Forty-seven

Kwes paced the cell with a scowl. They’d striped him of everything and given him a piece of cloth to tie around his hips. Cyran, in the cell across from him, hadn't been stripped at all. The man was sitting there looking chagrined as if it were somehow his fault.

“Cousin?” Cyran tossed his jacket across as best he could and Kwes cursed himself for not having had the foresight to keep some tools in it.

Still, he put it on, a loose, apparently soap filled jacket was better than nothing.

“Why do I have the feeling that this is your fault, Cyran?”

The man flushed.

“What did you do?”

“Stealing from temples is wrong.”

“At least you remember that much,” a sour voice heralded the approach of a man who bore a strong resemblance to Master Odos, if he’d spent a few years sucking lemons. 

Kwes folded his arms and studied him and the stunning blond woman at his side.

“Father-”

“You will not call me that!” The man turned away and glared at Kwes. “And you, son of Odos, where is your sister?”

“Be gentle, Imos.” The woman placed a hand on his arm. “The child needs love and guidance. He is not to blame.”

“That’s very sweet of you-”

“I was not speaking of you, son of Odos.” She gave him a sour look.

“I’m aware. My cousin isn’t the sharpest or the most reliable but he’s not a bad man. His father on the other hand has taken up lying, murdering his kin-”

Imos raised his hand with a look of fury on his face and Kwes felt his throat close up. Stars began to explode in his vision. He was vaguely aware of an argument going on and then suddenly he could breathe. Cyran was kneeling over him with a hand on his face. 

“Where did you learn that?” Imos sounded annoyed.

“You sent me to learn from Syreilla, she taught me to draw from what I can feel around me to heal and protect.”

“You were sent to learn from her?” The woman sounded surprised.

“I would not have him speak-”

“Leave, Imos. Your warnings were appreciated but you have been a rude guest.”

There was a moment of silence and then she asked again, “You were sent?”

“Before she learned what he had done to Syreilla Hammersworn, yes.” Cyran turned to give the woman a concerned look, “The divinity has strayed from what is right and just, I wish to bring him back to it. Syreilla the Rook is the goddess of righteous vengeance and the protector of gentle souls, I believe she still serves Hevtos but she does not hold me accountable for the harm my-the divinity has done. She asked Hevtos to be kind to my brothers; she would have been more lenient with them if she had known who they were.”

“That sounds like a child of Odos.” The woman smiled ruefully. “They have their good qualities but they’re infuriating. She must have your grandfather’s temper if she became a goddess of vengeance.”

“My sister…” Kwes sat up carefully and cleared his throat, “She has a nasty temper but she’s good with children. They’re not afraid of her.”

“They have no reason to be.” The woman’s smile was warm and dazzling, he gazed at her for a moment feeling oddly warm and refreshed before she began to laugh.

She turned her smile on Cyran, “Why do you say your father has strayed from what is right and just? Even if she was his niece, executing a thief-”

“He commanded me to harm a child. Syreilla had taken a boy under her protection. Edun had been sent from his home by his angry mother and because of the cruelty she endured as a child she was incensed. The boy was returned to his home and his mother was made to understand that what she had done was wrong. But… to strike at my cousin he commanded me to murder the child.”

The woman paled.

“The boy was utterly innocent. I refused and he has been angry with me since.”

“Ask Isca.” Kwes managed to come to his feet with Cyran’s help. “Syreilla spoke with her about it, I think, and the goddess of war stepped out of her way in Brosa.”

The woman turned away for a moment and when she turned back she looked a little nervous, “Her eyes burn like her grandfather’s when she’s angry. Imos was cast out of Brosa and he flees in fear of her because she is strong and he is not as he should be.”

“Yes.” Cyran inclined his head. “I want to help him return to himself.”

“You’re a good son and you’ll become a god of honesty and healing, in time, I have no doubt.” She beckoned for them to leave the cell. “Do you know why she wants the stones?”

“I’m not wholly certain, but it has something to do with our grandmother.” He remembered Odos mentioning her to the Rook in Withia.

The woman smiled ruefully and inclined her head. “If your grandfather didn’t have such a temper I would lend her the stone. I was fond of Zyulla.”

“Can you explain it to me?” Kwes frowned slightly.

“Our grandmother gave two sons to our grandfather’s brother.” Cyran shook his head, “Syreilla said it was because of love but…”

“It wasn’t my doing.” The woman spoke up quickly. “I was the first he summoned when he discovered it and he demanded to know if I had encouraged it. I knew nothing of it. In his fury, he locked Zyulla away. None of us expected him to keep her locked away for so long, or for him to allow your father to try to stomp out worship of Hevtos. I don’t disagree that all of this has gone on for too long but… no one dares to broach the subject.”

“If he and my sister have the same temper, I can understand why.” Kwes inclined his head. “If Syreilla is on your side you don’t have to be afraid of anything else, you might feel like you’re going a little mad…”

The woman gave him a questioning look and Cyran spoke up, “She can heal as well as she can harm, she can be as gentle as she can be violent.”

“She’s volatile, but reliable.” Kwes nodded.

“She embraced the dichotomy.” The woman’s eyes widened, “Impressive for one so young. I want to speak with her. Come, we’ll watch and wait for her.”

“The dichotomy?” Cyran’s brow furrowed.

“I am Eludora, the goddess of beauty and love, but the lack of those things also falls in my purview. If there is no ugliness, how can you find beauty? If there is no repulsion, how can you understand the connection of love? Syreilla the Rook has chosen to embrace all the fury and gentleness that come with both vengeance and protection. Gentle, innocent, souls will have no fear in her presence, those who have any reason whatsoever to fear vengeance will feel dread.”

“A god of honesty…” Cyran froze and frowned as if he were struggling with something in his head and the woman gave him a doting smile. 

“It takes time, little one. That she has embraced it so young is impressive. You need time to think and understand.”

“Odos would be the god of honesty.” Kwes looked at them both with amusement, “He’s the god of poets, that’s honesty and lies rolled into one.”

Eludora started to laugh and then sighed, “You’re your father’s son without a doubt, little one. Help me find your sister.”

For a brief moment he considered telling her about the coin that was with his things, but as he glanced at Cyran something in the priest’s concerned expression stopped him. “If you don’t mind I’d like to get dressed first. You can take Cyran ahead if you’d like. I’ll understand if you need to leave guards with me.”

“Of course.” She inclined her head and spoke to a guard quietly as he was ushered into a room to dress.