide the blasphemers who would defile natural law, Temple Law and by doing in turn defile the gods themselves!”

“Het... sylf thae'esh era,” her gasped reply was hardly necessary. She had told him a dozen times.This time felt different, however. Perhaps she needed to hear herself say it.  Clutching to Shon, Melandre shut out her father's voice as best she could, focused only upon her lover. Suddenly, she heard no voice save Shon's. Felt nothing save him in the most existential way. Then, she felt his hand cover her mouth.

~Hush, Sythae... your cries will bring curious ears.~

 ~Goddess' mercy, what is this?~

All of Naaris' light filled her more fully than Shon filled her. She felt all her own sensations of lovemaking, but now felt his as well. Every part of her was intuned with him, experiencing reality in a way she feared might drive her mad with empyrean ecstasy.  Shon held to her tighter, urging her to hold the sleeve of her gown in her mouth. ~It is Elhia, Sythae... the spiritual bond shared among all Erahs.~

 ~But I am not-- The Jaed glow, father said no halfblood could-- would...~  Tears dampened the fur of her cheeks.  Shon kissed at her tears as their lovemaking slowed its fervor to a deep, slow eddy.

~Our people believe in death, the spirit of all living things moves on. Sometimes whole, sometimes it splits in pieces, sometimes scatters like mist.  Spirits who knew each other once before, or pieces of the same spirit may find one another again and form an Intrinsic Bond. When this happens, it is a sacred thing.~

 ~The ReBirth... it is real. ~ Revelations of more than their deepest sensuous connection widened her eyes.

With a proud smile, he brushed at her brow with one thumb, never ceasing the languid rock of their hips.  ~No Erahs would challenge our bond, you and I.~  Tears came to his own eyes, a joy she had not thought to see there, never one so raw.  That joy renewed his passionate fervor, elicting a gasp from her at its suddenness. It was enough to bring her to a fruition unlike any she had known before. He, too, was overcome, buried his face in a cushion to stifle his own cries.

As the bells began to toll, signifying the end of the Jaed's address, their bellow pierced through the lovers' bliss.  They were as much a death toll as a signal.  The executions began below, the cries of the crowd a mottled din of cheers, gasps, outrage and mourning.

Too unsettled by the mere knowledge of it, Melandre rose to redress.  Shon grasped her hips, pulled her back. ~We have time still. No one will be looking for either of us just yet.~  A swell of erotic desire rushed through her from him. The power of the Elhia became evident to her, how connected they had become. Yet to be tested, Melandre suspected he could bring her to orgasm without laying so much as a fingertip upon her.

If she had a fault, it was certainly indulgence. Bent to lean over the chaise back, the weight of him bowed against her was one she had never thought to enjoy, but found a comfort and arousal in now. She wondered how much of this Elhia brought his pleasure of it to mingle with hers. Heightened or influenced, what she may or may not enjoy was now a plait of mutually shared experience. Shon would never impose his will on her, a wealth of opportunities to prove he could had long past. Trusting in him, Melandre surrendered herself to another revelation of self discovery. Head hung low, she bit at her arm to stifle a whine as he kissed her neck. Which of them was the wellspring of the pleasure faded from her mind as important. The sheer bliss of it blinded her the more she immersed herself in the magnificence of the Erahs gift.  Shon tangled about her, rest upon her back as they neared their peak, both fighting to keep their voices silent. The Elhia blessed them again, but dampened their senses to the world around them, to the door that opened at the base of the tower stair.

“Teigné?”

Both bolted up with a gasp. No footsteps were yet heard in the wake of the gentle voice. Yet no chances could be taken.

~I will return. The Venerate suspects we will remain for a month or more.~  He kissed her deeply, then grabbed his armor. Taking his personal dagger from the belt, he rest it on the low shelf in the corner. ~From our first meeting. Proof of how much you mean to me.~  He winked then wavered away.  Always insistent he would return it to her when the moment was right, Shon kept it to return it with the promise intended. A symbol to reiterate, without question, she was not just a dalliance. Melandre had forgotten all about it, yet here it was. The swell of her heart burst again as it had moments before, until she heard footsteps.

“Teigné?”

Quick as she was able, Melandre drew her dress back up. Sagged back onto the chaise, the moment the servant came into view, she feigned weakness.  The dainty Erahs tip-toed up the last stair and peeked about the corner.  At the sight of the sweat-dampened princess, she gasped and darted forward. “Teigné Melandre!”

Playing to the concern, Melandre rolled to her back and swiped at her sweaty face. “S-so... thirsty...”

“O-of course miss...”  the girl strode to the far table to fetch a cup from the pitcher.  “You look terribly fevered, mistress. Why aren't you in your chambers?”  Taking the cup with genuinely trembling hands, Melandre drank in deep gulps.  “Take it slow, miss.”

Melandre panted as she lowered the cup, far less pretense acted than she presumed necessary.  “I am able to hear father here... thought the cool air might...”

“Let me fetch one of the guards to carry you to your room--”

“No, no. I can manange.”

“I will at least find the healer, miss. You look a fright.”

“Thank you, Disia. I will be fine.”  Touching the girl's hand, she peered up in earnest. “You are a beautiful person. I do hope I am good enough to you.”

Disia stroked back her hair with a soft smile. “I am sure Quirifen would not have blessed you with... all she has... if you were not, miss.”

Blinking, Melisandre's brow quivered in worry. To evoke the name of the Erahs gods was a dangerous thing in Viridian. Disia only ever spoke of the Shae gods.  Touching her cheek, Disia whispered, “I will fetch the healer for you, miss. This seems a right terrible heat to have befallen you. But you might have enough time to right your clothes proper... freshen up. The healer is a bit deaf but... his nose still works well.”

“Oh... good goddess...”  Melisandre blushed furiously as she sat up and turned away.

Disia pat her shoulder with a whisper, “when I bring you tea this evening, perhaps you'll tell me whose mud keeps tracking the rug, but never the stairs?”

“Quirifen bless you, Disia.”  There was a lingering pause between them, an understanding, then the Erahs' slippers padded down the stairs again.  Melandre bowed her head determined not to weep. 'No Erahs would challenge it,' Shon said.  But would a slave of her father's keeping hold such a secret, or trade it for a promise of freedom?

- - - -

Seated upon the ornate Jaed throne, Wyshard was adorned in heavy robes of embroidered silks, bejeweled velvets and the Bloodflower Crown.  The throne itself sat upon the jade stone seal carved within the floor depicting kyr of Erahthin history. A weighted metal and stone chair positioned upon a sacred symbol of the Erahthin origins. A most befitting symbol in its own right of their endless oppression.  Stationed about the dais were Ganroth guards, one or two Shae of unusual size. About the throne room stood more guards.

Melandre, dressed in her finest pellote, crossed the room toward her father. Her face was veiled as he insisted upon. The command was absurd, but she did as he bid. Otherwise his wrath would result in some vase broken or an innocent servant beaten in her stead.  Passing before the compliment of Paligner, she bowed her head with only a quick peek at the row of Erahs knights attentive before their Venerate who awaited announcement.

~I see you Mith'enndrejatr.~

She uttered a soft giggle at Shon's tease, but pivoted away to stride to her father's side. Camin, her elder brother, sat beside him dozing on one palm. Wyshard looked up to her, made a show of taking her hand then kissed it before gesturing for her to sit at his side. “We are blessed by your presence, daughter.”

“Thank you, father. I thought it best at least one of your children be present.”

With a snuff, he lifted his head to mutter, “mm... quite.”  Two heavily ringed fingers gestured to his Chamberlain.  The man stepped forward and in turn gestured to the fold of soldiers encircling their Venerate.  “Not very trusting is he?” Wyshard grunted.

Melandre folded her hands in her lap with a demur cant of her head. “Perhaps if there were not so many of our guards present... I am sure the Palignr are only protecting their Kaurahsan as the Jaed Knights would protect you in a court of contention, yes?”

“Palignr? Kaurahsan?” he gruffed, his voice raised enough for everyone to hear. “I'll not have these... squirrel words chittering from my daughter's lips! I'll not have them spoken within these walls at all! Is that understood?!”

The rage flew from his lips in tiny projectiles of spittle that assaulted the barrier of her veil.  Each metallic orb clung to the sheild before slowly soaking into the fabric.  After the trembles of her flinches subsided, she uttered quiet assurances and delicate advice. “Of course, father. I thought it would be more respectful to the visiting dignitary to use their preferred terms. I will respect your wishes. Perhaps, however, in the spirit of hospitality, we should refrain from outright insults... like squirrel, or leaf-eater? As a show of Your Grace's magnanimity and benevolence.”

Wyshard drew himself up and nodded, “of course, dear. You are as wise as you are beautiful.”

“Thank you, father.”  The extension of gratitude was as strained as the shallow compliment. Wyshard had called his daughter many things. Beautiful was quite contrary to these. She bowed her head, focused upon stilling the quake of her hands.

The Paligner-- knights-- parted to form two rows. It allowed their Kaurahsan-- Venerate-- to make a proper processional entrance up the center of the throne room after he was left standing in wait for so long.  Regal, without the need for so much gaudy refinement, Venerate Amanshr Vaeth would be the last of the Jasuuk Veneracy. This was not a spoken decree or a forgone conclusion. It was her father's wish. Just as it was his wish to seek out the last of the Avali, Haesh and the hidden tribes Calhalla, the Bhenna and any others who may be hiding in the far corners of Tybraes. This meeting was all for show. Enough of the people had called out for peace in the name of Naaris, that Wyshard, on the Prothonatary's advisement, agreed to offer the Jasuuk one last opportunity to spare himself and his people.

Unlike Jaed Wyshard, who would bend knee to no one, not even on his coronation, Venerate Vaeth came to the base of the dais, and with a gentle sweep back of his unadorned linen skirt, he lowered to one knee then bowed his head in reverence.  Waist-length locks of silky silver draped about his deep violet face as a resonant, but gentle voice crooned, “I shall respect your wishes and not offer the proper Etharhia greeting, Your Highness. Instead, I say we are honored you have allowed us audience with you and granted us protections during our stay. A very generous demonstration, Your Grace. My title would translate to 'Venerate' in your language, so you may know me as Venerate Amansh--”

“I know who you are.” The old man snapped with a smack of his palm on the throne's arm.

Leaning toward him, Melandre gasped in quiet, “father, it is customary to give their name. It is... it is like a gift. Their names are very important to them.”

“Pah.”  Waving it off in disinterest, Wyshard indicated for a stool to be brought for the Venerate. A plain wooden bench was brought forward, a servants stool.

Melandre immediately stood, pointed at her own. “Please, provide the Venerate with a proper seat. Give him mine.”

The servant blinked at her then at the Jaed. Melandre pursed her lips then asserted, “I am your Teigné, and he is a visiting dignitary of your own people, Hanse. Give the Venerate my stool.”

Though he stood, Venerate Vaeth gave a bow toward Melandre. “There is no need, my lady. This stool will suffi--”

Wyshard snorted with a chuckle, “obey my petulant child, tall-ear--”

“Tsht,” Melandre hissed at him, to which she received a dark scowl, though he said nothing. That he only sided with her to contradict the Venerate angered her. However, she should know not to chastize him, certainly never in public. She feared the consequences later.

As Hanse offered the seat to the Venerate, the man regarded Melandre. “I am impressed at how well you speak our language and names. Unlike even the Jaed's advisor, you have almost no accent. This is most difficult given the vocal differences between our races.”

Hands clasped close to her belly, the woman ducked her head low. This was not a compliment her father would respond well to hearing. “I have always had an apptitude for languages. Although, not quite as ethereal as Erahs vocals, I am a harmonic singer as wel--”

Camin burst into an echoing guffaw, which resounded throughout the room. “You sing with all the beauty of a screaming goat.”

Directly in front of him was Shon. The soldier's fists tightened behind his back, the scowl already set on his face at war to restrain a snarl. Accustomed to her brother's uncouth ways, Melandre eased her lover. ~Camin has sweet words for only those women he aims to bed. Even they are given little more than contempt once he is through. He is not worthy of your emotion.~

Inclining his head in practiced diplomacy, Amanshr countered, “I am certain your voice is lovely, Teigné.”

A chorus of snorts and snuffs revented Melandre from offering a reply.  Shon pleaded with haste, ~Please, Sythae, come with us when we leave this place.~

 ~Discussion for another time.~  She turned her head to regard her father, ignoring Camin's drunken self amusement. “Perhaps it best not to waste anymore of the Jaed or Venerate's time with niceties or frivolous discussion.”

“More like blowing wind up your arse hoping father will let him have you as part of their treaty agreement,” Camin snorted, then looked to his father. “Might not be a bad deal, father. She isn't good for much else. If selling her off to them will put an end to their insurgence, worth the lives of our soldiers and at least a few dozen farmers, yes?”  He leaned forward to look her over. “In fairness, the Teigne from Ceyr Frìthe was offering a pittance for her as it was... would get more at public auction. At least, of immediate value.”

Wyshard waved his son back. Melandre knew better than to interject while the heir apparent pretended to have any understanding of political machinations. Head held high, she stared at a far point across the room while they muttered between themselves as though neither she nor the Venerate were present.

The Erahs royal spoke up, to her mercy. “If I may. I have not held this position overlong, my sister... passed on rather unexpectedly--”

~Assasinated.~ Melandre tried not to growl beneath her veil.

~Exactly.~ Her lover confirmed.

“--to our misfortune. Her successor is quite young still, so, I am, admittedly, a representative until she is of age. I hope you will forgive my ignorance in such matters.” He gestured to them with a submissive bow of his head, “is it customary to discuss such... exchanges before we have spoken of our general concerns? I would think contractual trades of good faith would not be made until a contract is agreed upon. Or do I not understand a custom of your people?”

“They sent you an incompetant, father,” Camin sneered. “Typical.”

Dull thuds of his drumming fingers filled the room as Wyshard stared at the acting Venerate. After a moment, he snuffed. “What are you willing to offer in these negotiations, Venerate?”

“I believe that is why he has come father. To ask what you would require of him to bring about an end to the hostilities.” Voice low, Melandre studied her father's profile. In her periferal vision, she could see the Venerate, well able to hear her, give an assertive nod.

The soured Jaed would not be so easily swayed toward placation.  “As I see it, you come to me a ruler of miscreants who disobey my laws, terrorize my citizens, squat upon my lands and poach my game. Yet, I am magnanimous enough to sit and listen to you as if you are even remotely my equal. Why exactly should I grant your people any sort of clemency when you have proven to be nothing but violent malcontents?”

Drawing a deep breath, the Venerate sat up straight, his head down a moment.  When he raised his violet eyes, Melandre saw a crystal clear sharpness to them. The man stilled a rage within himself with a skill she had yet to master.  Even the timbre of his voice was as melodious as any choir singer of the Temple.  “Your Highness, there are some rebellious few among my clan, yes. I am doing what I can to temper them. This is, in part, why I have come, to ask your aid in this. Their rebelliousness stems from outrage. Some overzealous few among your own assasinated their most beloved Venerate Lisellia. I hoped you could understand, the slave trade is an understandably upsetting reality for my people. Yourself and the Temple have spoken of placing tighter restrictions on it--” he gestured in placation, “and the 'Caste Birthright Decree' was an admirable step toward easing the burden of the raids upon the clans.”

Melandre's heart pounded in her chest as she turned her head to as descreetly as possible dab at her eye. ~How can he even utter such a thing? Breeding rights is what it is, for slave owners to treat them like livestock. Moreso than women already are in Tybraes.~

 ~Patience, Sythae. One must lull the adder to get close enough to kill it.~  From the corner of her eye she saw him give a covert blink of assurance.  ~I promise you, given to him as chattel or not, my Kaurahsan would never--~

“ARE WE to understand then,” her brother bellowed with unnecessary loudness. “You expect us to give special exemption to the Jasses because you can't keep your people in line?”

“It is Jasu, brother,” Melandre touted then dropped her voice to a breathy growl. “The only ass here is far too drunk to be speaking in a diplomatic meeting.”

Camin leaned toward his father. “Why is she here? Blood-moon bitch is going to ruin everything, turn the whole thing sour just being in the room. Every word from her mouth is a curse on our success.”

She smirked beneath her veil, “you guarantee your own failure just fine without my help, Camin.”

~Mel...~ Shon warned too late.

“Melandre!” Wyshard barked at her as he grabbed her arm. “I think you have embarrassed yourself quite enough. This is no place for a young woman as it is.  Go to your lessons and tell Master Garamond it is to be two-fold the hazel today...for you. So I suggest you walk by way of the garden.”

Although she kept her head high as she stood, her hands shook. Camin bellowed another laugh, but she remained dignified, “as you like it, father.”

~Sythae...~

Ignoring the somber, worried plea of her lover, the woman made a deep curtsey to the Venerate as he rose. “A Foeratha Kaurahsan. Sylf quitaefhasesh era sylf'alla fen.”
          “Farewell, Venerate. I give you my deepest apologies.”

“I forbade such talk in my halls!” Wyshard pounded his fists. Both daughter and guest ignored his outburst, the Venerate touching his brow to Melandre with respect.

“Vah, esh sylf oanersa alla'esh.  A Foeratha, Teigné Melandre.”
          “No, it is I who am sorry. Farewell, Teigné Melandre.”

With a defiant glance over her shoulder at her father, Melandre lifted her veil then returned the gesture. He had already ordered her to be beaten. How much more would he dare before an audience?  After rising from her deep bow to him, she pivoted on a heel and started away. Loud enough to be heard, she called as she left, “I shall have honeyed Hazelnut milk sent to instill wisdom and the harmony of the industrious bee.”

“Send us Mastiha as well. There are no breeders here,” Camin snorted.

~You should not challenge them, Sythae.~

Soothing as Shon's very presence could be, his voice in her mind gave no comfort, only broke down the last of her resolve. Once through the narthex, far down the hall, she ducked about a corner and sank against a wall. Veil drawn down to hide her face, she let a few tears spill free, silent in their unguided anger. Who inspired them more was confusing to her. Just as angry with her own lack of self-discipline, she reviled her family's bloody legacy of hatred.

- - - -

2nd Som in the month of Foundation, in Kyr 7, the year 7453 of the Liturgical Era of Precisian Esseylt

Rest upon her elbows, Melandre stared out at the bespeckled night sky.  The stars were always a source of wonder for her. Stories abounded as to what they were. None ever satisfied her sense of awe. Most claimed they were no further than a mist upon a mountain.  Something about them felt so much more distant than that. Yet, she had never truly felt a sense of smallness in that distance before. Staring up at them, hands clasped in abandoned prayer, she felt tiny and alone.

The special session of the Aonach had been ongoing for over two months. The Venerate's arrival was a shameful greeting, the other members of council far more gracious in receiving him, but no less aloof. Nor were their attitudes much less bigoted in private. Melandre, however, had since been banished from attending. Jaed Wyshard and Camin took great exception to the Erahs asking her opinion on matters. The Ganroth and Erahs held a far greater level of respect for their women, it seemed, than was ever to be extended to Shae women. Not unless, that is, one was of extraordinary character; a paragon or warrior of note, a Jaed or an Archimandritae who had made a mark on history. It did not matter that the Shae's primary faith centered upon a feminine figure. She was a goddess. Who was Melandre to assume she had any right to claim likeness?

Melandre thought no such thing. She felt no significance, certainly was never told she had any. Born on a blood moon, the midwife declared to her parents she would be a bad omen, a troublesome child.  Every minute nuisance to happen in her presence a clear line of blame to draw.  When her younger brother Yeshua was to be born, the midwife needed assistance. Melandre was nearest on hand. The infant's cord was about his neck, and her mother bled out.  Yeshua survived, damaged in the mind, suffered lasting injury. Father sent him to a monastary to be raised, where she visited every year on his birthday. All the kingdom, as far as she could tell, condemned her for the Jaed Consort's death.

Four months away from her twentieth year, she should be long married, more than a few years past. The Teigne of Tadac Honour was to be her husband, the Swamp King, as Camin delighted in calling him. Teigne Sotor was not a terribly old man, in his peak years. However, upon arrival to the Cattedrale to finalize the marriage arrangements, halfway up the entry stair, he collapsed with a seizure of the heart.  Investigations were done for poison, but it was simply found to be a matter of nature's claim.  Wyshard blamed Melandre's cursed mark and all other suitors retracted their proposals.  That fate had not left her in the hands of the Temple was a mystery to her.

The door opened after a soft knock. Disia slipped in with a tray of tea, beside it a bowl and folded cloth. Melandre lowered her head to rest on her hands as the woman set the tray near the fire to tend the coals. The kindness in the servant's tone   far outweighed any judgment, “dare I ask what earned this birching?”

Hiding her face, Melandre wobbled her head. “Does it matter? As many days as I can still stand, he'll find excuse.  At least he is not beating you or the others in my stead anymore.”

Disia prepared the tea and poultice in silence. After a moment she advised, “perhaps you should not try to incite him so.”

“Being seen in the garden without a veil is incitement?”  Both fists clenched in useless rage, then she hissed through her teeth. Seething wilted into wincing as she moved to sit back on her heels, the lashes across the back of her thighs and buttocks momentarily forgotten. She straightened up again, leaned upon the windowsill and bemoaned, “I have no control over who stares at me from the shadows.”

“Come, lay upon these pillows.”

Crawling across the room, Melandre acquiesced, eager for the Erahs' herbal healing.  Cheek to a pillow, she stared into the flames. “I wish for them to find peace, but...”

With delicate daubs along raw skin, Disia grinned, “you do not wish him to leave.”  Melandre hugged the pillow closer to her face to hide her pout.  The Erahs murmured, “you never told me how it is you met him. You seemed to know him before they 'arrived.' How is that?”

“My pilgrimage.”

With a blink, Disia's hands hovered still. “It has been so long?”

Melandre stretched out a hand to draw in the light ash on the hearth. “Remember how furious father was--”

“Yes. You had gone alone. He did not know until you returned, though.”

She hummed in remembrance. “No one knew me. In scout's leathers, I am just any other plain-faced Shae girl. I hardly stand out as any creature of note. Not like mother was. I rode to Solstis to seek the wellspring. I thought..." She shook her head, "doesn't matter what I thought. It's stupid...”

Disia stroked at her hair. “You thought the well of Naaris would cleanse you of your curse, that if you found a gem among the rocks and sand, Nabaar's compassion would bless you always.”  She kissed the back of her head. “I have seen the necklace you wear. It is too crudely made to be the jewel of a Jaed's daughter. Did one of the Jasu sell it to you?”

Melandre raised a hand to swipe at her damp cheeks. “No... he made it for me. I found it, like you said. I... I bathed in the wellspring and... I found it on the bottom. But, when I was dressing, almost had my boots laced, a group of Jasu hunters found me. They thought I was a scout. One stole the flaggon from my shoulder. It bore the mark of the Temple on it. They accused me of poisoning the well, trying to kill the Jasu with sickness. None would listen to me.”

“You spoke to them in Etharhia?”

She shook her head. “I didn't know it yet. This was why I learned. I knew if I told them who I was they would kill me, send me to my father in pieces, most likely. But I wasn't sure they wouldn't kill me anyway. I was desperate. They were enjoying my terror. I was prostrate and sobbing... not very dignified. I pleaded with them, asked if their goddess did not offer mercy to those seeking redemption. I told them that was all I wanted... to be purified. I was not trying to hurt anyone. In fact, I wanted to stop hurting people by merely existing.”

Gentle as she lay linen wraps over the poultice, Disia asked, “did such a plea work?”

“No...” Melandre whispered with pained remembrance. “One grabbed my hair, told me they could assist with that in their own way.”

“Then your lover came and stopped them?”

With a chuckle, she shook her head, “no... that would have been romantic, I suppose. No, I grabbed his arm with both hands and bit his wrist. Then slammed my head back into his, um... soft bits. It was enough he dropped his knife. They had taken all of my property, so, I took his dagger and bolted on foot.  They were so busy laughing at their friend, they did not chase me right away.”

“Right away... so, you had not been thrown from your vnesh as you said?”

“Thrown, yes... but down a ravine. I hit my head on a rock. I'm not sure if they left me for dead or, just... were content, hoped the animals might find me.” Melandre stared at the flourishes she had drawn in the ash. “I woke with a concussion. When I managed to crawl to the top of the ravine, I still had the dagger.  Shon was out hunting alone.  He came over to help me, but, I didn't know his intentions.  Barely able to see, I still tried to defend myself...” In embarrassment, she tucked her nose down. “I passed out when I stood up.  When I woke again, he had tended my head, made me something to eat and was wrapping that stone... to keep busy, I suppose.”

Disia grinned as she poured them both tea. “You were gone for some time.”

“I have no words for it.  We just... were. He didn't care that I was so young. But... it did not seem an abuse or a fetish.  We were just... people. I know no other way to measure it.”  Melandre took in the scent of the tea, unable to sit up just yet to drink.  “He asked nothing of me, not even a demand of gratitude.  When I told him who I was, he worried I was in danger for our time together, voiced no concern for himself.  I wanted to stay with him, but I knew father would come searching, eventually.”

“As he is a waverer, your tower retreat is a perfect sanctuary.”

Wistful, she thought of their time there. “We are so careful, which means so little time. I still fear what would happen if we are discovered. I fear for you, that you know now. It would take only the wrong ears to hear...”

“You've no fear from me, Mel. I've been with you since you were an infant. They would have to torture me to—”

“Tsht. Do not doubt they would.”  Terror gleamed in her dark blue eyes. “If I could arrange for you to safely leave with the Venerate, to go with your own people to Solstis--”

“No. No, I won't.”

“Why? You are a slave here.”

“Yes, but within these walls there is a small level of expectation. I know what each day brings, generally. Out there, with them, he cannot protect me. One wrong path through the woods and I am taken by slavers. I could be delivered into the hands of a nightmare I-- YOU cannot even imagine.”  Disia shuddered with a shake of her head. “No. Here I know the faces of evil. Camin, which guards to avoid, that slimey Minister of Records... Here, I can manage my terror.”

Melandre shifted to rest her head on Disia's lap. “I am so sorry...”

Disia stroked her hair. “At least, within this room we need not pretend to be master and slave. But please, child, you must try harder not to antagonize your father. I am no Gifted healer. I cannot prevent scars.”

“They are there, whether the skin shows them or not,” she murmered with a grimace into the fire.

- - - -

2nd Set in the month of Emergence, in Kyr 7, the year 7453 of the Liturgical Era of Precisian Esseylt

Blue skies domed the garden in Melandre's view. The raised garden of the Cattedrale was walled in, capped by only sky and the looming towers of the palace itself. She felt like a butterfly trapped beneath glass. Two guards trailed behind them as they walked, one of the Venerate's, one of the Jaed Knights. Just to her back right flank was Disia, a silent chaperone, not that there were not Palignr and Jaed Knights positioned around the grounds as well as, oddly enough, the Archimandritae walking with the Chamberlain and one other council member not far behind them. What the highest matriarch of the Temple Omíkhlæssectia was doing in talks with the Jaed's advisors was curious. Curious still, she felt the need to follow Melandre like a spy. All this only added to the young Teigné's sense of entrapment beneath observation glass.

“You seem troubled,” the Venerate spoke in Etharhia. Providing her the opportunity to practice seemed to delight him as much as it did her.

“The entire Aonach is troubling. I do my best to... be a dutiful daughter.”

Nodding his head, the ancient man smiled up at the sun. “Among our people, you would be empowered and thus quite formidable. Perhaps, Venerate. I am sure, someday, you will make a mark on the world with lasting depth.”

Melandre chuckled in spite of herself. “You are a skilled diplomat.”

“Not skilled enough, else I believe this Aonach would have ended months ago.” He gestured toward the small table awaiting them with mid-morning tea.

“If only the rider is trained, but not the vnesh, will the rider not still be thrown time and again?”

Amanshr laughed brightly. “Oh dear, I do hope I am the rider in this metaphor.”

“Do you?” Melandre chuckled with a sly grin. “An untrained animal nor a trampled Eochaid seem particularly preferrable to me.”

“Ah, I see your point, although I do question your ultimate implication.”  With a wink he held a chair out for her.

Melandre touched her brow then moved to sit. Her eyes lit upon the Archimandritae's cabal lingering to watch from a distance. “Might I ask the reason for the shadow guild that follows us?”  At Melandre's question, Disia snorted in amusement then began to set their tea and food.

Amanshr gave no turn of his head in their direction, maintaining an amiable smile. “Do not fear. Given your father's opinions of my people, it seems quite absurd he would entertain your brother's repeated crude suggestions. Do not think I find you in any way an unappealing prospect, however. I respect you, and women in general, far too much to trade them as one trades silk or land tracts.”

“A rare man in my experience, albeit exceptionally limited in comparison to Your Grace's. I can say I have met a 'Karkaddan's claim' among your people who have proven preponderantly more noble than any known of my own blood. Those who give no care to gender nor hide, only the spirit of a person.”  She lifted her tea cup to her lips.  The warm liquid wafted of a cloying mint.  Dropping the cup with a clatter to the table, Melandre clasped a hand over her mouth. Bolting to her feet, she staggered but two feet, tearing back her veil as she fell to her knees to vomit into the grasses and moss.

“Teigné Melandre!”  Disia and Amanshr gawped in fright at her abrupt illness.  Disia ushered the Venerate back, “in case it is a contagion, Kaurahsan.”

Melandre trembled in weakness, eyes damp from effort and embarrassment. “I'm so sorry...” she gasped at Disia as the woman knelt beside her.

“Shhh... hush now. Let us get you inside and cleaned up.”  Helping her to her feet, she pointed to the Jaed Knight. “You there, please dispose of the tea over... that. I'll not have the Venerate getting ill on the tea as well. The mint will at least quell the stench of it.”

The knight bowed to her, although, Melandre could see his irritation in being given an order by an Erahs servant. “Th-thank you, sir knight,” she added on Disia's behalf.

“Of course, Your Highness,” the man replied with more grace.

The Archimandritae and her council approached the Venerate as the two passed by to make their way to Melandre's room. It all felt so... sinister to her.

“D'you think it was poison?” she whispered as Disia helped her out of her surcoat. “Festival of Telloran brings out the aggression in some.”

“If by poison,” the servant cooed as she offered her a cup of water, “you mean the twenty-one week poison that befalls most women eventually... then yes, I am afraid there will be more of this sickness for some time and eventually a great deal of pain.”

Terrified, Melandre stared up at her from the small stool. “W-what...?”

Crouching in front of her, Disia took her face. “I am not an expert in such matters, but my guess would be... Naaris blessed you upon the Cleansing Festival, eerahsash. She must think you very strong and brave indeed, to have done so. Else, it is a cruelty only Fondroy could bestow.”

Grasping a hand to her belly, Melandre's eyes fluttered, her nose twitched as her lips trembled. “B-but I can't be... if father finds out... he'll--”

“Shh. That is a worry for another day. For now, I think you should go to your tower, get some fresh air.” Disia met her eyes with an intent nod.

Bobbing her head, Melandre stood on shaky knees. Any travel to her tower room was lost in her daze of shock, buried beneath an oppressive, choking haze of terror. The smooth stone of the tower windowframe was cool beneath her hands and cheek. She supported herself, each breath off-set her balance as she stared out at the world she no longer understood.  Another wave of nausea threatened to bow her, but it passed.  Arms wrapped about her to draw her back from the window with a firmness that felt like command.

~I'll not have that then...~

 ~What will I do, Shon?~  She crumpled forward with a stifled sob. ~I did not know this was even possible.~

The soft whisper of his voice soothed her crying as he held her close. ~Because those who fear as you do, or hate as your father does, murder such children or murder the mothers so no such child exists. I will not let that happen.~

Hopelessness overwhelmed her, a darkness she could not recall ever feeling. Without speaking a word of it, Shon just knew what she felt. He knew, and he gave comfort. ~I swear it to you, Sythae. Disia came to only me, but I will speak to the Kaurahsan. Your companion knows your father well. Appeasing your brother may actually appeal to him more than we credit. Her suggestion, I think, is not an unwise one... I will propose it to Kaurahsan Vaeth. I am certain he will aid us. He is very fond of you.~

Lifting her eyes to him she tried to control the tremble of her lips, “y-you don't understand...”

~It would not be a real marriage, Mel. Even if they believed so here... it is meaningless among my people. They would not recognize it simply because it was not sworn to before the clan.~  His confused expression confirmed for her he was unclear on her apprehension.

Fresh tears blurred her vision as she turned away and sank onto the chaise. The sunlight upon her arm and leg felt like a scalding condemnation.  The weight of the truth leaned upon her. Under it, she drooped to the side to rest on the chaise back. ~I am the daughter of the Jaed.  It would be considered a... a diplomatic union.~  Pained blue eyes fixed on his beneath loose black hair. Shae ways were not his ways. He lacked clarity of what this meant.  ~It must be witnessed, Shon. By a representative of the Temple, one from the council and one of the Keepers... or it is not validated.~

“Y-you mean--”  Mortification stole his voice, both of them left to stew in their own fear and disgust. ~He would never--~

 ~Then the plan is a failure before it has begun. Even if father could be talked into it, Camin certainly loathes me enough...~  The Elhia conveyed emotions she was not sure he intended her to feel. ~From their perspective, love. Of course, not mine. You know to them... what they think of the Erahs, to marry me off to one, even a royal... they would be doing it to punish me in their minds, as much as to appease any perceived demands.~

He lowered to sit beside her, brushed a finger along her cheek. ~Of course... I didn't mean...~

~If there is no other safe plan...~

 ~No. I could not put you through that, nor ask it of my Kaurahsan.~

Swiping at her face, she sat up and met his eyes. ~But you could do it.~ Confusion relit his eyes. ~I would have to ask Disia for help, but, I know there is a mage, someone the Erahs servants know. I've read many books. I know in the days of magic there were spells that enabled someone to look like someone else, to sound like them.  If it was you, then you would only, truly, be asking your Kaurahsan to allow you this deception. Not asking him to...~  She hung her head and waited for him to dismiss this plan as well.

Instead, she felt his hands on her arms, then cup her face. Lips pressed to her crown, then tilted her head upward so he could kiss her properly.  ~I am to be a father...~ The swell of joy and love inside him, overflowed to her as he imbued his passion with a deep kiss. He lay back onto the foot of the chaise, drawing her forward to rest on his chest where they could bask in the sunlight, the warmth of the blessing Naaris bestowed on them.

- - - -

1st Set in the month of Telloranrise, in Kyr 7, the year 7453 of the Liturgical Era of Precisian Esseylt

“He cannot be serious!”
          “What a vulgar proposition!”
“Surely you've seen it coming, the way he fawns over her... they chitter at one another in that squirrel tongue.”
          “Chamberlain, please, talk some sense into the man!”
“I say let him have her. She's been the bane of the kingdom since her birth.”
          “Teigne Camin, I am not entirely sure the whole of the kingdom would share your sentiment.”
“And why shouldn't they? He has a point! The tales of her mother's death, her betrothal, these are more than well known.”
          “Yes! With the right leaning, we could even give the impression we are deliberately passing her along for that very purpose.”

A boisterous laugh cut through the room. It startled Melandre's ear away from the door.  Then Camin, whose laugh was never mistaken, spoke up in all snideness,“you mean, sending my sister as a secret curse upon our enemy? Oh, I love it.”
          “A rather crude suggestion.”
“What does it matter if the leaf-eater is placated? He'll agree to the terms set with his conditions and he's asked for none of the standard trade agreements.”
          “It's as if the damn squirrels did not even think to gather nuts for winter.”

Another round of laughter to furrow Melandre's brow.
          “Truly, sire, if all he's asking for is your daughter-”
“She's useless anyway. Teigne Runii in Ceyr can be placated with additional land and... maybe   arrange a marriage with  Linguèr Jaed's daughter. Deichtine, she's of age now, yes? And she bears the Jaed name... just as good. He's already a Teigne. It isn't as if he needs Melandre's title.”
          “A valid observation, sire. Camin is an astute negotiator in such machinations.”
“Screwing people you mean?”
A soft, sardonic guffaw, “Chancellor Davreau objects.”

There was more laughter, then she heard her father's voice.  “I will speak with the Prothonatary and the Archimandritae on the matter. Then I will make a decision.  As it stands now, I am wary of how such an agreement would undermine the foundations I have laid.  She is a willfull girl, but... I would not torture my child by condemning her to be the broodmare of an animal merely for the sake of some hollow peace agreement.”
          “Yes, there is no guarantee the savages would honor any of this after the fact. Could just be giving her away.”
“Would be a waste.”
          “No more than tossing scrap to a dhole. Don't be so dramatic, Paranis.”
In the wake of Camin's coarse remark, there was a collective muttering with more than one uttering the phrase, “abominations of birth.”

Head down she turned away to catch one of the door guards staring at her.  Stiffening a trembling lip, she lifted her chin high and marched away. As she walked the loggia, she could see the Venerate and his consort gathered in the courtyard. The local Jasu had come to pay homage to the luminary of their people.  Slowing her walk, she moved to one of the windows to watch as one elated Jasuuk face after another embraced him as a brother.  Her father would never allow such contact, nor Camin.

Shon turned and peered up toward her with a loving smile.  She did not distract him with Elhia. He was on duty.  One of the other guards beside him followed his gaze up to her. His expression was not as loving, and Shon caught a sharp elbow in the side.  Ducking her head, she sent him a quick expression of regret, which was returned by a sense of love so strong it blushed her cheek. In retreat from the window, she thought it best to go, but slammed into a wall.

Camin.

“Admiring the squirrel-meat?” He smirked. Not to be baited, she only scowled at him. “Look at you,” he laughed, reaching out to fondle her ear then flick at her nose. “You're all flush. Nose is hot as a coal.”  Melandre swat at him then backed away, only to be pinned against the windowsill.  He towered over her, one hand on the wall as he bore down. “Those little nut-munchers have you wet under those skirts of yours?”

“I often think it is you, not Yeshua, who is deficient in the mind.” Lips pursed, her nostrils flared as knuckles taut, she gripped the windowsill.

Each puff of his breath displaced strands of hair into her face. “Always think you're so clever. We'll see who's high'n mighty when I am Jaed and you are the hedge-whore of a filthy leaf-eater.  You know, when the raids come through the clan... they just kill kitten-does like you. Honor killings. Saves you the shame of coming back to civilized society, everyone knowing you had some savage ramming you every night.”  He snuffed at her then straightened. “I were you, I'd at least go find a good fat Shae cock, have a proper fuck before father sells you off to the Squirrel King.”

“Do you expend a lot of effort concocting so many vulgarities or... do they just float about in your brain, like dead flies in a chamberpot?”

He raised his hand to backhand her. Melandre flinched, shoulders curled in to receive the blow, but it did not come. A pained bark of surprise erupted from Camin as he was hurled backward to the floor.  Two Jasu Palignr stood over him, swords drawn to keep him on his back.  Melandre gaped with mouth slack as the Jaed Knights charged down the hall.

“What's going on here?!” one demanded.

“This man was assaulting the young woman there in the window. We merely separated them, Sir Knight.”  One Palignr stepped back and bowed with a fist pressed to his chest in the Jaed Knight fashion.

“Is that true, highness?” the Jaed Knight scrutinized her.

Melandre stammered, “y-yes, but... it-- it's Teigne Camin. I... he... was...”

“GET OFF ME, YOU SQUIRREL PRIG!”

The second Palignr stepped back, his head kept low.  Melandre tried not to show her shock. ~Shon?!~

 ~Are you alright, Sythae?~

 ~That remains to be seen... for us both.~

“Teigne Camin, our apologies. We did not know it was you, only that it appeared the young woman was in danger.” Shon spoke with as much diplomacy as he could manage, rage emanating in an aural wave.

“I don't care what you tellorath thought!  I am the Teigne! If I want to beat the girl to a bloody--!”

“CAMIN!”  Jaed Wyshard's voice carried down the hall. Many of the councel stood behind him staring in awe.  “I would have a word with you. NOW.”

Snuffing at the guards, Camin straightened his clothes, then jabbed a finger at Melandre, “we're not done--”

“NOW.”

As he stalked off, she pressed a hand to her stomach and turned back to the window. Without thinking, Shon darted forward to steady her, “Melandre, are you hale?”

Pressing a hand to his chest to usher him back. Eyes wide in fright, she sent a wave of warning, but murmured, “I am fine...”

“How dare you?” the Jaed Knight gaped at him. “You not only lay hands upon the Heir Apparent AND the Teigné, but now address her by name?!”

“No... I--”  Shon turned, paled at the revelation of his brashness. “I feared only that he injured her. I meant no insult.”

Melandre raised a hand to the knight. “There has been no insult. Our ways are different, that is all, Sir Knight. It is a misunderstanding of custom.”

“He laid hands on you, highness--”

“IN CONCERN.”  Brows snapped together in instant rage, a finger jabbed at him as she seethed, “both of these men came to my aid whilst my brother bore down upon me in violence. Where were you two? Staring at the serving girls? Dozing off at your post?”

Jaed Wyshard cleared his throat from the hall. “That is quite enough, Melandre.”

Flinging a hand toward him, she bristled. “I would be shuffled off for another beating now, I suppose? Punishment for Camin's ill-behavior? Or have I embarrassed you again, father? One more tally against the Blood-moon Bitch in favor of scuttling her off to be broodmare for a peace agreement you do not even intend to honor!”

“No. I wish you to go to your room to rest.  The Archimandritae is still visiting, and she would like to take tea with you at Apex.”  Stone-still eyes met her gaze, “I hope you will do me the kindness of entertaining her.”

“Of course, father.” Melandre lowered her head in surrender with a defeated sigh.  Not looking to Shon again, she turned and left.

~Sylf'atha fen, Sythae...~ She whispered her gratitude to her lover. ~But I am also sorry. There is time before Apex. Come to me if you can. I can tell you what I have heard of the Aonach.~

 ~Of course, Mith'Enndrejatr.~  There was a pause, a sense of sadness she could not understand. Stopping to look back, she did not see anyone in the hall anymore. Though unseen, he whispered in her mind with a softness that, were it in her ear, could lift the tiniest hairs of her hide, ~Sylf tae thaeu era, sy'erahtha.~
          ~I will eternally love you, my beloved.~

Era. No 'era' was wrong. Era was Erahs. She was hallen. He should have said hal and halahtha. Nor does an Erahs so frivolously make claims to eternal love, especially to such a short-lived race as hers. No... this felt wrong.

~Shon?~  She reached out with all her sense of query and confusion, but she felt only an emptiness, darkness. This only panicked her more, but she could not go chasing after him or she would only guarantee that very thing which she feared.

Though soft-soled, every footfall upon the stairs to the tower jarred her heart. The blood pulse in her ear at each echo sent a jolt of electric fear surging through her brain. Once in her private sanctuary, she unshuddered every window, filled the room with light and much needed air. Peering down from each she sought a sign of him in the gardens, in the courtyard plaza. Nothing.

Late in morning's rise, the arc of the sun cast a bright beam of gold across the chaise and chair arranged central to the room. Many friends had come to sit for idle gossip over the years. Melandre spent many days in retreat daydreaming of other worlds found only in books or imagination. The glint of sunlight on the finely woven brocade of the upholstry taunted her. Naaris' blessing during Cleansing Festival, Disia said. Such golden light she had seen and felt then. Shon convinced her their coming child was a blessing. Shae goddess, Erahs goddess, none of it mattered now, all her initial fears returned. Tybraes, Viridian... this was not a world for them. The tower was. Their tower of fantasy and romantic whimsy, a world of their making that did not bow beneath the rancor of small-minded fear-mongers.

The ecstasy of their intrinsic bond still lifted the finest down of her fur. How much of her soul had once been Erahs? All of her? Perhaps they had been one soul reunited. The compassion, acceptance he gave her without question implied he always sensed this. It was the source of his mercy on her from the day they met, the reason the striking difference in ages never mattered to him. Perhaps this is why Venerate Vaeth was also so kind. Truth or frivolous fiction, it was a strange comfort to see opportunity for divorce from the Shae in even the smallest way, their bigotry, the oppressive imperialism. They never wanted her. The Blood-moon Bitch.

A bird's shadow swept through the sunlight on the chaise. Sputtering in emotional spasms, her heart lept in hope it was Shon.  Fluffing its feathers with a soft disgruntled squawk, the raven tilted one eye in her direction. Disappointed, she chided, “it's my tower too, 'Eye of Fondroy'. I've no quarrel with you.”

“Perchance, he has quarrel with you, Teigné Melandre.”

The young woman spun at the Archimandritae's retort. “Light of Naaris,” she gasped the title with more fear than reverence. “I did not hear you ascending.”

Terse as she delivered a tray of tea and fruit to the small table, the older Shae touted, “as one matures, a woman learns not to walk like a hooved vnesh on cobblestone.”

“Of course, Light Arnive.”  Melandre lowered her head in a supplicant bow to hide the glower on her face. Once she had schooled it, she looked up in confusion. “Why have you brought the tea? Where has Disia gone? In fact, I've not seen her all morning.”

“It would seem your slave girl has broken the law. She is before the Jaed for judgment.”

“What?!”  Appalled, Melandre darted for the stair to find it blocked by a large Jaed Knight. “So this is what father resorts to now?! Imprisoning me within the tower? I cannot even know my duenna's crime, speak on her behalf?”

Cups and plates arranged, the Archimandritae gestured to the seats. “Let us speak as civilized adults. There is much to discuss.”

Stomping to sit, Melandre glowered at her. “Such as selling me off whether it is to the Teigne of Ceyr Fríthe or to the Venerate of Solstis?”

Arnive uttered a warbling laugh. “Do not be absurd. Your father intends to do neither. I have counciled him against it. Such arrangements will benefit no one, you, him, certainly not Teigne Runii.” She nibbled at a slice of Pome fruit. “Histrionics like your display this morning certainly do not help you, however. Camin will be Jaed someday. His temper and penchant for grudges is well known.”

Melandre lifted her cup of tea. The scent of mint was very strong but beneath that was a strange musty odor, like stale earth. Gratitude swelled that this mint tea did not inspire another bout of sickness. Yet the underlying odor was off-putting. Drawing it back from her nose, she scrutinized the dingy, sallow liquid. The surface glistened with the iridescent swirls of oils. Peering over the cup to her guest, she observed the woman drink deeply of her own. A favorite of the elder's, she could only presume. Such an assumption did not stop the wrinkle of her nose as she sipped at the exceptionally bitter tea. Only by grace of ettiquette training did she manage not to spit it back into the cup.

Gracious, as though she were host, Light Arnive raised the dish of fruit toward her. “The flavors mingle beautifully. It is also quite good for the digestion, absorbs bile and... ill humours.”

Casting a sidelong glower toward the prison guard, Melandre spoke polite words through clenched teeth. “I am violently allergic to Pome fruit. A fact my duenna, Disia is well aware of, had she been able to attend our tea. But... thank you.”  Melandre could see in the woman's snide shrug, she was no less informed.  The plate settled to the tray with a soft clatter as the young woman pressed, “since when does my father take your advice? He has always taken council from the Prothonotary, but, forgive my bluntness, Light Arnive, father is hardly one to value the opinions of women.”

“The Prothonatary's advice of late has been, very polarizing. The Nuntii feel his opinions do not necessarily align with the best interests of the Temple and those actions he has encouraged of your father have proven costly both financially and in lives for both the Kingdom and the faith.”  She lowered her cup to the table with a poignant look at Melandre's cup.  “The Nuntii decided it was best if your father rely on a more progressive voice for his wisdom.”

“Progressive, meaning?”  Melandre attempted to choke back more tea as Arnive watched her.

The older woman folded her hands. “Meaning, peace is beneficial to everyone. However, the Prothonotary believes we should follow in Naaris' path of light with mercy and compassion.” One bony hand flourished in the air to conduct the melody of her mockery.  “Mercy and compassion has only resulted in more insurgency. Too many freedoms allowed has only led to demands for more. Now the Ganroth are discontent with the balance of power in Viridian. They wish for more of a voice on the council as well.  Too many view compassion as weakness. They are taking advantage of your father's benevolence as a result.”

Shaking her head, Melandre rest her cup in her lap. “That is not at all what father claims the Prothonotary has said.”

“Because he cannot very well tell them I have spoken. I am not the voice of the Temple they expect to hear.”  Arnive flicked a hand then sank back against the chair. “The Temple was erected to not only Naaris and Nabaar, but also to Telloran. It is time we hear his voice, follow his example. Your father agrees.”

Melandre shoved the tea onto the table in her twist of disgust, renewed sickness rising in her both physical and moral. “All this death, the executions, the beatings... all this is your doing?”

Proud in the revelation, Arnive smiled. “Indeed. And when the Nuntii next hold council, I stand to ascend to Prothonotary for my efforts. I think you shall find some of our current Beacon of Naaris' most private shames coming to light.”

“Goddess...” Melandre put a hand to her stomach with a gasp.

Arnive pointed, “drink your tea dear, you look... ill.”

With a shake of her head, she pushed it further away. “I do believe the tea is not helping. It is... very bitter.”

“'Tis the 'Herb of Grace', child. You would both insult your guest by denying the tea I made for you, but also turn your nose at the very herbal flower of our Goddess?”

“No, of course not, Light Arnive, I meant only to remark on its uniqueness.”  Out of respect, she lifted the cup again, did her best to ignore the rawness and tingling it gave her lips as she forced another sip. “I've not tasted a bitter tea of this sort before.” She muttered into the cup, “perhaps the Pome does compliment it greatly.”

“'Waters of Bitterness', it is called. It serves a purpose within the Temple, as you will learn in time.”  The Archimandritae lifted another sliver of fruit with relish. The gesture reminded Melandre of a self-gratifying queen, especially when she flicked her fingers ordering Melandre to drink more.  The woman's own cup was empty, so with a tremulous breath, the girl obeyed.

Loud tolls rang out, echoing throughout Viridian.  Melandre rose to her feet in startlement. “Are those the Plaza bells? Are we under attack?”

Tea cup in hand, she walked to the window to peer out toward the plaza, her clearest line of sight toward the main gates. It was no attack. People filled the square, Jaed Knights and soldiers positioned around four hooded figures on their knees upon plaza courtyard scaffold.

“An execution on Mercy? That's abhorrent!” Melandre gaped toward the Archimandritae. “How can you allow this? Day after tomorrow is Duty. Surely, they can wait another day!”

“The Erahthi vermin. No, it is best it be done and over with.” She snuffed in disgust. Callous and cold, she returned to her chair as if she had watched a stray vnesh saunter through the street.

“Er--...Erahthi...?” No voice accompanied the passing of breath over her lips.

“Finish your tea, dear. It's best you not work yourself up, in your condition.”  Melandre turned to face her, brow knit and eyes glazed. Only apathy was reflected as the Archimandritae ordered, “you said you feel ill. Drink.”

A sudden fear of the woman crept over her. She held the cup out. “Perhaps a fresh cup. This one has gone cold.”

“Of course, dear.”

A fresh cup was poured from the steaming pot in full view, then carried to her, traded for her half finished one.  The Archimandritae only set this one aside, however. Sweeping her robes about her lap as she lowered to sit, she returned focus to the executions. “I do believe it likely one of them is your slave girl, consorting with hedge witches, being just one of her crimes. Concealing treasonous acts from the Jaed, another.”

“N-no, she nev--”

“Then there is the witch herself... or himself. To be honest, I am not sure, not that it matters. The filthy squirrel could have been here as an assassin, regardless of their claims.”  She snuffed again, lifting her nose high. “Then... the Erahs 'knight.'  Yes, his crime is the defiling of a 'Daughter of Naaris.”

Daughter of Naaris. When lesser Deignier or commoners are devoted to the Temple they are Oblates or Agapets. A Deignier of significant rank devoted to the Temple, these are the Sons and Daughters of Naaris or Nabaar.

Giving voice to her fear was like the grunt of a child lifting a warhammer.  “That is what you bargained with my father. He simply sold me to you, instead.”

“A crude assessment.” Cold eyes regarded her with revulsion, “salvaging the Jaed name, your soul. We clean what we can dear, simply hide the rest where no one will see.”

Melandre thought it was only her grief at first. The shaking, her knees giving way. She watched the tea cup of finely carved ivory bounce across the stone floor.  A tiny chip splintered free to land in the spilled tea.  Braced on her hands, she felt the nausea cycle in faster, more forceful waves. It was a struggle not to vomit as the cries below indicated the executions had begun. Her father's voice was a dull, malevolent rumble.

“Father never intended to broker peace.”

Arnive laughed as she stood. “No. Vaeth was kept busy here with his 'best' warriors-- hardly that skilled-- dead all of them... well, except your lover. To be remedied momentarily.  In their time here, Solstis was razed to the ground, every pocket of the Jasuuk clan rooted out of the Northern woods. The useful, able to be controlled, were taken, the rest slaughter, naturally. Vaeth will die on his knees before every Jasuuk slave in Viridian.”

Why wasn't Shon coming to her? Why hadn't he saved Amanshr, taken her, fled?

Another laugh warbled from above leading Melandre to recognize she had spoken her thoughts aloud. “It has been in use for some time now, a brilliant tonic of the Ontax making. Stills the Gifted. It is in all the public wells, dear. IF your little animal mate is even conscious, he is most assuredly drugged to drooling.”

Each axe fall reverberated through out the plaza.

One.

Melandre jolted with a breathy whine.  Panting, she stifled back her nausea and tears.  “They will just rise up in hatred,” she whimpered.

“Not when their dead are laid in the streets to rot, covered in pitch to be the fires for the Festival of Telloran. No... no their hope burns in pyres of their dead.”  Sharp eyes gleamed down her nose at Melandre, as she purred with a grin, “you do understand they believe that to burn their dead prevents their ridiculous squirrel god from claiming their spirit. They cannot be reborn... trapped in the void forever. It is as close to Fonroy's Wake as they believe.”

Two.

“You are vile.”  The girl felt a violent convulsion before she emptied her stomach onto the stone floor with a mewling cough.  The contractions began in her lower abdomen then. She was not so far along anyone should have seen, should have known.

“The Waters of Bitterness.”  Arnive folded her hands as a mentor tutoring. “It is a test, you see. Were you pure, it may cause some mild discomfort, but you... vile, befouled whore that you are, allowed your womb to become a drey. Now, the salted tears of Our Goddess purge this abhoration from you.”

Melandre crawled on her elbows to the plaza window. The man forced forward was Shon, staggering, unsteady. She knew him by his Iridas, by the tail of dark silver hair that slipped from under the hood.  A weakened moan rattled from her as the axe raised up. Melandre clawed on the window frame to regain her feet, every motion a wince and growl as her body seized in pain.  “Nnnno...” she snarled in misery.

Assuming she meant to throw herself out, Arnive grabbed hold of her upper arms as Melandre wailed in unison with the axe blow.

Three.  ~Erahtha!~

No less aggressive than when assaulted by the hunters, she shoved the Archimandritae backward then staggered for the far side of the room. Her dagger was there, the dagger Shon had given her, the dagger she took off the last person who threatened to kill her.

Again Arnive only saw her go toward the windows. Gripping her arm again, she toppled Melandre off-balance. Bearing down on the young woman, now on her knees, she snarled, “you'll not take the easy way out of your shame girl! Suffer through the purging then you will spend the rest of your days in supplication to the Temple!”

As soon as she grabbed her arm, Melandre could see the patrol guards in the garden. Crying out at the agonizing pain in her uterus, the wetness of blood now dampening her thighs, she clawed at the Archimandritae as she hauled herself up onto the windowsill.

“You've taken everything from me... MURDERER!” Melandre screamed.  The Guards heads spun to see Melandre raking at Arnive's face.  The woman tried to pull her away from the window, but their struggle from so far below was easily misconstrued as Melandre only struggled to pull for the window.  Facing Arnive, Melandre bared her teeth, “I will make damn sure you don't take anything else... from this kingdom... or those people.”

“You have no power, kitten-doe.”

“Oh, but I do. I won't be Jaed... but I am still a Jaed's daughter.”  Melandre slammed her knee into the older woman's diaphragm with enough force to make the woman's grip release.

Locks of raven-black hair fluttered in a cascade around her face as she toppled backward.  The sky was a crystalline blue, clearer than any shade of azure gem she had ever seen, clearer than the Wellspring stone about her neck.  One hand rose to clasp the necklace Shon made her as two dark shadows invaded her sky.  They called her name.

“The tea, it...” a tear slipped from her eye as she saw a shimmer in the sky above, like the glimmer of a Waverer as they came and went. “...Shon?”

- - - -

2nd Som in the month of Telloranrise, in Kyr 7, the year 7453 of the Liturgical Era of Precisian Esseylt

On her knees before the Jade Throne, the Archimandritae wore only the shift of an agapet. Her hair was cut, hands bound.  Two Jaed Knights stood on either side to guard the defeated woman. Shrouded in heavy robes and a veil, the Ontaxa, Keeper Elodis stepped forward to pass a scroll to the Jaed's Chamberlain.

“Jaed Wyshard, upon the guard's report that the Jaed's daughter spoke the words 'the tea, it shone,' the beverage in the tower was investigated for poison. The type of tea, and its additives, are known in the Temple Omíkhlæssectia as 'The Waters of Bitterness.'  The tea, in proper quantities and dosages has medicinal purposes, but when used in the manner of Archimandritae Arnive, it can be lethal... or induce labor or miscarriage.”

Wyshard's gaze shot up with a violent glare. “As I know you would never suggest my unmarried daughter was pregnant--”

“No, of course not, Jaed Wyshard.”  Keeper Elodis half bowed, the Ontaxa's fingers clicked together as one gestured in concession.  “The blisters upon Melandre Jaed's lips, the sign of vomiting, severe muscular seizures, which led to... shall one say, internal hemmoraging, all indicate the use of Rue oil in addition to the tea's typical ingredients.”

“And this is a poison?”

The Ontaxa inclined one's head. “In how it was administered, yes. Far smaller amounts are inconsequential.”

Arnive glared at them both, “I did not poison the wretched little whore. It was to purge the Erahthi filth from within her!  She threw herself from that wind--”

“You would not only declare in front of this court and the council that my daughter was defiled by a leaf-eater, but that she committed suicide?!” Jaed Wyshard's roar revurberated throughout the audience hall echoing out into the narthex.

“Take the damned Sighted to the tower! Take them!” she bobbed her head toward Elodis with feral rage.  “Let them lay hands upon her! It cannot be hidden!!” She strained at the men holding her shoulders. “I did only as we dis--”

“SILENCE!!!”

A cold stillness settled about the room before he spoke again.  “Arnive Trevore, you are stripped of all association with the Temple. Your name will be stricken from the Canon of the Righteous Historiography and you will face your maker upon first light on the morrow.”  Wyshard's sneer was malevolent as he glowered down.

Chamberlain Paranus crossed the room and draped a slate about her neck, upon it the word:  LAICIZED

As the woman uttered a wail and began to sputter for mercies, to make more excuses, Wyshard barked, “one more word and you shall lose your tongue before the night has concluded!”

With a violent jab at the guards he growled, “I want her out of my sight and that tower is to be permenantly sealed. Do you understand me?!  PERMANENTLY SEALED!”

“Yes, sire.”

The men cleared out, removing the sobbing Arnive.  Once the throne room fell silent, Keeper Elodis and the Chamberlain regarded him. Chamberlain Paranus held out the scroll, “I assume this is... accurate?”

Elodis bowed his head, “as the Jaedblood history would demand it, yes.”

“The kingdom thanks your discretion, Keeper.” The Chamberlain bowed. “I simply ask you are as descreet in your own histories.”

The Keeper said nothing, only folded one's hands, head bowed.  Wyshard glowered at the floor. “Did I make a mistake?  Listening to her council? Melandre was... I cannot condone her choices but, she was...” The old man moaned into his hand.

The Chamberlain fidgetted with the scroll, giving no reply.  Keeper Elodis offered one in his stead, “perhaps then, sire, reflect on the wisdom Melandre has given in the past, recognize what one has provided the Jaed now. The loose-leaf report in the scroll is, in fact, what Elodis saw in one's vision. Melandre Jaed died knowing the Archimandritae would face execution, knowing Jaed Wyshard to be too wise to allow a scandal to tarnish one's hard work when a single execution is easy enough.”

Wyshard searched for meaning from behind one hand. “It wasn't some foolish heart-broken impulse?”

“The Jaed's daughter sacrificed herself in the hope one would find a better voice to empower.” Elodis half bowed, “however, Jaed Wyshard's choice in Camin is also still a potential successor for Jaed one day, sire. As the Jaed feels is wise.” The Ontaxa flourished a placative gesture with a few verbal clicks beneath one's veil. It had a distinctly disdainful air to it, but the Ontax had no emotions, or so the Shae had always been told.

Pivoting, the Keeper strode from the empty throne room. The smoke of Telloran's fires began to waft through the windows as the Festival of Telloran prepared to begin at nightfall.

- - - -

In Kyr 7, the Year of 7625, slavery was officially abolished throughout Tybraes.

One hundred and seventy-two years after the death of Melandre Jaed, one hundred and thirty-four years after the death of Jaed Wyshard,  one hundred and thirty-two years since Jaed Camin was beseiged by the people and beheaded before the Jaed Throne itself and his cousin Deichtine Jaed ascended the throne. A scholar and the first female Jaed since Cerwiden, two thousand years prior in Kyr five, she made great changes bring more women to the Jaed Aonach and in turn a stronger voice to her gender on the whole. Deichtine made the official recorded history of her cousin Melandre Jaed known and laid the groundwork for her successors, who would eventually emancipate all peoples of Tybraes. Although Keeper Elodis shared the truth about her cousin, Deichtine was a shrewd politician in her later years, having learned people are often only willing to swallow a kernel of truth, not the whole of it. Melandre deserved to be honored, even if it meant a lie of ommission was required until the people were ready for the truth she was far more prepared to hold.  Melandre's story, abridged and fictionalized as it was, proliferated in poetry, in song and litany, as any glorified saint's tale would be.

Never in all these spun romances was there mention of her lover, their child or the Intrinsic Bond that began at a wellspring in Solstis. A spring now known to the Jasu as Innaporet tu•Shalallan, 'The Waters of Bitterness'.







at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Doing my best to screen out spam, I'll make sure your [real life human] comment is posted ASAP!

READ PART ONE

When Comes the Firetide: Inundation | Book One and Reference

*created with stock by Faestock http://faestock.deviantart.com/art/Alanna-41-369008059 AVAILABLE TO BUY NOW Tybraes is an unf...