Godspeaker Read online

  “Maybe it’s an omen,” Soya said as I wrote, bending down and looking through the spyglass again. “From the Night Father.”

  “An omen about wh-what?” There were plenty of reasons the gods might give omens, but Umbrion was hardly one of the more communicative of the pantheon. He didn’t even have a Godspeaker.

  “If we knew that, it wouldn’t need an omen, now, would it?”

  She sat down next to me and offered her skin of mead as I wrote. I smiled and took a swig, and the honeyed flavor burned all the way down my throat.

  In the brutally clear lens of hindsight, I know that was the moment where it all started. Soya had never been more correct – that flying star was an omen, and I stayed up on that bluff all night thinking about it, staring at it, charting it, until Soya bid me goodnight and went back to the city, until I was alone with the stars, until I fell asleep on that bed of moss with the wind on my face and vision of flying stars in my mind’s eye.

  And when I woke up the next morning, despite the fact that I’d fallen asleep nearly a league from home, I was tucked safely in my bed with a single nightlily in my hand.

  I would have been more surprised or alarmed but for the fact that this had been happening to me since I was very small.

  I couldn’t have been more than 100 seasons old when it first happened, so long ago that my memories of it are uncoordinated and hazy, in the way that only childhood memories can be. I had climbed out my bedroom window and onto the roof while the rest of my family slept, and I had fallen asleep admiring the stars.

  And when I woke up the following morning, instead of being on the roof, I was tucked safely in my bed with a nightlily flower gripped loosely in my hand.

  I was too young at the time to really understand how strange and impossible it was, and I went on with my day as though nothing was wrong. No one commented – no one seemed to know – so I never gave it much thought, even as it happened again and again. I would fall asleep under the stars, and wake up in my bed with a nightlily flower.

  It seems strange, in retrospect, to say that I had just gotten used to something so anomalous, but that was precisely what happened. It was just another phenomenon of the world that I didn’t quite understand, no more bizarre in my mind than the way the sun moved across the sky or rain fell from the clouds. It was unusual, but so was every other part of the world in its quiet, beautiful way, and in the innocence of my younger years, I never felt any compunction to fear it. I still didn’t, all those years later.

  So, as I did every time, I smiled, and I smelled the nightlily, and I rose to dress and get on with my day.

  My parents, grandparents, and brother all set to the task of planning the festivities, and I was forced into helping, which was unbearable.

  Granted, their progress was often hindered by the nearing Queensday Tournaments, coming up at midseason. They were an auspicious event in their own right, and planning a party so close was a bit like lighting a match in broad daylight, so I took some comfort in the party’s comparative insignificance.

  Still, we were a well-respected house, and my brother, gregarious overachiever that he was, had plenty of friends that were all eager to help him celebrate his coming-of-age, especially at the palace. Every day I saw the guest list grow, and it only made me dread it more. By the time the awful day actually arrived, I was an absolute mess.

  I am not exaggerating, by the way. Sometimes when I am too inside my own head, too wrapped up in my fears and anxieties, I can start to break down. I become a trembling, sobbing, fearful mess, lost in my own terror, and I want nothing more than to lock myself in my room and never come out. The episodes are awful; they leave me feeling vulnerable and delicate and hollow.

  Such was the case on the day of the party. It was a good thing Soya found me when she did.

  “It’s about to start,” she said, knocking on my bedroom door. “Are you in there?”

  I couldn’t answer, largely because I couldn’t speak due to the wheezing and trembling.

  “Si?”

  I heard the door squeal as she nudged it open, and in the reflection of the mirror, I saw her peer through the crack. “Oh, Si…”

  She left herself in. Some quiet corner of my mind noticed how nice she looked in her formal linens, dyed rich violet and embroidered with gold, but it was drowned out by the much louder parts of my mind that were screaming no, no, no, can’t, no, please, no, please, no, no, no.

  She came up from behind and hugged me tightly around the middle. My legs, already trembling from the terror thundering through my body, nearly gave out, and I had to brace both hands on the wall on either side of the mirror.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s going to be okay. It’s just for an hour.”

  It was hard to take comfort in her reassurances. All I could think about was the length of the guest list, of how many people would be there, and how many of them would be staring, judging, with their cold eyes and their cruel words, sharp as knives and twice as painful.

  “Not even an hour,” she continued, petting my hair. “We’ll just go in for a little while. Just for a while, let you be seen, and then we can go find a good seat to watch the Godspeaker’s arrival.”

  I did my best to believe her, to acknowledge that it would probably be fine. Awful as strangers could be – and I knew from experience just how awful they could be, especially to a strange, quiet boy with a stutter – I knew that most would prefer to ignore my presence entirely rather than harass me at a function hosted by my family.

  And I wouldn’t have to stay, I reminded myself. I could leave with Soya as soon as I was seen.

  I could convince my mind, but my heart seemed to disagree.

  “All right?” she asked a while later, once the worst of the shaking had stopped.

  I forced myself to nod. Not because I was all right, but because I feared my grandmother’s anger more than I feared the party, albeit by a narrow margin.

  “Come on, Si. I’ll make sure no one gives you a hard time.”

  I reluctantly followed her downstairs and kicked on my sandals before heading outside into the blindingly sunny streets of the capitol.

  The clear skies of morning did nothing to cheer me; I still felt as though I was walking with a weight in the pit of my stomach, so heavy that it made every part of me drag. It certainly didn’t help maters that the city was full and bustling with people at this time in the afternoon. I kept my head down and tried to ignore the way my heart was hammering in my throat.

  “You look nice,” Soya offered, in a valiant attempt to cheer me up.

  It was just a simple, wrapping linen tunic in dark blue. It fit me well enough, but I’d never had much to work with. Each of my features on its own was nice enough, but they came together in such a way that wasn’t so much attractive as it was peculiar. I wasn’t handsome like Perenor; I was mismatched.

  When I didn’t answer, Soya sighed and linked her arm in mine.

  “It’ll be fine,” she insisted, “you’ll see. We’ll go in, linger, chat, and then we’ll be right out again.”

  “I’m all-all-all-all right,” I said, because I hated worrying her.

  She smiled reassuringly. “Yeah, you are.”

  No matter how many times you’d seen it, rounding that last corner onto the main artery of the city and seeing the palace at the end was a slap to the face. With its limestone spires and gleaming golden roofs, it was by several orders of magnitude the largest and most beautiful building in the city.

  The wide stone road leading up to it was a mess of carts and camels and shouting merchants. I hated crowds, and they always set my heart beating faster. I must have gripped Soya’s arm a bit too tightly, because I could hear her mutter something reassuring yet indistinct, inaudible over the dull roar of the street.

  It wasn’t a long walk from anywhere to the palace, because the palace was in the center of everything. When we came to the golden gates and the guards there posted, we were allowed through with little mo
re than a glance in our direction. As the firstborn of a noble, Soya was allowed just about anywhere without question, and I clung to her metaphorical coattails all the way in, crossing the drawbridge over the moat and into the gleaming golden doors.

  I wasn’t terribly familiar with the layout of the palace. I’d only been inside on a handful of occasions, but it is the sort of building that always manages to exceed your expectations regardless. Gleaming marble floors and walls, broad windows open to the surrounding gardens, endless mosaics wrapping around the ceiling and down toward the floor, endless sculptures and pottery and tapestries.

  Servants and functionaries were crossing in every direction, and just as I realized that I did not know where the party was being held, Soya gave my arm a tug and pulled me off to a flight of curving stairs leading to the upper level.

  Down a hall and around a corner, and suddenly I could hear a low and ominous thrum of muted voices. Navigating the busy streets of Ellorian had been agonizing enough, but before we had even made it through the wide double doors, I knew it was going to be too much. Fear rose like bile in my throat, and I stumbled to a stop in my path. The doors were standing open, and I could see them – all of them, in my mind no different from a pit of vipers—

  “I c-c-c— I c-c-c-can’t—”

  “Yes, you can,” Soya insisted, tugging me along. “You can, Silas, it won’t take long.”

  I could see them through the double doors, so many people, laughing and dancing and drinking wine, and even though none of them had looked at me, I could already feel the heat of their stares, the cold sting of their judgment, and it was awful, and I couldn’t bear it, I just wanted to run away.

  “I c-c-c-c—”

  “Your grandmother will skin you if you don’t at least show up.”

  And she was right, of course she was, but it took another firm tug at my arm to bring me inside anyway.

  I’ve never really had any luck in trying to explain my strange fear of social interaction to other people, and there have been many who have asked. They always seem confused by the premise of it, never understanding the context of being an outsider in an insider’s world. On more than one occasion, I’ve wanted to shake them by the shoulders and say, look, look around, I am in a room full of wolves; would you not also be trembling?

  And that’s what they were: wolves. My only relief at that moment was that none of them had spotted me when Soya dragged me in.

  Although the party had only just begun, it was already settling in. It was hosted in a large ballroom with great, wide columns melting into a vaulted ceiling, with windows of colored glass and a gleaming marble floor. On the far end of the room was a band of musicians – drums, lute, harp, flute, chimes – whose song filtered through the crowd and echoed off the high ceiling in strange ways.

  Soya pulled me straight to the refreshment table and urged a cup of wine into my hand. I wasn’t an intemperate sort, but I eagerly took a swallow of it in the hopes it might calm my fraying nerves.

  “See?” she said. “It’s all fine. No one’s noticed. No one’s even going to—”

  “Silas?”

  I spun so abruptly that I nearly dropped my cup and coughed up my heart. A young man was crossing the ballroom toward me, dark-haired and distantly familiar, though I couldn’t place his name. He was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger, and I desperately hoped that he wouldn’t ask me any questions, because it was doubtful I could speak.

  “It’s good to see you,” the stranger said to me. “Congratulations on your coming-of-age.”

  I made a small, strangled sound in the back of my throat and then masked it immediately with a swallow of wine.

  “I’m Dorran,” said Dorran (apparently), his smile fading fractionally when I didn’t respond. “House Valnon?”

  The name was familiar, but only vaguely. If memory served, he was one generation out from the First Andels, and his mother was also on the Queenscourt – or maybe she was a diplomat form Sessyr. I couldn’t remember. Any critical thinking ability I have is compromised in the presence of strangers.

  “Did they not warn you?”

  “Probably not,” Soya interjected, bless her. Dorran’s eyes swiveled around. He frowned in confusion, and she continued with, “Sorry. Soya of House Rhodan. Friend of Silas’s.”

  “Oh,” Dorran said. Then, “oh. Lady Rhodan!”

  “My father’s the lord,” Soya answered dismissively, “and he’s in Avenos.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Dorran said, offering a hand to Soya, who took it with a smile, “but I was rather hoping I could speak to Silas alone.”

  Soya shot me a brief, measuring look. I shook my head. I absolutely could not speak to him alone. Balance of probability was I couldn’t speak at all.

  “It’s not private, is it?” Soya answered, taking pity on me. “Parties aren’t good places to discuss private matters.”

  Dorran smiled nervously. “Well, no,” he admitted. “It’s not private, it’s just – did they really not warn you, Silas?”

  He looked at me as though he was expecting an answer. I could not fathom what he meant – I didn’t know who they were or what they were meant to warn me about. And since there was no way I could possibly get a single word out, I just shook my head and tried to conceal the fact that my hands were shaking.

  “Your grandmother and my mother have been commiserating,” he explained. He looked a little more nervous, though not nearly as nervous as I looked, surely. “They were talking about – well, it’s all sort of convoluted, tangled matters of diplomacy and everything – but my mother seemed quite keen on the idea of joining a Sessyrian house with an Imlandranian one. Interprovincial cooperation and all that.”

  It took me a moment to work out he meant. It took Soya a split second more.

  “Wait,” she said, “you’re talking about – they’re thinking of betrothing you?”

  The only thing I handled worse than strangers was surprise, and this was surely the worst kind of surprise. I had come of age literally hours ago, and already my matriarch was planning a marriage for me – behind my back, no less?

  In my shock, I found that I rather forgot to be afraid. At least until Dorran spoke again—

  “Well, if all goes well.” He smiled at me, and I’m sure it was meant to be reassuring, but it was not. “We were meant to get to know each other first. That’s why I wanted to speak alone. Do you dance, Silas?”

  I most assuredly did not dance, especially not with strangers, especially not while my hands were trembling so violently that I could scarcely hold a cup of wine. The fear came back as waves of pain, and I pushed past Soya, abandoning my wine on a nearby table and making for the hallway. Behind me, Soya muttered her apologies and scrambled after me.

  Betrothal – the word was still spinning through my head. How could they set up my betrothal without my knowledge, to someone I didn’t even know?

  “Silas! Silas!”

  Soya had always been faster than me, and by the time I was halfway down the steps, she caught up with me, wrenching me around by my shoulder.

  “Silas, it’s all right—”

  “B-b-b-betrothal?”

  “Look, it’s awful for them to do this to you, but in case it’s escaped your notice, your family in general is pretty awful.”

  I laughed bitterly and kept walking. Soya sighed loudly and kept following me.

  “Th-th-this is a n-new low, even f-f-for them—”

  “It’s not like they can force you to marry him. If you just talk to them—”

  “I d-d-don’t want to-to talk to them.” I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I wanted to leave this godsforsaken place. “I w-w-want to watch the G-Godspeaker’s arrival.”

  “Silas—”

  “I kn-know I’ll have to c-confront them,” I said, “obviously I kn-kn-know, but Soya, c-can we just—”

  I sighed, stopped again just inside the gilded doors leading out of the castle. Soya watched me in worried
silence as I gathered up my words.

  “L-let’s just go,” I said. “P-p-please?”

  Soya sighed, but nodded. I smiled gratefully, albeit somewhat weakly, and together we pushed out of the castle and onto the street again.

  We spent about a half-hour navigating the city in unsteady silence searching for a good place to sit and watch the great caravan pass. Soya bought a skin of wine and a bag of dried dates, and by the time we found a suitable rooftop – a two-story tailor’s shop near the main gates of the city – the sun was setting over the water. On the horizon, we could see a dark line of camels and carts moving slowly toward Ellorian.

  We sat on the edge of the roof for a time. I drew my legs up to my chest, and Soya looked at me in silence as she fussed open the bag of dates.

  “So,” she said. “Greatmother Amira. Godspeaker to the Worldmother.”

  When she offered me the bag of dates, I took one without answering.

  “I always thought being a Godspeaker would be sort of terrible,” she continued. “Walking around all the time with a god in your head, telling you who knows what. That’s got to get annoying after a while.”

  Not that I didn’t appreciate her effort, but after learning of my family’s treachery, I wasn’t in much of a mood for talking.

  She sighed, nudged me with her elbow.

  “Don’t let them ruin your coming-of-age.”

  I rolled the date between my fingers. “It w-w-was ruined the m-minute they t-t-told me about the p-party.” Granted, there had been parts that had made it worse.

  “Look!”

  I looked.

  The great golden gates of Ellorian were being drawn open with the grinding of metal on metal. A cheer was rising from the crowds lined up along the main artery of the city. The procession had arrived.

  “Sol! Sol! Sol!” came the low, rhythmic chanting of the crowds, the Worldmother’s name like the heartbeat of the living rock beneath us. The first flank of guards passed under the gate on camels, and even from a distance, I could make out their sun-darkened skin, the metal beads woven into their hear. They were Ansu, like their Godspeaker, hailing from the jungles of Onansu. I was only a child during the previous Queensday Tournaments, and had never seen an Ansu before. I hadn’t even had any expectations, but they somehow surpassed them anyway. They were strange and exotic and beautiful.