The Half King

3

W ith no windows in her cabin, Cerise caught her first glimpse of Mortara when the ship docked and she made her way onto the deck. The first sensation to strike her was the heat. Goddess . Scorching and dry, it swept over her like the bellows of a flame, heady with the scents of lemongrass and musk. In the time it took for her to walk to the railing, she learned she would have to find a different wardrobe than the satiny dresses she had worn at the temple. Something loose and airy, like the clothes that the scurrying dockworkers and line-handlers wore, with long, linen sleeves to stave off the sun.

Voices tumbled over one another, creating a cacophony as workers used pulleys to unload boxes and trunks onto the dock. Cerise put on her best temple demeanor and nodded at some of the sailors as she passed, then looked away from the bustle of activity and surveyed the land that would be her new home.

To the west, greenish-brown clover rolled as far as she could see, leading to a mountain range on the horizon. The crags pushed to the sky—cruel, jagged peaks that sent a shiver down her spine.

That was the place.

The place where the Great Betrayal happened.

The very same mountain peak on which the four noble dynasties had gathered together and conspired to slay the goddess. Conspired and failed, resulting in a thousand years of curses for the noble firstborns and the lands of Mortara.

Very little of value was produced here, barring a few spices and rare gems from the mountains. Most of the vegetation was cultivated with the magic of the palace priests, or else imported from the other lands. She glanced down at the water sloshing against the dock, finding no trace of floating seagrass or saltweed.

Not even fish could thrive in such a cursed place.

To the east stood one of the city’s outer walls, constructed from stone and tall enough that only the temple spire was visible above it. She didn’t know what manner of protection the wall provided, but there were tales of strange beasts and anomalies created by the goddess’s spilled blood. Cerise had assumed that some of the stories were fables.

Well, she was among fables now.

…

D usk had fallen during the ride to the palace, which meant the king had vanished for the evening. Cerise couldn’t deny the relief that swept over her as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. She didn’t want to meet the king until she was fresh and rested. She didn’t want to meet anyone until she’d had a proper bath. With any luck, she would arrive at suppertime and avoid introductions until morning.

Two guards met her carriage at the gatehouse, each man dressed in a lightweight tan uniform that bore the Mortara crest of a single mountain divided in half by a spear. The guards wore metal blades at their hips. Cerise studied the tapered edges and the needle-fine points of each sword. She had never seen a weapon up close before. There had been no need for them at the temple. Priests provided defense as well as instruction.

All thoughts of weapons disappeared as the gatehouse doors parted to reveal a crowd of palace workers waiting on the other side. She had just enough time to blink before the crowd erupted in a chorus of cheers.

Panic rose in her chest. What was happening?

Someone shouted, “She’s here! The blessed oracle is here!”

The blessed oracle?

Did they have her confused with someone else? It was all she could do to remain in her seat and not run headlong back to the harbor. There were so many people surrounding the carriage—maids and cooks, grooms and groundskeepers—a hundred of them, at least, all rising onto their tiptoes and craning their necks to catch a glimpse of her through the window.

Just when she thought her heart might beat out of her chest, she heard a man call, “That is enough!” and in the span of a single breath, hundreds of voices went silent. The palace workers collectively backed away from the gatehouse, giving the carriage plenty of room to pull forward…and allowing Cerise to exhale.

The carriage came to a stop, the door opened, and a guard assisted her in stepping down onto the royal lawn. She peered through the crowd to identify the man who had tamed them, and she found him right away. There was no mistaking his gilded robes or the intricate, woven symbols that displayed his status. The high priest of Shiera, arguably the most powerful man alive, was gliding in her direction, leading two rows of priests behind him.

At once, Cerise stood with respect: backbone locked, chin high, fingers laced in front of her, blocking out every other person in her periphery. But as the distance between them closed, she had to fight to keep the shock from showing on her face.

The high priest was alarmingly young, with barely a hint of gray hair threaded among the blond at his temples and in the whiskers of his neatly trimmed beard. Even in the growing darkness, she could see his eyes were bluer than a peacock feather, set in a pleasant face that radiated confidence and calm. She wondered what powers the man possessed to entitle him to such a position at his age. His gift must be incredible.

He stopped in front of her, smiling with tenderness. “Welcome, child.”

Cerise found her wits and lowered in a deep curtsy. “Your Grace.”

“The Reverend Mother was right. I sense you have a generous spirit.” He touched her cheek, indicating for her to stand. “You may call me Father Padron. I’m delighted to welcome you to the palace, Cerise.” He offered his elbow to her. “May I escort you inside?”

“It would be my honor, Your Gr—” She cut off and corrected, “Father Padron.”

She took his arm, but the oppressive heat made her wish that she hadn’t. His added warmth sent a flush to her face, a reaction that didn’t escape his notice.

“Ah, yes, you must be sweltering,” he said. “I ordered a new set of gowns from the city temple and had them delivered to your chambers.”

“That was thoughtful of you.”

The crowd parted for them, and Cerise walked past the palace workers, smiling and nodding as she went along. She felt a pull at her skirts, and she glanced aside to find an elderly maid touching her gown with one hand while signing with the other. The old woman tapped her wrinkled forehead and then drew a triangle there. Cerise didn’t understand what the sign meant, but Father Padron had seen it, too, and he stopped short, his arm tense beneath her hand.

Her stomach sank. Whatever the sign was, the priests didn’t seem overly fond of it. Father Padron excused himself and circled behind her to speak in hushed tones with one of his men. Moments later, he rejoined her, and they continued on as if nothing had happened. When Cerise glanced behind them, the old woman and the priest were gone.

“The staring is harmless, but remember your place,” Father Padron said. “You’re an emissary and a lady of the temple. You’re to be respected but not worshipped.”

Worshipped? Was that what the old woman had done with her triangle sign? Engaged in idolatry—in plain sight of the priests? No, the sign must have meant something else. Nobody in their right mind would be so reckless.

“Yes, Your Grace,” she told Father Padron. “I would never encourage idolatry.”

“I know you wouldn’t, Cerise,” he said with a reassuring pat on her hand. “I also want you to remember that you are beholden to no layman. Everyone at court will address you as my lady , even the king. If you encounter any disrespect, I want to hear about it.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she told him.

Once they cleared the last vestiges of the crowd, she finally got her first unobstructed view of the palace…and gasped.

Dusk had cast shadows all around, and yet a glow emanated from the palace that was radiant enough to blind the heavens. She shielded her eyes and gazed ahead in wonder. The last flickers of sunlight glittered like countless stars across the castle’s crystallized stone facade. The castle design was simple, a hexagon of walls with a tower at each point, but anything more ornate would have detracted from its beauty. Ahead of her, luscious trees laden with all manner of citrus fruit, all of them magically enhanced, lined the grass-carpeted pathway to the main doors.

Ten generations of priests had served this place well. They even seemed to have cooled the air in a protective bubble around the palace. The imprint of their magic was all around her. Though old and faded, she tasted the power on her tongue like the metallic tang before an electrical storm. She kept the observation to herself, though. She had never met an oracle in training who could taste magic, only priests, and she didn’t want to give the Order any reason to investigate her for unnatural tendencies.

“Ah, yes,” chuckled Father Padron. “The palace is a spectacular sight, especially for a newcomer.”

The sky dimmed to a purple haze, and strands of overhead globes illuminated to take its place.

“Indeed,” she agreed. “Thank you for your kindness in welcoming me here.”

“It’s nothing. I remember my first excursion outside the temple.” His lips twitched in a wistful grin. “It was a rather… trying …adjustment. Now I do my best to make the transition more comfortable for others.”

“In which temple were you raised?” she asked.

“Calatris,” he said. “Northwestern Calatris to be exact, where summertime means a thin sheet of snow beneath your boots instead of a drift knee high.”

She pictured him at her age, innocent and wide-eyed, his face smooth-shaven and perspiring in the Mortara heat. The mental image made her smile. She still couldn’t believe how young he was—or that he had honored her with a personal escort to the palace. It was a rare treat to speak with him at all. Most ladies of the temple—gentlemen, too—went their entire lives without meeting the Order’s high priest.

“It’s important for your mental wellness that you maintain a worship schedule,” he advised as they continued up the path, passing neatly planted rows of blossoming pear trees. “You may join the Order in using the palace sanctuary. It’s in a detached building near the east gardens. Laymen aren’t permitted inside.”

Ah . Cerise understood his message. The sanctuary was an escape from court. She was glad to hear it, especially with the press of people behind her. She could almost feel their gazes on her back. She couldn’t imagine what she had done to merit such a reception.

“And His Majesty asked me to convey his regrets at not being able to greet you in person.” Father Padron used a hand to indicate the shadows tumbling down the stone steps of the entrance in front of them. “He is indisposed until morning.”

“I look forward to meeting him,” she said. “May I inquire about His Majesty?”

“You may ask me anything, Cerise.”

“When he vanishes at night…where does he go? Is he in all of the shadows?”

She glanced at the dark silhouette of her own form, and her imagination conjured a pair of invisible eyes looking back at her. She had heard stories that the king’s nights in the shadows had acquainted him with demons and that he’d made deals to prevent his parents from conceiving another heir. She didn’t believe that—not really —but there had also been chatter in the market last year, whispers of unnatural deaths at the palace. The former king and queen had been found dead in their chambers, their rigid bodies an identical shade of bluish gray. And according to palace servants, Kian hadn’t seemed surprised by the news.

Rumors and nonsense. Probably.

There was a smile in Father Padron’s voice when he answered. “His Majesty once told me that he has no memory of his nighttime hours and that he awakes at sunrise as if he’d merely blinked. I have no reason to doubt him.”

She preferred that answer to the thought of the king spying on her through the shadows. She wanted to ask another, more delicate question. The Mortara curse differed from that of the other noble dynasties. For Solon, Calatris, and Petros firstborns, their curse manifested fully on their twentieth birthday, their Claiming Day. After that, the nobles lived on for any number of years, or at least survived, if living was too generous a word. But Mortara firstborns began disappearing at sunset on their Claiming Day, and in the year that followed, the curse consumed their daytime hours as well, until the firstborn faded out of existence. Few Mortara firstborns survived beyond twenty-one. The king likely had six more moons before he vanished forever and left behind a war for his empty throne. The exact timing would depend on how far the curse had advanced, how quickly it was consuming him during the day.

“After sunrise,” Cerise began, “is His Majesty fully present until the sun sets?”

“Fully present?” Father Padron asked. “No, unfortunately he is not. The curse has infringed on His Majesty’s daylight hours, though I’m unable to say to what extent. His Majesty keeps to himself during the day, as is his privilege.”

“I see.”

“You may consider asking his courtesan,” Father Padron suggested. “She would know better than I how the king passes his time.”

Cerise doubted that would provide an answer. If the king’s courtesan had any regard for him, she would never betray his secrets.

“Here we are,” Father Padron said as they climbed the steps and entered the castle foyer. “Ah, there’s Daerick.” He nodded at a tall, dark-haired boy loitering at the base of the staircase. The boy was dressed in a blue silk shirt tucked into slim-fitting trousers, and there seemed to be something akin to bean sprouts dangling from his chin. On closer inspection, she found it was a beard…more or less. He was watching her, too, but with an expression of interest instead of morbid fascination. “I’ll let him show you to your quarters. I have a matter to attend to.”

Cerise wondered if the “matter” was about the elderly woman who had been ushered away. Father Padron seemed gentle, but some of his priests might not be, and Cerise didn’t want the woman punished too harshly for the sign she had made. But despite Father Padron’s invitation to ask him anything, the topic seemed too charged for their first meeting. She would ask him about it tomorrow.

“Cerise,” Father Padron said, “this is Daerick Calatris, the king’s private historian. No one knows more about the sacred scrolls than he does. In fact, I believe he can recite them from memory—”

“In ten languages,” Daerick interjected. “Not that I’m counting.”

“So if anyone can assist you in your new role, it’s him.”

“I’m grateful for the help,” she said. “My appointment as His Majesty’s emissary was abrupt. I have much to learn. I look forward to working with you, Lord Calatris.”

Daerick bowed. “Not nearly as much as I do, my lady.” He spoke without a hint of sarcasm, smiling in a way that crinkled the skin around his eyes. Cerise noticed that his irises were deep brown, brimming with a sharpness that reflected his intelligence.

He must be a firstborn.

Sympathy tugged at her ribs. The Calatris curse was one of the cruelest. Scrolls about the Great Betrayal said that a Calatris scholar with a brilliant intellect had devised the method to slay the goddess. As punishment, his firstborn descendants were cursed with more knowledge than the mortal mind could bear. Cerise didn’t want to imagine what Daerick’s smiling eyes would look like when his Claiming Day arrived and filled his mind to the breaking point with all the secrets of the universe.

He extended an elbow. “Shall we?”

As she settled a hand on his forearm, her insides stirred with guilt. She had always felt a deep connection to the goddess, even the vengeful side of Shiera, because darkness was just as important as the light. But after all this time, surely the goddess would let them break the curses. Surely the debt had been paid.

“The king dismissed his court a while ago,” Daerick said, leading her up the stairs, “so there are plenty of empty suites. I chose your quarters myself. They’re situated in the best spot. Yours has the most shade during the day, and the windows face east so the sunrise will wake you for morning prayers.” He added, “I know your schedule because my brother lives in a temple on Calatris.”

“Is he a priest in training?”

“Yes, his gift manifested on our nineteenth birthday.”

“ Our birthday?”

“We’re twins. I’m the oldest by three minutes.” Daerick gave a dry laugh. “Lucky me. I inherited the threat of impending delirium, and he inherited the magic. Can you believe in common families it’s the oldest child that has the advantage?”

Yes, she could believe it. Only noble families bore a curse.

“I envy the commoners. They have more freedom than they realize.” Daerick covered her hand with his own. “I hope to share that freedom. You can’t imagine how excited I was when I heard the rumors about you.”

“What rumors?” she asked.

“That you’re destined to break the noble curses.”

She stopped and gaped at him, nearly tripping on her own shoes. “What?”

“You’re destined to break the noble curses,” he repeated. “Aren’t you?”

Oh, goddess . That explained the crowd at the gates. “Who told you that?”

Daerick turned his gaze to the ceiling as if to recall a memory. “I heard it from the groundskeeper, who heard it from his wife, who heard it from a stable hand. I think he heard it from someone in the kitchens, and I believe they heard it from a man making a cider delivery to the temple, and after that, I don’t know where the story goes.”

Cerise suppressed yet another surge of panic. She knew that gossip ran rampant at court, but she never imagined she could be the subject of it before her own arrival. How had anyone gotten such a twisted version of the truth—or any version of the truth? The revelation was supposed to be a secret. And besides, she was completely ordinary. The goddess hadn’t even gifted her with the Sight. This rumor was a problem, a big one, because it spread false hope. How many firstborn nobles would be crushed to learn that she hadn’t come there to perform a miracle? And what about the king? Did he believe it, too?

Oh, stars, she hoped not. His expectations of her would be impossible.

“Is that why people think I’m here?” she asked.

Daerick lowered one brow. “Isn’t it? Everyone knows you’re gifted. Why else would the Reverend Mother send a nineteen-year-old girl to replace the old emissary?”

Gifted . The word hit like a punch to the chest.

Daerick was right: an emissary was supposed to be gifted, a person who’d earned the role through decades of experience, not a novice with no talents apart from rescuing rabbit kits and confounding Seers. So when the people of Mortara had learned that the new emissary was nineteen, of course they’d assumed she was remarkable. She should have expected as much, but ironically, she wasn’t even gifted enough to See the most predictable path in front of her.

She would need to let Daerick down easily.

“Lord Calatris,” she began.

“Please call me Daerick.”

“Daerick,” she said. “I don’t understand my purpose here, because the Reverend Mother couldn’t fully See it. But I do know the rumor you heard about me is wrong.” Her stomach sank along with Daerick’s expression, but she refused to lie to him. Nothing was crueler than a false promise. “I believe in Shiera’s mercy, and I believe the goddess is ready to forgive the world of men. But I don’t know what that looks like. I don’t even have the Sight.”

“You’re not twenty yet,” he said. “When is your Claiming Day?”

“In three moons.”

“Then there’s still time.”

She heaved a sigh. She was tired of hearing that. “When is yours?”

“Five and a half moons, shortly before the king’s birthday.” He paused thoughtfully for a moment. “Did the Reverend Mother specifically say that you couldn’t break the curses?”

“Well…no,” she admitted. She had somehow clouded the revelation and stopped the Reverend Mother from Seeing whose role that was. “Not in so many words, but I’m sure that’s not why I’m here.”

“Did she tell you how the old emissary died?” he asked.

Cerise shook her head. “I assumed it was from old age.”

“Oh, she was ancient, no doubt about it. But time didn’t kill her.”

“Then what did?”

“ She did.”

Cerise felt her eyebrows jump. “Do you mean the emissary ended her own life?”

“With poison,” he said. “No one knows why. She left behind a note, but it made very little sense. I think the nature of her message might have contributed to the mysticism surrounding your arrival. It sounded prophetic.”

“What did the note say?”

“Just a single line,” Daerick said. “As above, so below. The flame you seek to dampen will consume you.”

Chills broke out along Cerise’s arms.

“At first, I thought it was a reference to something in the sacred scrolls,” Daerick continued. “But I’ve been searching my texts for any mention of dampened flames, and I haven’t found anything.”

“When exactly did the emissary die?” Cerise asked.

Daerick considered. “Four days ago, midafternoon.”

That was when the Reverend Mother had received her revelation. The timing couldn’t be a coincidence. The Reverend Mother had referred to the old emissary as her most trusted servant. More than likely, the two of them had shared a spiritual connection. But what did that have to do with Cerise? Maybe the woman’s journal would provide a clue—a discovery that might lead to breaking the curses, like the Reverend Mother had said.

“You know something,” Daerick said. “I can tell.”

She hesitated to say more. She didn’t mind Daerick knowing that she was ordinary. Her lack of Sight was no secret. But any mention of the Reverend Mother’s vision could plant a new crop of harmful rumors, and she wouldn’t let that happen.

“You don’t trust me,” he said in a matter-of-fact way.

“It’s not that.”

“Don’t worry, my lady.” He patted her hand as he led her toward the eastern corridor, through halls carpeted in silk and lined with bejeweled mirrors. “Trust is earned. But for the record, I’m doing my part to help you. I’ve already gathered a few of the old emissary’s notes, and I’m hunting down the rest. Organization wasn’t her strong suit, I’m afraid.”

“What about her journal?”

“That’s on the list. It hasn’t turned up yet, but I’ll find it for you. Until then, all I can do is promise that your secrets are safe with me, just as I hope mine are safe with you. The only way to help each other is to speak freely.” He lowered his voice to a teasing whisper. “Besides, I like you.”

Cerise couldn’t help smiling. She liked him, too. Even though she didn’t fully trust him, she felt safe enough to ask him a question that had seemed too charged for Father Padron.

“What does this mean?” she said, imitating the triangular sign she had seen the elderly maid perform.

“Flaming hell!” Daerick snatched her hand before she could complete the sign. “Don’t do that.” He glanced all around. Only when he confirmed they were alone did he exhale and release her fingers. “Never let anyone see you do that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s apostasy, that’s why.”

Cerise gasped, glancing over her own shoulder. The Order had discretion in handing down their penalties, but the traditional punishment for apostasy was death by a thousand stones. She shuddered to think about that happening to the elderly maid. What had possessed the old woman to make that sign in front of the priests?

Daerick guided her fingers back to the crook of his elbow. “I don’t suppose you learned about the Triad.”

She shook her head. She had never heard of it.

“You know the story about Shiera’s lover?” he asked. “From the Great Betrayal?”

“Of course.” As a Solon, she knew better than anyone. A member of her own dynasty had seduced the goddess from the heavens and convinced her to take mortal form so the other nobles could slay her. That was the reason for the Solon curse of destructive allure.

“Well, there’s an old rumor,” Daerick went on, “that the Solon seducer was a woman and that Shiera impregnated her and sired a race of demigods. The Triad believes that Shiera’s descendants should be in control, not the priests or even the king. They have followers in all four lands, but the sect is especially popular here.”

Cerise wiped her hand on her gown, mortified that she had made such an abominable sign. She knew there were nonbelievers scattered throughout the realm—people who worshipped coin or flesh—but this was just wrong . There were no other gods than Shiera. That anyone would organize a sect and recruit others to glorify false deities offended her on the deepest level. The Reverend Mother had been right to warn her about enemies in this land.

“Heretics,” she spat.

Daerick glanced at her as if amused.

“What?” she asked.

“You and Father Padron are going to get along beautifully.”

Whatever he meant by that, it didn’t sound like a compliment.

“Here we are.” Daerick flourished a hand at the last door along the eastern corridor. He opened it and gestured for her to precede him inside.

“Oh, stars,” she murmured as she entered her suite. She hadn’t expected anything this sprawling. Her quarters’ entryway opened to a sitting area furnished with a plush divan and two armchairs, beyond which stood a four-poster bed draped in white netting. A cool breeze wafted inside from the open doors to her private balcony. The air smelled of sugar vines, which she noticed grew wild along the balcony railings.

“It’s cruel, really,” Daerick mused with a grin. “Now you’re spoiled for any other kind of life.”

She laughed because he was right. Her former quarters had consisted of a single bed, a wardrobe, and a corner shrine for prayers. She didn’t know how long she would serve as an emissary or where life would take her afterward, but she doubted her rooms would ever be this luxurious again.

She crossed the suite until she reached the open balcony. Outside, the moon bathed the land in its glow, allowing her to see into the walled city beyond. At the heart of it lay the temple. From there, narrow streets wound outward among boxy structures of varying heights. She was too far away to see any activity, but the nearby rustle of fabric drew her attention to a garden below, where a young woman strolled among rows of exotic greenery. With her long, glossy hair and regal features, she was almost beautiful enough to pass for a Solon firstborn. But what really struck Cerise was the haste in the young woman’s steps. She seemed restless, pacing the garden instead of enjoying it.

Cerise waved Daerick over to the balcony and whispered, “Who’s that?”

As he peered down, he grinned. “Lady Delora Champlain. The king’s courtesan.”

“Oh, I heard about her, or at least I think I did,” Cerise said. “Does His Majesty have any other courtesans?”

Daerick muffled a laugh. “Believe me, one is enough. Even though Delora’s low-born, the king gave her a title and promised to marry her if she can conceive an heir. Let’s just say she’s highly motivated to be the next queen.”

Cerise turned away from the balcony. That was more information than she wanted to know. She would have to face the king in the morning, and the rumors about him had made her nervous enough as it was.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” she told Daerick. “I think I’ll rest now.”

“Of course.” He bowed after she walked him to the door. “Make sure you lock this after I leave. And close the balcony doors.”

“Why?” she asked. “With all the magic here, what could happen?”

“You would be surprised. Good night, my lady.”