“He is not here, but will return later,” he told her. “A feast in your honour is being prepared. Come, I will take you to the dining hall.”
A feast? Rielle thought of the cart outside, and of the starving townsfolk. Where can he have got food for a feast? Did the Usurper send supplies? Or are the rumours of a stockpile of food in the palace true? She said nothing and, feeling dazed and a little nauseous with anxiety, let the king lead her out of the room.
The next stretch of time was like a dream. She dined beside the Schpetan monarch, was asked to relay messages to the Angel from people whose names she recognised but who she had never met before, and was questioned about her own past meeting with the Angel. Sa-Mica sat silently beside her until someone realised she could translate for him, and then questions shifted to his own association with the Angel. To her relief, he was as vague about his past as she had been about hers.
I’m sure he’s as reluctant to reveal the sort of place the Mountain Temple was when he grew up there as I am to tell them I was exiled for using magic and am a murderer, she thought. But why isn’t the Angel here? Or… does he not eat?
The food was simple fare made tastier and more appealing through flavouring and decoration. The only meat was a tough roasted aum, for which the king apologised, telling her it had been old but was the last one in the town. Her hunger was sated quickly since she was used to eating little and her stomach was more inclined to churn with anxiety than to digest her food. At one point Sa-Mica excused himself. When he returned his expression was taut and thoughtful.
“He is sitting alone, looking out over the mountains,” he told her.
“Why does he not join us?” she asked.
“He does not like to be among so many people.” Sa-Mica shrugged. “He spent most days at the Mountain Temple this way.”
“Did anything unusual happen before he decided to come here?” she prompted, hoping for a clue to the Angel’s purpose.
Sa-Mica shook his head. “No, but we did not come here directly. We went north, to the furthest of the ice cities–and when we arrived…” He paused and shook his head.
“What? What did he do?”
The priest sighed. “I must tell you. I do not want to concern you, but what if you need to know? At the most northerly point he stripped away all magic then returned south. We didn’t leave the Stain behind until we passed Llura.”
She stared at him. Llura had been unbearably hot. If it was as far from Llura to the ice cities in the north as it was to chilly Schpeta, the Stain was immense. “What did he do with it?”
“Nothing, as far as I could tell.”
“So he’s preparing for something.”
The man’s shoulders rose and fell. His eyes spoke of many days storing up unspoken worries. She opened her mouth to ask what he feared, then closed it again. If he was prepared to speak of it, he would have done so. Why would an Angel strip half the world of magic? She thought of the armies that had clashed before the castle the day before. Though desperate, they had not broken the Angel’s law against using magic in conflict. But what if they had?
How better to stop people from using magic than to remove it from the world? It would leave priests without magic, too, but people would still respect them for their knowledge of and connection to the Angels.
But what has all that to do with me?
She found she could not eat at all after that. The wine invited her to seek false courage, but she ignored it. Looking around the room, she saw people quickly avert their eyes. They must be wondering why this dark foreigner, who had met an Angel, had been living among them for so long–and why she deserved his special attention. Why indeed? Time moved slowly, yet propelled her to an unknown, impending future that she could not help fearing would be catastrophic in some way, even if ultimately beneficial to the world.
When the priest who had come to the weaving workshop entered the room and hurried to approach the king, fear and hope rushed through her. Suddenly she was sick of waiting, and wanted it over. Whatever “it” was.
“He–the Angel–awaits in the audience chamber, your majesty,” the man blurted out as the room fell silent. “He asked for Rielle Lazuli.”
“Then we must not leave him waiting.” The king turned to smile at Rielle, then rose. He took her hand and guided her out of her chair.