Chapter Eleven

IOANNA

 

Vitaliya did not appear at breakfast that morning, and Ioanna felt terrible for not thinking to check on her beforehand. Obviously, she was more shaken by last night’s events than Ioanna herself. She’d hoped Vitaliya’s declaration that she had to leave had come from a place of fear, and she would realize it was unnecessary once she’d had a chance to rest.

“Was all well last night?” asked Sabina cautiously. “We heard a commotion…”

“Floriana had a terrible nightmare,” explained Ioanna, and this was near enough to the truth that she did not feel any pain. “I apologize for the disturbance.”

“Is she still asleep?”

“I presume so. I will go check on her after we’ve finished if she still hasn’t turned up.”

“She asked to be taken to the orchards this morning,” said Orsina. “Vel brought her out. She finished her work on one of the fields last night but ran out of magic. I think she wanted to do more before you left.”

“The orchards?” repeated Baroness Sabina. “What does she intend to do there?”

“I’ve seen her bring fruit trees to life out of season,” said Ioanna. “It’s very useful and very impressive.”

“I’m surprised the Temple of Eyvindr didn’t pursue her aggressively with a blessing like that.”

“I’m afraid she would find temple life to be too stifling.” Ioanna smiled fondly. “I consider myself fortunate she’s agreed to accompany me on this journey. One woman can hardly replace the hundreds of priests that have been called away, but I believe we can at least mitigate a little bit of suffering.”

The meal went on in silence. Ioanna wondered if they’d made a decision last night or still needed more time. Or perhaps there would be no swaying them after all, in which case it would probably be best to move on to a new city. It would not be a wonderful thing for morale, to have their first appeal end in failure, but she wouldn’t hold it against them.

“Your grandmother’s letter,” said Camillus at last. “Do you know what she wrote?”

“Actually, I’m afraid I don’t,” said Ioanna. “She gave it to me after it had been sealed, and only told me to pass it on to you. I hope it wasn’t anything unpleasant? If she’s threatening you with your debts—”

“No,” Camillus said. “Nothing like that. But in her letter, she made a claim I find difficult to believe. No disrespect meant to the empress mother. But it regarded the nature of your blessing.”

“Ah,” said Ioanna. “Then I suppose we are telling people.”

“It’s true, then? You are—you claim to be a Truthsayer?”

“I would not dare claim such a thing if it was not so,” Ioanna explained solemnly. “If we are to be pedantic, I am not a Truthsayer formally, for that requires an assessment by the Temple of Iolar or the Order of the Sun, followed by a declaration of my status. And of course, my father would never allow such a thing to be done. But yes. That is my blessing.”

“Why has it been kept a secret?” asked Sabina, leaning forward. “Why was it not shouted from every rooftop the moment it was discovered?”

“My parents never cared for it. Nor does my sister. In childhood, I was led to understand it was shameful. Unsuitable for a future empress. I’ve only recently come to realize I was misled.”

“I can hardly believe it,” murmured Camillus. “It seems impossible.”

“I expect you’ll want a demonstration from me?” said Ioanna. “I can scarcely blame you.”

“No disrespect meant—”

“None taken. But I can already tell you that you’ve lied in my presence once.”

Camillus and Sabina both stared at each other in horror. A smile pulled at one side of Ioanna’s face.

“Please, don’t worry,” she said. “It was a little thing. Last night at dinner. The baroness said she didn’t know what we’d be having and turned to ask your housekeeper what the cook had prepared. But you did know, didn’t you?”

“Well, I–” Sabina’s face grew red.

“I was confused as to why you would lie about such an insignificant thing, but then I realized you do not employ enough servants to prepare the meals alone—or at least, not one so large as the one we had last night. You were down there helping them, weren’t you? And you were afraid I’d think less of you for it.”

“Well…” Sabina floundered, and Camillus glared at her as though she’d done something appalling. “I—I only…”

“Don’t worry,” Ioanna soothed. “You would not believe the dreadful lies I’ve encountered at court. Yours was nothing next to those. Is that proof enough, or did you wish to ask me more questions?”

“No—no—” stammered Camillus. “We have no doubt. And we can pledge twenty-five soldiers to your cause. I know it’s not much…”

“No,” interrupted Ioanna. “I understand how little you have now. I am just as grateful as I’d be if you pledged a thousand.”

Vitaliya returned an hour or so later, tired but not drained in the way she’d been after growing figs for the bandit children. Upon her arrival, she said very little but collapsed into bed. Ioanna followed her in, hoping they could finally talk about the events of the previous night.

“Did you visit the orchard?” Ioanna asked.

“Yes,” Vitaliya mumbled into her pillow.

“That’s good. I’m sure everyone will appreciate it.”

Vitaliya did not reply.

“The baron has pledged twenty-five men to me,” said Ioanna. “I know that doesn’t sound like much, but for a little place like this…well, I’m glad to have them. I was thinking we’d leave at noon today. Our next stop is—”

“I’m not going,” said Vitaliya harshly. She sat up. “Do you not remember Aelia knocking a knife out of my hands last night?”

“Yes, but that wasn’t your fault! It was Cytha!”

“Oh yes, that would have been a wonderful consolation if I’d killed you!”

“Vitaliya,” said Ioanna, moving to sit down on the bed beside her. “We can’t live our lives in fear of chaos gods. The fact they’re going to the trouble to try to stop us tells me we’re on the right path. And you’re safer here with Aelia and the paladins guarding us than you’d be if you left.”

“Aelia!” Vitaliya flopped down onto her pillow again. “Don’t talk to me about her!”

“Why? Did she do something to you?”

Vitaliya huffed. Then she said, “She told me the reason my father is getting married is probably because someone—one of the Ten, probably—wanted me to get mad and run off here and meet you.”

“Oh,” said Ioanna. “Well that is unexpected.”

“It’s awful!” Vitaliya turned over onto her side, and Ioanna placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s awful. And she hit me.”

“Aelia hit you?”

“Yes! And she called me a spoiled brat!”

“Wait. Start over. From the beginning. What happened?”

“Ugh. It doesn’t matter. The point is, someone pointed my father and that shepherd girl at each other to manipulate me! I don’t know who it was, but I’m not doing anything for them, and if that makes me petty, I don’t care!”

Ioanna did not say anything. Instead, she began to rub Vitaliya’s back in what she hoped was a soothing gesture. They stayed like that for a while until she felt Vitaliya’s breathing grow calm once more.

“Well,” Ioanna said at last, “I can understand not wanting to do anything for the god who did that to you. But maybe you could do it for me, instead.”

 

They left Metis after the midday meal just as Ioanna had hoped. Their next destination was a city called Pomeria, four days to the west. It was ruled over by Countet Domite who, according to Grandmother Irianthe’s notes, had withdrawn from court due to their personal dislike of Ionnes. Ioanna hoped that would work to her advantage when they arrived.

She wondered where Knight-Commander Livius was now. It was probably too early for him to have made it to Vesolda, but he might be in Ieflaria by now. Traveling alone, and on horseback, he’d make much better time than Ioanna and her companions. If all went well, he would be there waiting on her grandmother’s land in Nassai by the time they arrived, along with a few hundred paladins.

Vitaliya remained uncharacteristically quiet on the first day of the journey, though Ioanna was never certain if this was due to the magic she’d expended to wake up the fruit trees out of season, or because she was still angry about everything Aelia had told her. But Vitaliya could not stay angry for long, and by the second day she was back to her usual sunny self.

Ioanna was still concerned about Vitaliya’s assertion that Aelia had hit her but decided not to bring it up for fear of starting the argument all over again. She only hoped she would not regret it. Ioanna wouldn’t tolerate violence from anyone in her carriage, goddess or not. If it turned out that the incident hadn’t been a one-time event, she would have to reconsider her choice in guards.

They arrived in Pomeria on a rainy morning. Unlike quiet Metis, Pomeria was obviously doing well. They’d passed extensive vineyards on the way, and as they moved through the city, it seemed to be nearly as busy as Xyuluthe.

“They don’t seem to be suffering too badly,” Vitaliya observed. “I have to wonder if maybe they’ve got a chaos god watching out for them.”

“I don’t sense anything,” said Ioanna, remembering how Acydon’s presence had pulled at her teeth. “What about you, Aelia?”

“I’m not sure,” Aelia murmured. “I think there’s someone influencing things here…but not a chaos god.”

The carriage rolled to a halt, and a guard dressed in the local uniform of Pomeria opened the door. As she had before, Ioanna passed up a letter bearing her grandmother’s seal. After that, they were escorted rapidly up the private road to the countet’s home.

It was not as fine as Grandmother Irianthe’s villa, but a far sight better than what they’d left behind in Metis. This home had the residential area to the front, and the garden set in the back.

Domite of Pomeria was around Grandmother Irianthe’s age, but wore a robe of striking red fabric, fastened with a bright copper belt. They were already holding the letter Ioanna had given to the guard. Domite’s eyes flicked from the page, then to Ioanna, then back again. Now knowing what her grandmother had written about her and her blessing, Ioanna could only hope the countet did not declare her a liar and throw her out.

“You don’t look like him,” Domite said at last. “Fortunate, I suppose. You might have come sooner. I’d be more interested in a fight with Ionnes before his death than after.”

Ioanna was not sure how to respond to this.

“It has been my experience that Empress Mother Irianthe is not inclined to lie,” continued Domite. “She and I are similar in that—lying is so much trouble, frequently more trouble than it’s worth. And yet, I think I might call her a liar now. She claims you are a Truthsayer.”

“I have not been assessed by the Temple of—”

But Domite waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t care what some old men have to say on the subject. In childhood, I owned a dog. His name was Honey. He died of old age, sleeping in a patch of sunlight. Tell me where the lie is.”

Behind her, she felt Orsina bristle. The paladin was about to object to her blessing being treated like a festival game.

“The animal wasn’t a dog, but his name was Honey,” said Ioanna, speaking rapidly so Orsina couldn’t interrupt. “And he did die of old age, but it wasn’t in sunlight. It was raining, or nighttime.” She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut against the oppressive, distracting light of day. “Wait. I see it now. He was sleeping beside you in your bed. And he was a cat.”

Domite did not reply immediately, but Ioanna saw them swallow. After a moment they said, “It’s a pity this didn’t happen thirty years ago when I was young enough to really enjoy it.”

 

Orsina and Vel were obviously reluctant to leave Ioanna alone with the countet, but Ioanna got the sense Domite was genuinely pleased by her presence and wouldn’t require too much more convincing to contribute to her cause.

So, while Orsina, Vel, and Vitaliya were shown to the guest rooms, Domite led her down the halls and into the garden. Domite’s home was a busy place, made busier still by the unexpected arrival of so many important guests. Servants rushed here and there, bearing piles of linens, buckets of water, and, on one memorable occasion, a whole live chicken. Ioanna tried to go slowly to keep from colliding with any of them whereas Domite moved easily through the fray.

“Tell me about your cause,” said Domite, once they’d made it out to the relative silence of the gardens. The rain was still falling, but lightly enough they could tolerate it. “Where are your soldiers? How many do you have?”

“We—we’re establishing a camp. At one of my grandmother’s other estates, nearer to Xyuluthe.” She was unwilling to give the exact location until she’d got a real promise from Domite. “We’re in the process of calling back as many paladins as we can on such short notice. I’m hoping for at least two hundred of them by the time we’re ready to march. My grandmother has also contributed some men of her own, and I’ve already secured a promise from Baron Camillus for a handful of soldiers.”

“A symbolic gesture, no doubt.” One side of Domite’s mouth lifted in a crooked smile.

“But no less appreciated,” Ioanna said fiercely. “Their situation is my own family’s doing. I will not shame them for giving what little they have.”

“Where is your grandmother now?”

“In Xyuluthe.”

“How unlike her.”

“She’s expected there for the funeral and the coronation. And she thinks she can do more for us within the court than in Oredia or elsewhere. I’m inclined to agree. I don’t want a long, bloody civil war. I want this done in one day.”

“That’s a rather ambitious timeframe.”

“I can see it no other way. If the conflict drags on to the point that my sister is able to call the army back from Masim, we’re finished.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.” Domite paused. “I can assign soldiers to you. But if you let me address my people, I expect you’ll have more volunteers—if you will accept the untrained ones?”

“Are you certain? It seems too much to ask. Surely they are needed here.”

“I will not command anyone to stay even for Pomeria’s sake,” said Domite. “You do not need to preach to me; I understand how dire the situation has become. They would have taken up arms soon enough. Perhaps not this year, nor the next, but certainly within my own lifetime.”

That was a sobering thought, and Ioanna could not keep the alarm from her face.

“Sometimes I forget how different it is in Xyuluthe,” Domite sighed. “I ask myself how the court can be so far removed from the reality of things, but then I recall I was no better in my youth.”

“I spent every day beside my mother, and I had no idea.” Ioanna shook her head. “I still do not know if she kept it from me, or if the other nobles kept it from her.”

“Those who are suffering most would not be allowed to petition your mother directly,” said Domite. “Camillus and Sabina, for example, do not hold the rank required to seek an audience with the empress. They would have been forced to entrust their cause to…it is Count Aulus, I think, who controls that region? That they opted to petition the empress mother instead tells me they had little faith in him.”

“He would have refused to help them?” asked Ioanna. “Why?”

“His priority would be his own lands, would it not? Resources are sparse. Even if they could pay in coin, he might come to regret it later. Gold is worthless when there’s nothing to spend it on. In any case, they weren’t offering gold. They were asking for a loan they had no real way of repaying.”

“He could have gone to my mother on their behalf!”

“In that case, I expect she would order him to aid them from his own storehouses. Don’t you agree?” Domite paused, but when Ioanna did not reply, they pressed on. “I’m sure you’ve heard her issue such edicts before.”

Ioanna had, and at the time, she’d thought them reasonable. How could she have been so oblivious?

They arrived at the center of the garden. The focal point was a life-size statue, depicting a person draped in simple robes. One hand held an empty bowl, carved from the same stone as the rest, and on the other perched a small songbird.

“Who is this?” asked Ioanna, gesturing to the statue. “I don’t think I recognize the iconography.”

“Isan, neutroi God of Charity. And unofficial patron of Pomeria.”

“That’s an admirable domain. I’m surprised I’ve never heard of them.”

“They are well known in Aquiim. In my youth, I traveled through Masim and Coplon—long before your father’s war, back when our people were welcomed. That was where I first heard their name. When I returned home, I brought a little statuette with me as well as some writings. At first, I kept my veneration private, not wanting to foist an unfamiliar god on our people, but when the war came…”

“Do they have a temple here?”

“No, but only for lack of priests. Maybe if you do manage to end the war, I’ll send for some from Aquiim to instruct us in the rituals.” Domite glanced down at Ioanna. “Some might criticize me for venerating them over Iolar, but Iolar has done nothing for us for a decade.”

A small part of her was horrified by this casual sacrilege, but Ioanna only said, “Times are difficult. We do what we must. And Isan sounds like an honorable god.”

“Even so, the harvests have not always been good,” Domite admitted. “I won’t deny I’ve been pulling more from our treasury each passing year. You’ll have soldiers from me, as many as I can spare. I’d go with them myself if only…”

“Oh, I wouldn’t ask that of you!” Ioanna said hastily.

“Nor would my knees, I’m afraid,” sighed Domite. “But don’t worry. You’ll hardly miss me. And if you lose, I expect I’ll get my chance to fight at least once. I don’t plan to let them arrest me.”

 

“That was easier than I was expecting,” Ioanna commented as they got ready for bed that night. “My grandmother never mentioned the countet hated my father so openly.”

“Maybe it was meant to be a surprise!” suggested Vitaliya.

“My grandmother isn’t the surprising sort. Maybe she honestly didn’t know.” Ioanna could not blame Domite for keeping their dislike of Ionnes a secret from Irianthe—he was her son, after all. “In any case, they seem like a useful ally.”

“Did you see how angry the paladins got when they asked you that question about the cat?” Vitaliya asked. “It was wonderful! I thought they were going to start a brawl.”

“That is not wonderful,” sighed Ioanna. “I’ll have to talk to them. I know it’s offensive to them, but I can’t expect everyone to just take my word that I’m a Truthsayer. It’s simply not reasonable. They’ll have to set aside their objections until after the coronation.”

“I didn’t know you could see into the past like that. I mean, when you said it was a cat, and it was in their bed—that was amazing. I didn’t know you could do that.”

“I can’t usually,” Ioanna admitted. “It only happens when the emotions around the lie are very strong. Then the truth comes to me even if it’s been hidden away. Domite still loves that cat, I think. That’s how I was able to tell.”

“They seem nice. A bit frightening but in a kind way.”

“Yes,” agreed Ioanna. “I think I like them.”

They lay there in bed together, both staring up at the ceiling, fingers entwined.

“I thought about my father’s funeral for the first time today,” Ioanna announced at last. “Am I horrible for not caring if I miss it?”

“Don’t ask me. I’m biased against fathers right now,” said Vitaliya, and Ioanna bit back a laugh. “Honestly, though, why should you care? It doesn’t sound like he was a particularly good father to you. And then he went and got himself killed in a duel and left you to deal with his mess.”

“Yes, but…he’s still my father.”

Vitaliya made a rude noise, and Ioanna gave her a little kick under the blankets.

“I know he never loved me,” said Ioanna. “He never claimed he did, and I know it was because he didn’t want me to feel the lie. And it wasn’t as though he was just bad with children because he loved Netheia.”

“When you’re empress, you can appoint someone to be your new father,” said Vitaliya. “And he’ll always tell his friends how wonderful you are, commission portraits of you, and remember your birthday. Make it Knight-Commander Livius. He’s got the right look about him.”

“I think if I were to do that, I’d pick Archpriest Lailus,” said Ioanna. “I’ve known him since I was old enough to speak.”

“Who is that?”

“The Archpriest of Iolar here in Xytae. I can’t say for certain, but I think he was nearer to being a proper father than Ionnes was.” Ioanna breathed in deeply. “I wonder what he’s doing now. I wonder if he thinks I’m dead.”

“I doubt it,” said Vitaliya. “He’s probably so faithful he won’t even blink when you go riding up to the Imperial Palace with ten thousand soldiers behind you. Never a doubt in his mind. You know how priests are.”

“I hope you’re right,” Ioanna whispered, and Vitaliya squeezed her hand.