Raven's Ruin (The Keeper Origins Book 2) Read online

  “It’s time to go, Holy Mother,” Hetty said briskly.

  Narine sighed again. “I suppose we must. I can’t imagine it won’t turn political, though.”

  Sable slipped the second boot onto Narine’s foot. “Aren’t all these meetings political?”

  “Unfortunately. The priories have never been political leaders,” Narine said. “Never before have we presumed to make treaties with foreign powers. It is a twisting of our entire purpose. It is not my place to rule this city—it is my place to serve.”

  “But if you don’t stop the Kalesh from spreading, who will?”

  Narine’s face took on a stubborn look. “I will not take on the role of political ruler. And if I refuse, perhaps the Dragon Prioress and the Prioress of the Horn will step back from this path as well. The city will raise its own political leaders to follow, and the priories can go back to our rightful role of offering spiritual guidance to the people. Amah is interested in people’s hearts, not the politics of the land.”

  Sable kept her eyes on the laces of the second boot, hoping it wasn’t obvious how much she disagreed with that sentiment. If she had the power to speak out against the Kalesh and actually curtail their actions in the city…

  Narine sighed. “But let’s go give our condolences and hear the new ambassador push the Empire’s eternal request to quarter soldiers in the city.”

  “Quarter soldiers?” Sable sat back on her heels. “In Immusmala?”

  “It’s what they’ve always wanted,” Narine answered, “and what the Dragon Prioress has been trying to stave off.”

  Sable stared at her. “We can’t give them that. We can’t give their army a foothold in the city.”

  Narine gave a short laugh and stood. “You are more like Prioress Vivaine than you may want to admit. Those are her thoughts exactly.”

  Chapter Three

  Sable walked beside Narine, their steps crunching unhurried on the gravel path through the garden. The prioress paused often to inspect the vegetables, admiring their growth with the abbesses who tended them.

  Sable hoped that their tortoise-like pace meant that the meeting would be half done before they reached it, but when they finally arrived at the Dragon Priory, the only people in the council room were Vivaine, two Sanctus guards, and a Mira Sable recognized from this morning at the hanging. Sable wasn’t sure how many of these magic-wielding women actually worked for Vivaine, but there were always a half-dozen of them doing impressive things at the festivals. The woman’s robe was long and white, draping elegantly to the floor, but her cuffs and the hem of her robe sparkled with shimmering silver.

  Sable and Narine entered at the narrow end of the council chamber. Bright stained-glass windows in the far wall poured light onto the table running the length of the room. In front of the windows, two chairs, taller and more ornate than the rest, sat next to each other. Vivaine sat in one, looking over some papers.

  Sable studied the dark-haired Mira standing attentively behind Vivaine’s chair, wondering if she’d seen this woman before today, lighting a lantern with just a touch or ringing the festival bells without even that.

  Unlike Hetty’s subservient manner, or the invisible way the guards stood against the wall, this Mira’s position near Vivaine held some authority. This woman wasn’t merely a faceless attendant.

  “Narine, dear.” The High Prioress stood and swept down the room, reaching past Sable to embrace the Phoenix Prioress. “Thank you for coming. I know it’s been an exhausting day.”

  “Hopefully this meeting will end as peacefully and mercifully as the scene at the gallows this morning,” Narine answered.

  “We can certainly hope.” Vivaine glanced dismissively at Sable. “A comfortable seat has been prepared for the prioress near the head of the table.”

  The Mira pulled out the chair closest to Vivaine. Thick, red cushions lined the seat and the back.

  Narine had barely reached her seat when Prioress Eugessa strode into the room, calling out orders to hurry with the wine and pastries. She came down the near side of the table, pausing at Narine’s chair and patting the elderly prioress’s arm. “How are you today, dear?”

  Sitting on Eugessa’s smallest finger was the butterfly ring, the dull blue stones glinting. The horrible, stupid ring that might have actually bought Talia’s freedom from Kiva, and it was once again utterly unattainable.

  “Nasty business this morning,” Eugessa said. “Dreadful way to wake up.” Without waiting for Narine to answer, Eugessa waved the line of abbesses behind her toward the table.

  Sable dragged her gaze away from the irritating ring and froze. Standing in Eugessa’s large shadow, a smaller, more familiar figure timidly held a plate of cinnamon bread.

  Through the gauzy veil, Sable’s gaze locked on her sister’s face. Her stomach sank. “Ryah?” The word came out as a whisper.

  Ryah attempted a smile, but the effort fell flat.

  Eugessa snapped her fingers. “Stop dallying, girl. There are important people coming.”

  Ryah ducked her head and set the plate down. She hurried after the other abbesses to the far wall, tucking herself between two larger women, her arms pulled in tight, her veiled face turned toward the floor.

  Sable took half a step toward her, and thick fingers closed around her arm.

  The room bustled with activity, but Eugessa stood barely a pace away, her hand gripping Sable’s forearm with a warm, clammy hand. The prioress’s fleshy, powdered face looked down at Sable coldly, her orange painted lips twisted in disgust. “If it were up to me,” she whispered, “you’d have swung on those gallows this morning alongside the traitor.”

  Eugessa’s words pressed against Sable true and stiflingly warm, like hot sunlight on a stagnant day.

  The prioress glanced at Ryah. “And the rest of your friends and family too.”

  Eugessa shoved Sable’s arm away and strode past her, tossing a bland greeting at Vivaine and settling into the first chair on the other side of the table.

  Sable rubbed her skin, trying to banish the feel of the woman’s hand.

  At the sight of Ryah shrunk back against the wall, the anger that had smoldered against Vivaine all day spread out to encompass Eugessa as well and fused into a thick, molten pool.

  Vivaine’s Mira stepped closer, the silver edges of her cuffs glimmering. She set her hand on Sable’s elbow and pulled her away from the table until they stood against the wall. “Your place is here,” she whispered. “The High Prioress requests that you do nothing to draw attention to yourself during the meeting.”

  Sable tried to yank her arm away.

  The Mira didn’t release her grip. “Your role is to gauge whether people are speaking truthfully. Outwardly, you will be meek and silent.”

  Sable’s jaw clenched, and she glared at Vivaine.

  The Mira’s fingertips dug into Sable’s arm. “That includes your facial expression. Anything you wish to convey to the Holy Mother must wait until you are alone with her. This is what you agreed to. Acknowledge that you will keep your word.”

  Sable clenched her hands into fists, but she gave a curt nod, and the Mira’s grip loosened.

  “The Holy Mother also wishes to remind you,” the woman continued quietly, “that I will be standing next to you the entire time, and while I am touching you, I am aware of your thoughts.”

  Sable focused on the feel of the woman’s hand on her elbow. There was nothing unusual in the woman’s touch. So, Sable thought loudly, I’m to have a nameless leech on my arm?

  The Mira gave a humorless smile. “My name is Gwen, and you don’t need to shout.”

  Sable stiffened. She’d sensed…nothing. The thought of Gwen inside her mind made her feel terribly exposed, and she tried again to pull her arm away.

  The Mira shot her an annoyed look. “Yes, I can hear your thoughts,” Gwen whispered. “And no, you can’t feel it.”

  Sable stared at her. Gwen was about Sable’s age, but taller, her face smooth and serious. Her hair was long and dark, almost black. The similarity to Sable’s hair was striking, except Gwen’s was combed perfectly straight, hanging down her back with far more elegance than Sable’s managed.

  Gwen glanced at Sable’s head. “At least yours looks better than it did this morning at the gallows. You looked dreadful.”

  The chill from Gwen’s invasive talent shifted to annoyance. I had been up all night, detained by your Most Holy High Prioress who was threatening my friends with death.

  “Yes, you are an innocent victim. It’s truly heartbreaking,” Gwen murmured dryly. “Do you always whine this much?”

  Vivaine, Eugessa, and Narine sat discussing the upcoming Red Shield Festival. More white-robed women filed in, placing plates and cups at each seat of the table. Prioress Narine selected a piece of cinnamon bread from a passing abbess and took a large bite.

  How often do I have to stand here with you? Sable put some effort into constructing a mental image of tearing her arm out of Gwen’s grasp.

  “As often as Prioress Vivaine desires,” the Mira told her. “The Holy Mother has named you witness for the Phoenix Priory. In addition to caring for Narine, you will come to the Dragon Priory to witness meetings that don’t require Prioress Narine’s attendance but that the Phoenix Priory should be aware of. You’ll come on the first and fourth days of the week during the hours when the High Prioress receives petitioners, and any other time you’re sent for. I doubt you’ll be here more than four times per week.”

  “Four times a week?” Sable whispered.

  Gwen shushed her. “Don’t speak.”

  Being here that often is going to make it difficult to care for Narine, Sable finished silently.

  “You’re there to help the Phoenix Prioress with small tasks. You’
re hardly essential. Prioress Narine will understand.”

  Sable glanced at the prioress, who had already eaten half the cinnamon bread. I think the Prioress Narine understands the situation completely.

  Gwen shot her a narrow look. “The High Prioress also expects detailed updates on the Phoenix Prioress’s health.”

  Meaning I’m supposed to spy on her? At least that explains why Vivaine put me there. Does the Dragon Priory not have enough influence on the Phoenix Priory to get anyone else to inform on Narine?

  Gwen remained unruffled. “We’re all very worried about Prioress Narine’s health.” She emphasized the title. “High Prioress Vivaine is glad to see you’ve started attending to the mail. That is a task the Phoenix Prioress should not be burdened with.”

  Sable looked sharply at Vivaine. Sitting at the table, she spoke with the other two prioresses, giving every appearance of gentle innocence.

  She was watching me?

  Gwen let out a little snort of derision. “The Holy Mother led me to believe you were clever. I thought you’d understand that the High Prioress knows everything.”

  Sable looked at the Mira incredulously. She had nothing better to do today than watch me read Narine’s mail? The folded letter in her sleeve felt suddenly horribly obvious.

  Gwen glanced down at Sable’s arm. “You aren’t forbidden from contacting people outside of the priory,” she said. “Or from attempting to blindly help groups of people you don’t even know. But don’t forget that the High Prioress is Amah’s vessel. The goddess shows the Holy Mother things she needs to know to keep the people safe, and so Prioress Vivaine is always aware of things that are important.”

  Sable felt the warmth of Gwen’s words but shook her head. That is not remotely close to the truth.

  Gwen shot her a frown and squeezed Sable’s arm. “It is true, and I know you felt it.”

  You believed what you said, Sable corrected her. But believing something doesn’t make it true. How long have you worked for Vivaine?

  Gwen’s frown deepened, and she ignored the question. “So you can only feel whether someone believes what they’re saying?”

  Of course. I can feel whether you are being truthful or purposefully deceptive. But what you happen to believe in your head may have nothing at all to do with reality. This nonsense with Vivaine is an excellent example.

  Gwen’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “You will refer to the Holy Mother by her appropriate title.”

  That’s unlikely. There had been a time when Sable had been shocked to hear Atticus call High Prioress “Vivaine,” but while they’d practiced the play, Sable had grown comfortable with it. Vivaine doesn’t deserve respectful titles, and I’m definitely not going to use them when I’m thinking in my own head. She glanced at Gwen. If you’ve worked for her for any amount of time, I doubt you really believe she learns everything from Amah.

  “The Holy Mother doesn’t get all her information from the goddess. She also has faithful followers who share with her what they see happening in the world.”

  Sable let out a short laugh. Normal people call those “spies.”

  Gwen rolled her eyes. “I don’t expect someone like you to understand the dedication other people have to the goddess.”

  I understand dedication to the goddess. What I don’t understand is dedication to Vivaine.

  “And yet here you are, working for her.”

  That is not out of loyalty, I assure you. Sable’s gaze wandered across the veiled abbesses lining the walls of the room. It was a small comfort that servants here didn’t wear veils, so at least Sable wasn’t relegated to the ranks of faceless abbesses.

  Position is crucial, Atticus had told her once. If you want to strip a character of their voice, move them to the periphery until they become part of the backdrop.

  The old traitor had been right about that at least.

  It hardly mattered that Sable’s face was visible when her voice had been stripped away. She was shoved into the background and muzzled. If this room was a stage, then the table was the focal point. Everyone around the outskirts existed merely to set the mood.

  Sable’s gaze fell on Vivaine. All those weeks trying to understand the prioress, all that energy trying to imagine what Vivaine must really be like, and Sable had landed so far from the mark.

  “You hardly know her well enough to decide that,” Gwen pointed out.

  Sable snapped her attention back to the Mira. How can you read my mind? Half the time I have enough scattered thoughts in my head I can barely make sense of them.

  “It is a noisy, unpleasant place,” Gwen agreed.

  And you hear everything in it?

  “I hear most clearly what you’re focused on.”

  Sable paused. So, if I were to focus on reciting lines from plays and ignoring whether or not people in this room are speaking the truth, you’d merely hear the plays?

  “I could still tell what you felt about the truth, but it would take more work. So when the Kalesh get here, focus on the meeting.”

  Sable turned to face the Mira. For the first time today, she felt a tiny sliver of control. You need my cooperation.

  “No. I don’t.”

  Really? You can sort out small, minor fluctuations in the warmth of the room that I’m not paying attention to? While I’m loudly and passionately reciting the poem Epophus composes for his love? How much are you picking up about the prioresses right now? Because even from this distance, if I focused, I could confirm that Eugessa is almost constantly lying, but I’ve been ignoring them.

  Gwen tightened her grip on Sable’s arm. “You promised the High Prioress you would help.”

  No, I promised her I would support her in public and attend meetings where you’d read my mind to find out if people were telling the truth. I never promised to help you do your job.

  Gwen let out an irritated breath. “What do you want, Issable?”

  Sable thought back to Atticus’s words. Even a silent actor can demand attention, he’d said, if you just keep them near a central character. Before long the audience will be dying to know who they are and what they’re going to do. And how they reached their position of influence.

  Sable glanced at the council table. I want to stand behind Narine’s chair. The closer I am to people, the more clearly I can feel them.

  Gwen gave her a flat look. “And, as Atticus says, you’ll demand people’s attention, even if you’re silent.”

  Sable shrugged. If I’m going to help you, I should get something out of it. It’s up to you, of course, but I should warn you that from back here I will feel less of people’s words, making it harder for you to detect. And I remember the lines to a lot of plays.

  Gwen glared at her, but before she could answer, footsteps rang out in the hall, and three Kalesh men strode into the room. Two were soldiers, wearing their black uniforms with red and gold accents, leaving the third man to be the new ambassador.

  Sable cleared her throat and looked up at the ceiling. How does that poem start? Oh, yes. Demonda, my love! Time slogs along and I am dying. I cannot breathe, I cannot move until you are near me—

  Gwen clenched her fingers. “Fine. But I will be speaking to the Holy Mother about this.”

  Excellent. Sable started forward, and Gwen came along with her, still holding her arm until they stood behind Narine’s tall chair.

  Vivaine frowned, but Gwen made a series of hand signals, and Vivaine, with a small scowl, refocused on the Kalesh.

  Unlike the last ambassador, this one was old. Easily as old as Atticus. And, unlike Ambassador Tehl, there was no pretense that this man wasn’t part of the military. His hair was a stormy grey, and his face was weathered with the look of a career soldier. A puckered scar ran from his temple down to his jaw, leaving a bare path through his grey beard. He didn’t wear a uniform, but his black robe with the blood red dragon snaking down the center managed to look crisp enough to be one.

  His expression was one of detached, military sternness, and Sable smiled. Do you think Vivaine will charm this one into marrying her?

  “Focus, whiner,” Gwen whispered.

  The ambassador hadn’t reached the table before Eugessa rushed toward him, her white robe billowing about her.

  “Ambassador Bastian! We are appalled and sickened by the events of last night!” Eugessa set one hand on the ambassador’s arm, her rings glittering. “To have such a great man as Ambassador Tehl murdered, right here in the Sanctuary! How can we possibly make amends?”