Page 83 of The Isles of the Gods
Mellacea will muster her navy too—ostensibly in response to Alinor’s threats, but in reality as the culmination of a buildup that’s been under way now for more than a year.
The words on the front of the newspaper I’m holding confirm as much.
First Councilor Tariden Visits House of Macean
In Alinor, Queen Augusta leads the nation—she has a pack of ministers and advisers, elected officials whose advice sheoften takes, and priests who speak on behalf of the church. Ultimately, however, hers is the last word on any subject.
Here in Mellacea their leaders are elected, but the real power lies elsewhere. That’s why the first councilor is making the trip to consult the green sisters, the leader of the people making the journey to the church.
In Alinor, at least the woman who rules the country is honest in admitting she does so. The first of the green sisters can’t say the same.
I wonder if they stock international newspapers at the Bibliotek. There would be a delay in shipping them, of course, but it would be interesting to see the same events reported from varying perspectives. Perhaps I can import them myself, if not.
The idea of being there—of seeing the great library, of taking classes in the legendary lecture halls, of debating and learning among students from all over the world…it’s a dream I’ve fought for, and one way or another, I’m going to see it through. I might be caught up in world politics now, but the Bibliotek itself is independent, untouchable—it’s home to the largest Temple of the Mother in existence for a reason. Just as all her children are present in her temples, everyone at the Bibliotek is welcome, and leaves their conflict at the door.
Before I see any of it, I must give some thought to how I’ll explain the lateness of my arrival, because I’ll certainly miss the first part of the semester, and I can’t tell them the truth.
I think it’s reasonable to hope the ambassador might put me on a ship there, but if not, I have my necklace—though I’d prefer to use it for my expenses until I can secure a scholarshipor tutoring work. With any luck Leander will remember to ask somebody about passage for me before we part ways.
As if my mention summons him, the curtain beside me shifts, and the prince appears.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he murmurs, leaning against the windowsill beside me.
I don’t respond right away. We’ve never been friends, Prince Leander of Alinor and I. He wasn’t the worst of them at school, but he never went out of his way to help me, either.
I still remember the first time we met, in fact, although I doubt he does.
I was in the library, sitting against the wall between two high shelves, a book resting on my knees. I was twelve, so no doubt I was passing my lunch hour with a geographical treatise, most probably something by Freestone.
The prince was newly arrived and walking with a gaggle of other students, all of them fighting to show him around. They came by the end of the aisle where I was sitting, and one of them—a broad-shouldered boy called Hargrove—happened to glance my way. Our eyes met, and I mentally urged him to keep moving, holding myself still.
“Look out!” he called, and my heart dropped as every head turned my way. “A bookworm!”
“Steer clear,” called someone from behind him. “You might catch something! You never know where he’s been.”
Everywhere,I wanted to say.And anywhere. That’s the point of books.
Hargrove snapped his teeth at me from the end of the aisle, and I flinched. “Worms don’t bite,” he said, grinning. “No teeth.”
I thought about advising him that a Petronian knifeworm had teeth sharp enough to eat its way right out of his gut, if he consumed a piece of fish or game with one inside. But I had already learned to keep my own counsel, rather than engage with my classmates.
“Be brave,” drawled Leander from behind him. Even at that age, his tone was full of assurance—it always held a hint of a smile, as though he knew a joke, and you were supposed to be desperate to be in on it. At first I thought he was talking to me, but then he continued. “I’m sure you’ll all survive the local wildlife.”
And just like that, the prince’s stamp of approval was on my exclusion.
I was aware I was gawky, too long of limb, too pale for lack of sun, too wary of the world already. In that moment, it was clear there would never be any place for me there.
Four years later, when we were sixteen, I gave up the unequal struggle, pressing the headmaster to suggest to my parents that I learn at home, with tutors. Although I was pleased he agreed, the haste with which he did so was somewhat dispiriting, and only confirmed my own concerns.
Now Leander recalls my attention with a whisper, joining me in looking down to the square below. “I always thought it would feel different, to be a part of history.”
“You’ve been a part of history all your life,” I point out. “Have you got something to write with?”
He doesn’t reply, but ducks away to the other side of the curtain, returning with the satchel that holds his family journal. From this he retrieves a stub of a pencil and hands it over.
I smooth out a piece of the newspaper and draw a grid fora game of Trallian Fates, then set out a few of the brightly colored glass stones he bought from the magician’s stall tonight in lieu of the candles I’m sure he’d prefer.
“I’m not really a part of history,” he says belatedly, returning to our previous conversation. “Augusta is; Coria even, because it’ll be her children who inherit. Me? Not even the spare. Once I’ve made this sacrifice—which, I might add, isn’t exactly a skilled endeavor: all I had to do was sit on a boat, visit the temple of a goddess I get along with very well, and draw a knife across my palm, not what you’d call demanding, even though I did find a way to fail—once I’ve done that, what is there for me to do? Wait a quarter century for the next one?”
