Page 14 of Heir

Her skin and hair gleamed as white as the Loha used to power the Sails. She wore a simple cream robe, embroidered with the half-sun symbol of Mother Div. Despite the soldiers on either side of her, she appeared serene. She bowed her head to the Triarchs.

“Light of the Spires, Triarchs.”

“Long may it guide us,” the Triarchs intoned. Aiz stared, mouth agape. The High Cleric was the holiest living person in Kegar. Aiz had only ever seen her from afar, leading the Summer Rites to bless the raids.

“Holy Triarchs,” Tiral said. “I submit that the clerics of Dafra cloister planned the assassination to seize power. The girl was merely a tool. Tell me, High Cleric: Why did your clergy plot so cunningly against a son of Kegar?”

“My people did no such thing,” High Cleric Dovan said. “Triarchs, I beg you to hear reason. Commander Tiral sees shadows and threats where there are none.”

“My son commands the flight squadrons of Kegar,” a voice growled from the door. It was Triarch Hiwa—Tiral’s father—who’d entered the hall silently. “Seeing shadows and threats is his job—one that has kept our people fed.”

Triarch Hiwa, blond like his son, offered Tiral a bare nod before striding to his throne, guards trailing. He had a heavy brow and a curled lip, as if forever displeased.

Aiz’s heart thumped rapidly. Strange how in a moment, the nightmareimages from years ago came rushing back. Triarch Hiwa’s visit to the cloister.Let us see what these children can do.The clerics trotting out the orphans. One sang. Another showed off her weaving. Ros displayed his skill with a bow.

You’d make a fine soldier, Triarch Hiwa had said to Ros. Then he sneered at his own son. Tiral was a few years older than Ros at the time.The Snipe is a better shot than you, boy, Triarch Hiwa had said, cuffing Tiral across the cheek.

That night, Tiral crept into the cloister and burned the orphans’ wing down. Only Aiz and Cero survived.

Within a year, Tiral’s father had named him heir.

Triarch Hiwa sat upon his throne now. His name meantwind, and his clan was known for the one skill remaining to the Kegari: windsmithing. His gaze settled on Aiz with the weight of a fist. She kept her face down, her anger leashed. She’d done enough to harm the clerics.

“So, this is your assassin,” Triarch Hiwa said. “She doesn’t look like much. That said, an assassination attempt makes the Triarchy look weak. Do you not agree, High Cleric?”

As Aiz glanced between the highborns, she realized that she was witnessing some power struggle far above her station. One that had been going on for longer than she knew. It did not matter what she’d done. There was a greater storm here, and she and the clerics were caught in its currents.

Aiz followed Tiral’s gaze to the ornately carved throne atop the staircase behind the Triarchs. It was the largest throne, for it belonged to Mother Div, who commanded three elements: blood, mind, and air.

In our hour of greatest need, the clerics told the children,Mother Div will return in the body of the Tel Ilessi, the Holy Vessel. And the Tel Ilessi shall deliver us back to the homeland from whence we fled, so long ago.

The throne had sat empty for a thousand years, since Mother Div leftKegar to her three children—the progenitors of Clan Oona, Clan Ghaz, and Clan Hiwa.

Now Tiral stared at that throne like a Snipe gazed at fresh bread.

“Aiz bet-Dafra was under the clerics’ care when she undertook this assassination,” Triarch Oona noted, red robes rustling as she steepled her fingers. “They must have known something.”

High Cleric Dovan now looked alarmed. She turned her full attention to Triarch Ghaz, who had not yet spoken against her.

“Triarch Ghaz, you and I have prayed to Mother Div together. You have seen the benefits of the cloisters and how we educate the orphans. You know us.”

Hiwa spoke before Ghaz could. “Commander Tiral. As the attempt was made against you, what punishment would you have the assassin and her accomplices bear?”

“They should be sent to the Tohr for questioning,” Tiral said without hesitation. “We will learn how deep the plot runs. If the clerics have nothing to hide, then they need not fear. As for the girl—” Tiral circled Aiz. “Death would be an easy path for her. If she survives her questioning, she can live out her days in the Tohr to think on her crimes.”

Aiz began to tremble. Not for herself—she couldn’t give two figs if she was alive or dead—but for what she knew the clerics would endure at the hands of the Tohr’s Questioners.

“There is no need for this.” The High Cleric’s voice shook. “Lord Tiral, we can discuss—”

“Perhaps,” Tiral said. “But not right now.”

“What—what will happen to the children?” Sister Noa spoke up. “If we are to be imprisoned?”

“Better for the orphans to serve in the army than learn sedition at the knees of the clerics,” Tiral said. “Don’t look so shocked. I was younger than most of them the first time I fought at my father’s side. Many nations train their children even earlier. The Jaduna begin battle magiclessons at age four. The Empress of the Martials went to a military academy at age six.”

“The girl and the clerics will be questioned,” Hiwa said. “The orphans will be conscripted. Witnessed and agreed?” He turned to his fellow Triarchs.

Triarch Oona nodded. “Witnessed and agreed.”

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