A game of hearts

Once the Holy Father had become involved things happened quickly. Charyic soon found herself dressed and walking arm in arm with Esus through the streets looking for the offering she was meant to procure. As Malies had said, she knew it the moment she laid eyes on it.

“There. That’s it in the shop window.” Charyic pointed out the short sword. It had a sweeping curve to the blade and a pattern to the steel that made it look as though it rippled as the light caught it. The hilt, guard, grip, and pommel, was an unusual black and white harlequin pattern. It lay on a red velvet cushion on display next to jeweled and intricately worked daggers and knives. None of which looked as though they were meant to see use.

“I can see why Malies would choose it.” The Holy Father gestured and his steward went into the shop to make the purchase. After a few long moments, he came back empty-handed.

“Forgive me, Holy Father. They do not wish to part with it. It is not intended to sell. It is a display of the cleverness of their smith and jewelers.” The man looked deeply apologetic.

“He did say I might need to steal it.” Charyic spoke wryly.

“I doubt you would be able to in your condition.” The steward spoke with condescension.

Esus squeezed her arm, “You shouldn’t.”

She grinned impishly, “I shouldn’t steal it or he shouldn’t doubt me?”

“Both.” Esus gave her his crooked smile and she wanted to kiss him.

“It will make us late. I usually prefer to wait until after dark to do jobs like this. If you don’t mind, I’ll go in and look around a bit-”

The Holy Father shook his head and moved to the door himself. It wasn’t long before hands pulled the blade from the window and he exited with his steward in tow carrying a wrapped package. “Theft was not necessary.” He gestured toward her and the steward brought her the package.

Charyic took it with a smile and a respectful nod. She then pulled out her knife and opened up the package to check it. She noticed Esus’ wince and explained to the Holy Father, “I’m making sure they didn’t do a switch out on you. I knew a merchant once who had a display necklace out that he swore he’d never sell.” She looked up at the Holy Father with a smile. “He would charge an exorbitant amount to part with it, and only to someone from out of town. He had a half dozen similar, but not quite the same tucked away and he’d swap them out while the mark wasn’t looking.” She pulled the blade entirely out of the wrapping and held it up. “Do you see?”

Esus looked at it curiously, “That’s the same blade.”

“No. It isn’t.” The Holy Father sounded furious, his mirrored eyes glinted dangerously.

“May I?” She grinned.

He gestured toward the door and Charyic went in alone, grinning broadly. She greeted the proprietor with a chiding chitter and spread her arms wide. His eyes widened. “The Holy Father for a mark? And I thought I was bold for robbing priests! You are a clever one, though. And it was fun to watch.”

He began to stutter. She stopped him by holding up the blade. “Unfortunately, I need the real one. And you should probably offer him some of his money back so that you aren’t looking over your shoulder for angry Light Bringers for the rest of your life.” She tossed the blade to him and he dropped it. “Don’t wrap it this time, please?”

Stepping out of the shop with the sword in her hand as if she intended to use it, she laughed at the sour expression on the Holy Father’s face. The proprietor followed her, apologizing profusely and offering him a hefty looking purse.

“Keep it.” His tone made Charyic flinch. “You should use it to aid in your relocation.”

Charyic clucked at him disapprovingly.

“How is a small pregnant girl more intimidating than the-”

Holding up her hand with a grin, Charyic cut him off and corrected him gently with a rhyme she’d heard often as a child, “Blind light shines dark/ Love and luck last longer/ Kindness’ bright spark/ Makes heart strings bind stronger.”

A slow smile spread across the Holy Father’s face and his eyes seemed to glow for a moment. “Wyil still imparts his wisdoms with such poor rhymes?”

She tsked at him. “Poor rhymes? That’s always been one of my favorites.”

The walk from the shop to the grand temple was short. Isemal had an elaborate altar in the main domed hall and in the wings were the smaller, but no less exquisitely crafted, altars of Anyk and Ayil. The sight of the Holy Father caused a stir and people tried to part and give him a path to the main altar. That he wished to go to Ayil’s was a thing of puzzlement.

As they reached it, Charyic bowed her head and laid the short sword on the center of the altar below the statue of Ayil, and when she looked up she felt as though she had been pushed back in her mind. She moved and spoke with a will that was not her own.

“Who will listen for the sweet Maiden of Mischief?” Charyic saw the Holy Father grip Esus arm as he started forward with a look of fear on his face.

“I will.” A priestess came walking slowly from behind the altar. “What would you have her hear, grim Ruler of Root and Bone?”

Charyic felt herself smiling. “I would make a wager with her. On a game of hearts. And I would apologize.”

“You know how much she enjoys that. Your apologies are rare.” The priestess gave an impish grin. “She might enjoy the game as well.”

Malies’ laughter came from her mouth. “Malav aches to have his wife back. I must apologize for the damage he will do to your altar in his fury and need. The game I propose will be played with him, and with his wife. Whether she will choose to be his wife again or if she will choose Esus instead. Will you play, Ayil?”

“I think you may be on the losing side in this game, my Esus has already stolen her away.” The woman came closer still grinning. “What is your wager Malies?”

“If she chooses Malav before Esus and all the gods, you will be my wife.”

“And if she chooses Esus?”

“What would you have of me, sweet Ayil?”

“You’ll offer Iskus a place at your shrines, whether or not his people bend their knees to Isemal as well.”

“Done.” There was a tone of pleased finality to the voice coming from Charyic’s mouth. “I would seal the bargain with your kiss.”

“And yet Malav is not here.” The priestess spoke almost mockingly.

Charyic felt her lips twist and her eyes narrowed. “I’ll let him know his presence is desired. I am certain he would like to be present for the birth of his child.” Her hands moved over her round belly possessively. “A child that may yet be dedicated to me.”

A shudder passed through Charyic and she sank to her knees with her eyes closed and held her belly trying to breathe and not throw up, feeling dizzy. “He’s-he’s a little less charming now.” She managed to breathe out as Esus knelt next to her and stroked her hair.

As she felt a warm hand on her head the nausea faded. “When did you select the game pieces, sweet child?” Charyic opened her eyes to see that the Holy Father had his face turned to Ayil’s priestess as he spoke.

The woman beamed, “While you weren’t looking, of course!”

“Malies is more clever than you give him credit for, and more dangerous.” The Holy Father chided.

Ayil’s priestess let the amusement on her face fade to profound displeasure.

Reaching up to gently touch his wrist Charyic smiled wryly, “It wouldn’t be any fun for her otherwise. The Maiden of Mischief likes a challenge.”

His hand moved lower to lift her chin and she looked into his brightly glowing eyes. “Would you have carried a message for me as willingly?”

Charyic had to laugh, “Perhaps not quite as willingly, but I would have carried it. If you asked me to, I still would.” Her eyes started to water from meeting his brilliant gaze but she smiled, “For a moment, I stole the sky.”

A smile slowly spread across his features and he drew his hand from under her chin, “For a moment, it was given to you.”

She blinked as he turned away to look at Ayil’s priestess again, her eyes ached as if she’d been staring into the sun. Esus turned her face to his apprehensively, and seemed relieved, kissing her face and pulling her close.

“You claimed Esus was your piece in this game, but he isn’t the only one.” The Holy Father sounded almost amused.

“Father, they’re all my pieces.” Ayil’s voice was sweetly smug. “Some just take less encouragement than others.”

He laughed. It sounded very much like Malies’ laugh to Charyic.