Page 48 of The Castle & the Cloister

“You can’t,” the Priest said vehemently. “Orden can, or I can. Not you. There’s no reason for it.”

The mere idea of Ariana performing a blood sacrifice for pagan gods was a torment to the Priest. After all these years of her walking the razor edge between survival among the Invers and maintaining some vestige of her faith, it was a terrible blow to hear Ariana considering such a thing.

Orden. Orden had asked her to, no doubt. The Priest knew well enough that Ariana would cut herself to pieces and smile while doing so if Honoria’s king commanded it. And she would feel more indebted to him now than ever—the Priest had heard things were going badly at council. Though they’d only met twice before sessions were suspended in favor of naming ceremony preparations, Gileta was using the time to relentlessly berate Orden for his folly, which only made him bearish; Afon was smug and combative by turns; and Corrin’s Arbiter and Arbitress were silent aside from offering an occasional veiled insult to the absent queen.

The pretense of peace talks had broken down entirely. Whatever concessions or threats or outright scolding Gileta delivered, Orden would not be moved. Beneson, who had managed to secure a posting in the councilchambers for both sessions, seemed begrudgingly respectful of the king’s conduct. Yes, Orden was being impossible. But he was doing it courteously, and enduring hour after hour of slights in the process.

Ariana would feel it was her fault. So she was offering up the one thing she had left to give—the last prohibition of her goddesses that she kept unbroken.

“You don’t have to do this,” the Priest told her. “I know you, I know what it will mean—”

“Stop,” Ariana cut in. “Please. Nothing you can say will convince me to do other than what I’ve planned. It’s… necessary.”

Inwardly, the Priest leveled a thousand curses at Orden, for eternally failing to understand his queen, and for wielding power like a gauntlet.

“When did you decide all this?”

“I spoke with Orden last night. It was decided then.”

Getting to his feet, the Priest returned the prince to Ariana. Then he knelt before her and took her hand in his.

“You should have come to me the moment it was promised,” he said. “I could have found some way around this, I could have—”

“Get up,” Ariana said abruptly. “An Inver Priest doesn’t kneel to his queen. She kneels before him.”

“Gods, Ari, I don’t care—”

“Get up.”

The Priest stood.

“What’s done is done,” Ariana said. “There’s no way out but through. And if you won’t help me—won’t tell me how to do what’s needed as quickly as possible—I’ll ask someone else.”

“Of course I won’t,” the Priest half growled. “Because I won’t stand by while you do this. I’llfinda way out for you, but it would have made both our lives a damned sight easier if you’d come to me first thing.”

Ariana was silent, and after a moment, the Priest’s shoulders slumped.

“Sometimes I think you like it,” he said, the words a reproach. “That it suits you to make yourself suffer more than might otherwise be required, even by your goddess.”

Still the queen did not speak, and the Priest turned to go. As he walked out of her room, his mind reeled, working over the problem, considering alternatives and options. Speaking to the king would only undermineAriana—by now, Orden had likely boasted to two dozen guards and courtiers about the service his wife planned to render their son. He couldn’t, through diplomacy or bribery or manipulation, remove the sacrifice from Ariana’s hands. If he was to save her, he’d have to do so while ensuring itlookedas if she’d done the thing.

He needed a spare body. And this time, the Priest cursed himself, because he had one. Lucian’s dead lackey would do well enough; bodies kept so long in the cool and dryness of the caves. The only trouble was, the Priest had already hauled that corpse away, leaving it hidden in the Corrinians’ tunnel at the end of miles of cavernous dark. With a little reworking of the ceremony’s events, though, and Beneson’s help, he might just be able to sort things out in time.

Bent on his planning, the Priest started immediately down the narrow stairs outside Ariana’s rooms, only to be met by a waft of lavender, sun-warmed earth, and frustration at their midpoint.

“Don’t even think of trying to turn me aside, Priest,” Fia warned. “I’ve offered up concessions enough to choke on since coming here, and I’m in no mood for yet another.”

“You’ve made yourself very free of the castle, whatever your feelings for it,” the Priest said, planting his feet. Already grieved to the point of irritation by Ariana, he would not give way to another child of the Beloved Three. “Coming and going as you please. I thought you’d left us for good.”

“HopedI’d left for good, no doubt,” Fia answered. “Bright Raea had other plans, it seems. Now turn back the way you came—I’m on Her Majesty’s business.”

“I’m on the queen’s business as well,” the Priest said, “and in a hurry besides. You’ll have to turn.”

“I’m not—Silith’s pearl, Priest, if you needle me today, you’ll regret it. I promise you that.”

In answer, he simply stood his ground and did not move.

“You couldn’t be more of an Inver if you tried,” Fia said. “Forever unbending and striving for advantage, even when it would serve you better to yield.”