Chapter Three

IOANNA

 

Xyuluthe was an enormous city, but Ioanna had spent very little time exploring it. Even if she’d been inclined to—which she was not—she was not permitted to go beyond the Great Temples, which were all clustered near the palace.

She’d studied maps of the city, usually in the context of which areas were easiest to defend, and which directions an invading army might want to approach from. She’d been told from an early age there were many secret ways out, but she did not need to know them because someone would guide her there if the time ever came.

Ioanna had detected some of these secret paths without aid over the years. Hidden things tended to draw her attention, though in a softer way than lies and deception did. Most of the paths within the palace went downward into the sewers, and presumably let out near the river. Ioanna had never ventured all the way to the end of one, fearing she’d become lost and not be able to find her way back.

And of course, there were the forgotten doors all over the palace grounds like the one she and Vitaliya had slipped through. A more adventurous princess might have used these to elude her guards and run all over the city. But the city was so loud, and so full of people lying to one another. Ioanna saw no reason to subject herself to that.

If they kept to the quiet places, the narrow streets and darker alleys, they would miss the worst of the crowds. Open markets were to be avoided at all costs, for she knew the tiny lies told by the vendors regarding the quality and freshness of their wares would pile on her until she was nearly blind with pain.

Robbers might lurk in the shadowy places, but Ioanna knew her blessing would be enough to frighten them off if they tried a direct approach. Still, Iolar’s magic was rare in Xyuluthe. Once the word got out that Netheia was searching for her, using her blessing would be as good as writing her own name across her forehead.

The road in front of them was quiet, but Ioanna could hear voices from the next street over. She wondered if news of her father’s death had spread beyond the palace yet. Maybe whispers, maybe rumors, but nothing substantiated. Not until her mother made a public address.

“How are we going to get out of here?” asked Vitaliya in a low voice.

“The east gate. It’s nearest to here, I think.”

“And after that, where will we go?”

“Oredia.”

Vitaliya looked confused. “Where is that?”

“North of here. Three days’ travel by carriage.”

“But you have allies there?” Vitaliya persisted.

“I suppose you could call her that,” said Ioanna. “Oredia is the home of my grandmother, Irianthe Isinthi. The former empress. She won’t let Netheia kill me, and I’m sure she’ll be able to get you passage back to Vesolda too.”

“Oh. Yes.” But Vitaliya bit her lower lip. “I was actually thinking I’d go to Ibaia, though.”

“Ibaia? Whatever for?”

“Now I need a reason?” Vitaliya sighed. “Though I suppose since I’ve lost all my things, I might as well go home. Ugh. Maybe I’ll stay in Oredia for a few weeks instead.”

“I imagine your family will be worried once they receive news of what happened.”

“Let them worry! Anyway, you can’t mean to walk all the way to Oredia. We’ll never get there before Netheia finds us.”

“If we ride, we might be able to make it in two days,” said Ioanna. “But I don’t know if we can afford to purchase horses with only our jewelry.”

“Buy a peasant’s dress, and sell the one you’re wearing,” advised Vitaliya. “And I’ll do the same. They might not give us a fair price since we’re in a hurry, but at least we’ll be less conspicuous. And it will get us some coins.”

Ioanna looked down at her dress. She certainly owned nicer ones, but Vitaliya had a point. Anyone who saw her would know she’d come from the palace. “I’d hoped to avoid the merchants.”

“What for?”

Ioanna could not possibly explain. She’d kept her blessing a secret from the world for such a long time; the very idea of telling Vitaliya filled her with panic. She knew Vesoldans lacked the fervent devotion to Reygmadra that had marred Ioanna’s childhood, but she still could not guess how Vitaliya would react. Even if she was not disgusted, she might be frightened and turn her in to Netheia. Or worse, seek to use Ioanna as a pawn in Vesoldan politics.

“I’d just hoped we might leave the city quickly,” Ioanna said weakly. As far as lies went, this one was benign. Nevertheless, uttering the words still made her forehead ache briefly.

“Leaving quickly won’t matter if they catch us before sunset,” asserted Vitaliya. “Trust me, I know all about running away from things. If we leave without supplies or disguises or anything, we’ll be sorry later.”

“We don’t have time to commission dresses.”

“We don’t have to. You can buy them ready-made from shops, you know! That’s what the ordinary people do!” Vitaliya began to look around. “We might have to find a livelier area, though. I think this is residential.”

Ioanna allowed Vitaliya to link their elbows together and pull her along. Vitaliya was already smiling like she considered this more of a silly misadventure than a potential life-and-death matter. Maybe, to her, it was.

As they made their way to the more crowded areas, Ioanna braced herself for pain, the sort that always overcame her whenever she walked into a party or even a too-crowded room. But either the common people of Xyuluthe were feeling particularly pious today, or they were simply less inclined to lie to one another than the nobles were. After a moment, her shoulders relaxed.

Ioanna considered herself fortunate she didn’t leave the palace frequently enough for most citizens to recognize her face. Everyone knew Netheia, for she was always riding about with her friends, sparring publicly, and participating in athletic events. Ioanna was not nearly so sociable. When people did pause to look at them, their eyes lingered on Vitaliya—whether because of her Vesoldan clothing or pretty face, Ioanna did not know.

After a bit of searching, Vitaliya pulled Ioanna into a dressmaker’s shop. As Ioanna stared around at the interior, marveling at how much had been crammed into such a tiny space, Vitaliya shouted happy greetings to the shopkeeper and her assistants, so familiar that for a moment Ioanna wondered if Vitaliya had come here before. But no, she’d said she didn’t know the city.

Ioanna had always envied people like Vitaliya, who could greet strangers like they were old friends and be met with equal enthusiasm. There was a sort of magic in it—though her mother always said anyone could do it, if they put the effort in.

Ioanna couldn’t detect a lie in that statement, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was true. It might only mean Enessa believed it wholeheartedly.

“We’re here to sell our dresses, and buy new ones,” Vitaliya announced to the entire shop. One of her hands wrapped around Ioanna’s waist, and she pulled her close. Ioanna made a sound of surprise, but Vitaliya didn’t appear to notice. “My love and I are running away. Her father has ordered her to be married in a week to a man she hates. To a man we both hate. We need disguises.”

Ioanna closed her eyes. The lie was silly and didn’t pain her as badly as the ones she heard so frequently at home.

“We’re going to run away to the south and become—” Vitaliya paused, though Ioanna wasn’t sure if this was for dramatic effect, or simply because she hadn’t yet thought of an occupation. “—fishermen. Fisherwomen. We’ll build a little hut from driftwood and trade with the mer for sunken treasure.”

Ioanna did not know if the seamstresses truly believed Vitaliya’s tale, or if they were simply indulging the wealthy noblewomen that had entered their humble shop. Ioanna supposed it did not really matter. The assistants began to select dresses from the racks, and Ioanna could see they were very nearly finished, with only the hems in the sleeves and skirts left unsewn, so they might be fitted to whoever purchased them.

At the same time, the head seamstress took the heavy fabric of Ioanna’s skirt in her hands, feeling its weight and quality. Her face grew dark with concern. “I cannot buy this from you. There is not enough money in this shop.”

It was not a lie. Ioanna, who had been fully prepared for the shopkeepers to attempt to cheat them, found herself so taken aback she could not think of a reply.

“That’s all right. I expected that,” interrupted Vitaliya brightly. “Just give us what you can.”

Ioanna knew she was thin by Xytan standards. She had neither muscle like Netheia, nor curves like Vitaliya. Servants were always leaving dishes beside her while she read, or worked, as though they were afraid she might starve to death unless they took an active role in things. Whenever she had to visit the palace dressmaker, they tutted and fretted and poked and mumbled.

But these women did not comment on Ioanna’s shape, or lack thereof. They brought out dresses of varying lengths, including the ankle-length ones worn by richer women or those who worked indoors, and the knee-length garments soldiers and workers wore. Ioanna instinctively reached for the more familiar design, but Vitaliya said, “You might want the shorter kind if we’re going to be riding.”

Ioanna didn’t particularly want to show her knees to the entire world, but Vitaliya seemed to know what she was talking about, so she picked a shorter garment, simple and without any ornamentation, save that it had been dyed sage green. Even the customary belt at her waist was nearer to a piece of rope than a girdle. Paired with her sandals, she thought she looked like a messenger, one of those young people who ran all over the city delivering packages or letters. They were frequently small and skinny too.

Vitaliya’s dress was white, accentuating her deep-olive skin. Her shoes, silk Vesoldan slippers, did not at all match and would be a poor choice for traveling, so one of the assistants went scurrying out to find a pair of boots. Vitaliya also asked for traveling cloaks and rucksacks to carry their things.

The cloaks were made of heavy wool, and while it was probably too warm out to wear them right now, Ioanna knew she’d be grateful for them at night once the sun went down. As they waited for Vitaliya’s boots, Ioanna tried not to appear too tense. But she could not keep her eyes off the door, expecting soldiers to burst in at any moment, swords gleaming, to drag her back to Netheia.

The seamstresses were cheerful, though. Maybe they were already thinking of how rich they’d be once they sold Ioanna’s dress, but it seemed to her they were genuinely untroubled. Clearly, no rumors of her father’s death or Ioanna’s subsequent flight from the palace had managed to reach them yet.

Besides, the shop was a curious sort of place. It was nothing like the beautiful rooms of the palace dressmaker, orderly and pristine. Bolts of fabric were stacked nearly high enough to brush the ceiling, and Ioanna kept well away from these towers for fear they might come crashing down on her head. Countless threads were underfoot, and when the light caught them the right way, dropped pins gleamed.

Finally, the boots were delivered, and Ioanna and Vitaliya emerged into the daylight once more. Ioanna glanced around for soldiers but saw only a single member of the city watch, leaning against a wall and staring off into the middle distance. He’d received no orders from the palace—or if he had, he wasn’t expecting to spot a runaway princess during his shift.

Nevertheless, Ioanna was relieved when Vitaliya pulled her in the opposite direction, talking about how they had to get horses next.

Ioanna knew how to ride, though she didn’t spend much time at it. Netheia owned several horses, all very expensive and very aggressive. When Ioanna rode, the hostlers always found her a gentle, calmer mount—the sort Netheia said were no good for anything except pulling a plow. Ioanna knew Netheia exaggerated, but nevertheless it kept her from attempting to join any activities where she might be required to ride.

All of the gold coins they’d accumulated were not quite enough to purchase them two mounts, so Vitaliya traded one of her gold bracelets away while Ioanna chewed anxiously at her lower lip. Guards might spot them at any moment. She would not relax, not until they were out of sight of Xyuluthe’s walls.

When they finally exited the city via the north gate, Ioanna feared her heart might be on the verge of failure. She clutched at the reins as tightly as she could, and this was the only thing that stopped her hands from trembling.

They rode onward until Xyuluthe’s walls grew too distant for Ioanna to see. Still, she frequently looked back to see if anyone was riding toward them. They passed other travelers, some on foot and some in wagons. She wondered how far they were from the nearest town, and if they might make it there by nightfall.

But whenever they passed someone she might ask, Ioanna’s tongue froze in her mouth, and an icy terror came over her. She’d spent so little time outside the palace, outside the court. Surely if she tried to interact with her citizens, she’d only humiliate herself, and then they would examine her more closely, and perhaps her description would fit with someone the city guards were asking after.

She glanced over at Vitaliya. Maybe she should ask the other girl to do the talking. It came naturally to her. But she could not bring herself to say anything to Vitaliya either. She did not know what to say.

After a few hours of painful silence, just as the sky was beginning to darken, Vitaliya pulled her horse to an abrupt halt. Ioanna did the same, afraid something was wrong. But Vitaliya slid down from her mount’s back and rushed over to the roadside. “Yes!” she cried. “Finally.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Ioanna, glancing back and forth to make sure no soldiers were approaching.

“Nothing’s wrong! Everything’s perfect!” Vitaliya threw her arms around one of the many trees bordering the roadside. “Oh, you’re beautiful!”

“What are you doing?” asked Ioanna.

“I’m starving. It’s an orange tree.”

“But it’s not…” Ioanna looked up at the branches. “There won’t be any fruit for months. It’s too early.”

“Says you!” cried Vitaliya happily, calling bright-green magic to her hands. She pressed it into the trunk of the tree, and it flowed upwards, curving into the lowest branch, the only one within arm’s reach. Within minutes, fresh leaves emerged from the cold branch and unfurled like the wings of countless butterflies. And nestled amongst them Ioanna could see small, dark-green pearls that gradually lightened in color as they swelled to the size of a fist.

“I’ve never seen that done so fast,” marveled Ioanna, watching as the fruit changed from green to orange. People with Eyvindr’s magic could wake fruit trees out of season if their blessing was strong enough. But in Ioanna’s experience, it still took days for the fruit to ripen.

“Give them fifteen minutes to get darker,” Vitaliya advised. “They’ll taste better.”

“I’m a little envious,” said Ioanna. “It’s a very useful blessing.”

“I help the farmers, sometimes. Not so much recently, but in the past. We have some large farms near Bergavenna.”

Ioanna looked at Vitaliya with wide eyes. “Your parents allowed that? Or you did it in secret?”

“Actually, it was their idea. They brought in a priest to teach me after they realized I could make the roses bloom. He told them my blessing was strong, and so they wanted to put it to good use. I thought I’d hate it, being in the sun and the dust…but it’s nice. And I might as well contribute to something, right? In any case, I wasn’t allowed to do the real work. The tilling, the planting, and the carrying heavy things. Magic’s nothing compared to that.” Vitaliya flopped down onto the grass smiling, and apparently not concerned about getting dirt and leaves in her hair.

“Those farmers must have been honored.”

“I didn’t do anything an ordinary priest wouldn’t have,” denied Vitaliya. “And slower and clumsier at first. But they were kind. I thought it was just because of who my parents were, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt genuine.”

“Has the Temple of Eyvindr tried to recruit you?” Eyvindr, God of the Harvest and Third of the Ten, was an extremely powerful god, and his temples were influential. She would be surprised if the Vesoldan temple hadn’t taken an interest in Vitaliya.

“Oh yes, of course! But I won’t join. I’d have to give up my title and go live in the temple. And there’s no promise I’d stay in Bergavenna—what if they sent me to some dreadful farming town in the middle of nowhere, and I died of boredom?”

“I don’t think they’d do that to you,” said Ioanna. “Even if you gave up your rank, everyone would know who your family was. They’d never treat you like an ordinary priestess.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want to risk it. Besides I just don’t think I’d enjoy being a priestess. That kind of life has so many rules. I would look very nice in green, though, wouldn’t I?”

Ioanna felt herself smile, briefly. Their situation was certainly not ideal, and perhaps she ought to be annoyed to be saddled with such a silly traveling companion. But Vitaliya was kind and soft in a way that was rare at the imperial court. Yes, she told the occasional lie, but they were harmless with no malice or machinations behind them.

They tied their horses and sat under the tree to eat. The oranges were good, sweet, ripe, and they had no trace of magic in their flavor, nothing to suggest they hadn’t grown naturally over the course of several months.

Ioanna wondered what Netheia was doing now. She wondered what her mother was doing now. Were they searching the city for her, or did they think it wasn’t worth the trouble? Was her mother worried or just relieved? Was she happy?

Mother would rather me not kill you, Netheia had said.

In a twisted way, the words warmed Ioanna. Her mother did not hate her as much as she could. She did not hate her enough to want her dead. Only…driven away. Or perhaps, knowing Enessa, she wanted Ioanna to cheerfully surrender the crown, and then remain at court so they could continue to use her blessing to their advantage.

Maybe that was the reason why Enessa wanted her alive. Not because of any maternal affection, but because Ioanna’s blessing was rare and powerful and they’d be fools to let it go to waste even if the name of it did terrify the court. Her heart sank at the realization.

And what of the way Netheia’s hands burned under Iolar’s light? As though she was a chaos cultist! But Netheia had Reygmadra’s blessing, and nobody could carry the magic of more than one god. Everyone knew that.

Had she imagined it?

In that case, had she imagined Netheia’s blessing overtaking her body, and Netheia’s fist shattering through her shield—two things that ought to be impossible?

“My hands are sticky,” complained Vitaliya, pulling Ioanna away from her worries. “Let’s find some water. The horses will need it too.”

Ioanna glanced toward the sky. The sun was low, and soon it would be too dark to travel. “I was hoping we’d make it to a town before nightfall, but I suppose we’ll have to camp.” It would be unpleasant, though, since they had no bedrolls or tents.

“Oh! Don’t worry!” said Vitaliya happily. “I know what to do! But first, water. There’s got to be some nearby if there’s so many fruit trees growing wild.” She jumped to her feet, sending torn pieces of orange rind everywhere, and began to move deeper into the trees. Ioanna stayed with the horses but balanced on the tips of her toes in order to keep Vitaliya within her line of sight.

“I knew it!” cried Vitaliya distantly. “There’s a little stream back here.”

Ioanna looked at the trees. It would probably be safer to sleep among them rather than directly beside the road. If any soldiers came looking for them, they’d be more difficult to find, especially in the darkness. Maybe they would even ride right past without a second glance. And if not, they’d make enough noise moving through the woods Vitaliya and Ioanna would hear them coming and be ready for them.

Ioanna wasn’t sure if she could kill someone even if they were trying to kill her. She hoped she wouldn’t ever have to find out. With any luck, a demonstration of her blessing might be enough to make them decide they weren’t being paid enough to risk dragging her back to Xyuluthe.

Ioanna took the horses by the reins and led them carefully through the trees. She found Vitaliya kneeling before the little stream, splashing water on her face. Ioanna tied the horses, giving them enough rope so they could reach the water as well, and went to submerge her hands.

“I think this is nicer than the capital,” said Vitaliya cheerfully, drying her hands on her skirt. Oddly enough, it was not a lie. “Everyone in Xyuluthe is so angry all the time. I’m much more relaxed now.”

Ioanna wasn’t sure what to say in response to this. She watched as Vitaliya stood and brushed mud and bits of broken bark from where they’d stuck to her knees. Then she went and removed the saddles from the horses, setting them down on the ground.

“Well,” began Ioanna. “You said you knew something about making camp?”

“Oh yes!” Vitaliya looked around. Then she pushed her way into a patch of long grass. “Just wait.”

Ioanna watched as more green magic flowed from Vitaliya’s hands and into the surrounding wildlife. The plants began to grow longer and thicker, rising up until they were nearly Vitaliya’s own height.

Vitaliya moved her arms, as if directing the plants, and the long grasses began to weave themselves into a basket shape, large enough for a person to rest comfortably inside. Ioanna stood out of the way and observed quietly. When Vitaliya turned back to Ioanna, she smiled.

“I used to make these when I was younger. I’d go outside, read, and fall asleep,” explained Vitaliya. “They’re really very soft!”

Ioanna tried not to think of spiders crawling across her face as she slept, or snakes slithering into her pockets. Vitaliya knelt down and climbed inside the nest.

“See?” she called, shifting around to peer out at Ioanna. “It’s nice. And it smells wonderful.”

“I see.”

Vitaliya stretched out and closed her eyes. Then after a moment, they snapped open again. “I’m not tired yet,” she said. “You know what would be funny? If there’s a town only a few more minutes down the road.”

“I think it’s better to stop now, instead of risking—”

“Oh no, you’re right! I just think it would be funny.” Vitaliya closed her eyes again. “Maybe I am tired after all. You can come in if you want. There’s enough room for both of us.”

Ioanna wondered if it would be rude to ask Vitaliya to weave a second nest. She did not believe the other princess would attempt anything untoward, but she’d never slept beside anyone before. She wasn’t accustomed to it.

But she didn’t want Vitaliya to think she was ungrateful, odd, or any other number of negative things. And Vitaliya already used her magic several times today for rather impressive feats. She might very well be drained.

Ioanna decided she would tolerate sharing and hope Vitaliya did not kick or punch in her sleep. She found a sharp stone and began to carve runes in the dirt as the priests of Iolar had taught her.

“What are you doing?” called Vitaliya.

“Drawing a protective circle. If any guards or soldiers come for us, it will wake me.”

“Oh, yes! I’ve heard of those. The paladins use them!” Vitaliya smiled, and a bit of Ioanna’s anxiety lifted at the realization Vitaliya truly didn’t object to the use of Iolar’s magic. “Does it work against ordinary people? I always assumed it only caught chaos gods and things like that.”

“No, it will catch anything except animals. It can’t sense animals. Not even a hungry wolf. I think it’s because—” She stopped, realizing Vitaliya neither wanted nor deserved a lecture on the nature of protective circles.

But Vitaliya’s eyes were bright and curious. “Because why?” Her tone did not at all sound mocking or sarcastic. It sounded genuine.

“Well, we don’t know for certain. But I don’t think animals are capable of evil, really. Most of the temples agree. And the circle is Iolar’s magic, so it—”

“Most of the temples?” interrupted Vitaliya. “Who’s going around arguing animals are evil?”

“Well, it’s not like that—” Ioanna realized she was doing a very poor job of explaining. “It’s not something anyone seriously debates. It’s more for thinking about. Most people agree animals aren’t capable of evil, but then the question becomes if they’re capable of good.”

“They are!”

Ioanna waited for Vitaliya to explain her reasoning, but the other princess merely shifted into a more comfortable position in the nest. She clearly felt she’d delivered a good argument that required no further details. Ioanna found this oddly endearing.

Ioanna murmured the prayer to activate the protective circle. The runes glowed with familiar gold magic, then faded to a dull, inconspicuous shade of brown that would not be visible from the road.

“I always thought it seemed difficult having Iolar’s magic,” observed Vitaliya. “All that memorizing! I could never do it.”

“I don’t know. It always came naturally to me.” But Ioanna understood what she meant. Iolar’s magic functioned most efficiently when channeled through recitations and runes, rather than willpower or emotion like most of the other gods’ blessings. The prayers were easy enough to remember, but drawing runes required concentration and a careful hand.

Inside the woven grass nest was more comfortable than Ioanna anticipated, and it did smell nice. Vitaliya was a heavy weight beside her, and Ioanna tried to keep herself from rolling into the other girl.

“I am sorry about all this,” began Ioanna.

“What? Oh no, it’s not your fault! You didn’t ask your sister to chase us off. Besides, I’ve been in worse spots than this.”

“You have? When?”

“Well…” Vitaliya’s voice trailed off as she considered. “All right, maybe I haven’t.”

A tiny laugh escaped from Ioanna. Vitaliya had been so convinced she was telling the truth that, in the moment, Ioanna had been unable to detect any lie.

Only rarely did Ioanna encounter people who were exactly what they professed to be. There were so many lies at court, so much deception. But Vitaliya’s lies could not be called cunning manipulation. They were more akin to childish hyperbole, the sort Iulia occasionally indulged in when she was feeling particularly emotional.

Ioanna knew she and Vitaliya were the same age, but Vitaliya seemed so much younger. Ioanna supposed it was the lack of responsibilities. Vitaliya may have been a princess, but clearly nobody expected her to be any sort of heir. Maybe that was for the best, though. Ioanna could not see the girl ruling a nation. Not that she would ever say such an impolite thing out loud.

“What do you think you’ll do once you get to Oredia?” asked Vitaliya.

“I suppose that will depend on what my grandmother says,” Ioanna admitted. “I’m certain she’ll provide us with a safe place to stay, but I don’t know if she’ll tolerate my trying to take back the throne.”

Vitaliya said something, but Ioanna barely heard it. She was already lost in her own thoughts. If only she’d been faster! The Order of the Sun would come to her aid; she was certain of it. But now it would be days before she could even send them a letter, and weeks before she could expect a reply.

The paladins of the Order of the Sun had been exiled when she was only five years old for the crime of refusing to join the emperor’s army. Perhaps her father had thought they would yield if faced with banishment, but they had not. They’d simply withdrawn to the surrounding nations. Archpriestess Seia of the Temple of Reygmadra told anyone who would listen that some had even gone to Masim to fight against Ionnes, proving once again Iolar’s followers couldn’t be trusted.

When Ioanna tried to recall individual paladins, their faces were always blurred like ink splashed with water. But she vividly remembered the armor they wore, their gleaming silver chainmail and white tabards, and how they never, ever gave her a headache when they spoke.

Some days, when the Xytan court seemed particularly cruel, Ioanna fantasized about running away to join them. She never would—Iolar meant her to be an empress—but the thought was tempting. She could live in Vesolda, or Ieflaria, and it wouldn’t matter she was awkward and clumsy with a sword because Truthsayers were far too rare and precious to send into battle.

Ioanna closed her eyes and listened for the sound of hoofbeats, shouting, or swords being drawn. None came.

It occurred to her that perhaps she ought to pray. If any situation warranted prayers, surely it was this. But though Ioanna attended Sunrise services regularly, she would admit she had fallen out of the habit of addressing personal, spontaneous prayers to Iolar since he never responded to them. Reciting old prayers from memory, or reading them from books, was easier because then she didn’t get her hopes up waiting for an answer.

Ioanna knew she was not entitled to a reply, nor an explanation of why her patron god had given her such a dangerous blessing in such an inhospitable country. But she would have appreciated it. Even if he could not tell her how to convince the imperial court she meant them no harm, it would have been comforting to know he watched over her, or at least he had not forgotten her name.