Page 57 of Blood Sanctuary, Part One

Xandra sat tall in her chair. “My firsthand account is even more immediate evidence, is it not? I was four when the Order of Anthros sent a war mage of the Aithourian Circle all the way from Corona to a remote village in Tenebra to ‘put me out of my misery.’”

Hostility was written in every line of the mages’ bodies. But none ventured farther out onto thin ice by questioning her tale to her face.

“When the mage verified my power was genuine,” Xandra went on, “the man who sired me and the woman who bore me were all too eager for him to take me off their hands. He couldn’t do away with me fast enough to satisfy the neighbors. The villagers seemed to think I would bring my curse upon all of them. I’m not sure why. It wasn’t as if any of us asked for me to be born with an affinity for fire, least of all me. Fire magic is said to be a gift straight from the sun god, isn’t it? I don’t know why they thought Anthros would punish us for something that wasn’t our fault, but the villagers were ready to stake their spirits on it. They built the pyre for the mage. That’s what your archives say, isn’t it? The child must be burned at the stake.”

“That is not what the law calls for,” Chrysanthos insisted. “The Order mandates that the death be painless.”

“That must be why our village necromancer did his part first. I didn’t understand why he was muttering over me like he had over grandmama before she died. It frightened me. Was I sick the way she had been? My mother told me to hush and go to sleep. I didn’t want to. But the next thing I knew, I was waking up bound to a stake.”

The princess’s matter-of-fact, candid words were more effective than any overwrought teachings from a mage. With every gentle blow she dealt, the guilty consciences became more and more visible on the Tenebrans’ faces.

So they did have hearts in their chests after all. Cassia had once doubted it. But she too was learning with them to see her enemies as human.

“The child should never wake during the sacrifice.” Chrysanthos’s court mask faltered.

“The sacrifice was interrupted,” the princess explained. “By a Hesperine errant. While he was trying to persuade the war mage to release me, the necromancer’s spell wore off.”

“I have never heard of such an encounter between a Hesperine and an Aithourian war mage.” Tychon wielded the comfortable defense of denying the truth.

“Oh?” the princess replied. “The mage’s name was Zetros.”

“Zetros was a well-respected member of the Aithourian Circle,” Tychon protested. “He was in Tenebra offering aid to deprived villages when a member of the Blood Errant murdered him.”

“Actually that member of the Blood Errant politely asked him not to burn a four-year-old to death. Zetros took offense and started hurling fire. The villagers ran for cover while the necromancer came to the war mage’s aid. Imagine. Two grown men willing to die for their right to kill a little girl. For that is what they did. They fought to the death.”

Chrysanthos recovered his haughtiness as quickly as it had deserted him. “I told you I thought our rules were not so very different. Imagine. A Hesperine willing to go to such lengths to get a war mage for his people.”

“I. Am not. A war mage.” The princess rose to her feet, and every hearth fire in the room rose with her. “I have never wielded, nor will I ever wield my magic in order to do violence to anyone or anything. I am a Hesperine with an affinity for fire, and I devote all of myself, including my magic, to the service of my people as their princess.”

She raised her hands still higher, and unlit candles all over the room sparked to life in unison. Their flames played and danced, as bewitching and magical as spell lights, but far more chaotic.

“Tonight, my power is at your service. You see before you the only fire in Orthros. This is my welcome gift to you. Fire that brings comfort, not suffering, that nurtures and doesn’t destroy. The fire that gave me life, as surely as it does you. Carry its warmth with you all the nights you are here…and don’t let it fade when you return home.”

HARBOR LIGHT

Even after Cassia persuadedPerita she needed no help undressing and her tired handmaiden departed her guest room, she did not rise from her dressing table. Perhaps when Lio arrived and saw her closed door and drawn curtains, he would realize she needed a moment.

Knight settled himself over Cassia’s silk slippers, warmer to her even than the shoes’ magic, and she sat a moment longer in her red gown and black shoulder cape. She had wanted to wear these to see Zoe. But right now she did not feel prepared to face the trip to House Komnena with Lio. When he had walked her back to Rose House with the rest of the embassy and their Hesperine escorts, she had been glad their abundant audience had prevented them from discussing the princess’s party.

Cassia didn’t know what to say.

She refused to say what she wanted to. Her feelings were unjustified. All of it ought to be a moot point. But it was not, not for her, and until she was certain she would not create conflict where there ought to be none, she dared not speak of any of it.

To buy herself time, Cassia quit her room. As she slipped out into the corridor with Knight following her, his feet hardly made a sound on the carpets. She glanced up and down the deserted passage, and the gleam of light at the end of the hall beckoned her. She followed the Harbor Light toward the front of the guest house.

It was not Lio’s fault that Xandra was an impossible act to follow. It was not Xandra’s fault that she and Lio made a perfect partnership, both in their magical prowess and their skill as politicians. It was not Cassia’s fault that she had believed Lio when he had told her he and Xandra were not suited.

This evening had made it abundantly clear to Cassia how well-suited the Eighth Princess and Firstgift Komnenos were.

Cassia could easily imagine what sort of falling-out might occur between two sweethearts who had known each other so long. It was only natural for there to be periods of tension, especially when the two sweethearts in question were so passionate in nature. Such events, however definitive they seemed at the time, would ultimately be temporary. Lio undoubtedly believed his courtship with Xandra was over, but the time would come when he would see the light and realize no one could hold a candle to his princess.

Xandra was the daughter of his Queens. The sister of the First Prince. It all made sense now. Rudhira was more an elder brother than a father figure. How fitting for his sister and Apollon’s son to embody their loved ones’ loyalty to one another. Who would turn down a chance to avow into the royal family? Not Lio, the Hesperine’s Hesperine.

How long would it be before Xandra and Lio recovered from their quarrel and stopped consoling themselves in the arms of their human guests? Not long, by Orthros’s reckoning, before the promising diplomat and the beloved princess were once more headed for their destiny together, to the delight of their people. Harkhuf must know as well as Cassia did that they were merely temporary diversions.

It should seem like a long time to Cassia. But it didn’t. It seemed too short, because she had let herself want more.

The hall ended at a staircase. Light spilled down the stairwell from above. Cassia followed it. At the top, she found a pair of doors and pushed through them. They let her out onto a balcony.

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