Page 58 of The Source of Storms

“You could’ve tried a bit harder,” El mumbled as we began to wind our way up through cobbled streets to the Temple.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Byrgir asked.

“Nothing, you just didn’t make much of an effort to look like a professional emissary,” El said.

“I’m not a professional emissary,” Byrgir retorted. “I’m just a fighter. Glorified bodyguard. Nothing professional about it.”

“Youlooklike a glorified bodyguard with all that steel,” I said, eying his weaponry.

He shrugged. “I have only one skillset, one job. Not so fancy with the words like the two of you.”

El’s tone became more serious. “Remember what the councilman said, Byrgir. No force. The plan is to deescalate.”

“Didn’t think you’d be the one reminding me of that,” Byrgir answered. “But I know. Just felt wrong going without it all, you know? You brought one too.” He gestured to the small dagger on El’s hip.

“One, Byrgir. I brought one. Not four.”

I watched El as we walked through the streets. I had spent my whole life hiding who––what––I was, and here was El, flaunting it in a place where hostility lurked in every alleyway.

∞∞∞

Four armed guards were posted at the entrance to the Temple grounds. Thick, squat stone walls separated the Temple from the rest of the city below. The guards at the gate stood straight, focused, watching us as we approached.

As we drew closer, I felt a familiar pull. There was a spark beyond the door, something radiating Source. It flowed continuously, controlled and directed. I closed my eyes briefly and reached my awareness for it, but was met with an invisible barrier at the edge of the wall that I could not sense through. The wards Crow had mentioned. Yet I could still feel pulsing energy on the other side, Source emanating from water and stone. It was reminiscent of the Arcaena River in Rhyanaes, like its gatestone fountain in the center, but muted somehow.

I was snapped from my metaphysical probing by the guards.

“What is your business at the Temple?” Two stepped forward to meet us, positioning themselves between us and the door. Their tunics beneath were maroon, a yellow sun emblazoned on their breastplates and shields. The symbol of the Paragons of the Light.

“We wish to arrange an audience with the High Deacons,” El answered confidently, smiling sweetly at the younger of the two guards. “Our business is peace.”

From beneath his heavy helmet, the older guard eyed Byrgir’s weaponry, then looked El up and down. His gaze hookedon her eyes, then mine, and his eyes narrowed, brow furrowing into a glower.

“You’re mighty armed for the business of peace,” he said.

“Can never be too careful these days,” El replied. “Shadowfiends are everywhere.”

“Public prayer days are twice a week, no fae-touched allowed. You”––he looked at Byrgir––“can speak to a Deacon after the service. Come back then.”

“I’m afraid we can’t wait,” Byrgir said.

“And I’m afraid I can’t let you in without a scheduled appointment,” the older guard said.

“How are we supposed to schedule an appointment if we can’t get in?” Byrgir asked, and the older guard glared at him.

“Come back for the service. Now shove off,” the guard snapped.

The air stirred around me and there was a tingle of Sourcery. I glanced at El, but she was smiling sweetly at the young guard, who shifted on his feet. His eyes fell to her and he smiled a strange, dopey grin. His cheeks flushed.

“Wait… I’ve seen you here before,” he said to El. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Go on in. Apologies for the inconvenience, Miss.”

The older guard looked at him questioningly, then sighed. “Very well. One of the anchorites will meet you inside and bring you to speak to a Herald. But no weapons within the grounds. You can claim them here when you leave.”

“Fine,” Byrgir growled. “But if you take it out and play with it, I’ll know.”

The young guard scoffed, taking Byrgir’s sword as we set to removing our weapons. I caught a surprised glance from the older guard when I pulled two long daggers from my belt beneath my cloak.

I left my smaller knife strapped to my thigh beneath my dress. The guards patted down my cloak and belts, but didn’t dare venture their investigation any lower.

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