Luminalia

 

From above, the sprawling capital city of Arsol shone like a diamond against the golden savanna, its streets alive with a hum of activity that only preceded large celebrations. Broad, sun-drenched avenues radiated outward from the city’s heart, each ending at a verdant park and lined with willow trees and towering white marble buildings adorned with mosaics. Tilgh’s perpetual light of day reflected off the smooth surface of the sharp-angled buildings so brightly a foreigner may be forced to avert their eyes. The city’s main temple dominated the central plaza of polished granite, which was encircled by a colonnade of pillars, enchanted braziers of crystals atop each of them. At the far end of the plaza, a grand staircase ascended towards the palace.

 

An imposing archway acting as the palace entrance was flanked by two giant statues: a woman with a blindfold and an eagle perched on her arm, and a man holding a scale on the back of a lion. There was religious significance to nearly every characteristic of the figures, from the powerful forms of the sacred animals to the regal bearings of the people. The colossal main structure seemed to pierce the very heavens. The walls on every floor held massive window gaps covered by bead curtains, and the skylights above them were inlaid with tinted glass. Each spire encrusted with crystals of myriad color scraped the sky.

 

The ground grew closer, and it was at the top of the grand staircase that Princess Emmahin landed, her girlfriend at her side.

 

“We’re here!”

 

“It’s so bright…”

 

“Well, yes, we are in the seat of the Temple of Light. Is Retaw’s sun not as intense?”

 

Nike stretched two of her four falcon wings to provide some shade for herself. “Honestly, no. Probably because our capital is by the ocean…”

 

“Let’s get inside, then. I don’t know if my moms will be available right now, but we should have no trouble finding my old nanny—she’s the chief of staff.”

 

Emmahin forced herself not to tuck her lower pair of hummingbird wings under the upper pair of dove wings as she walked. Her taller girlfriend took her hand and followed. A vast hall stretched before them, ornate columns lining the walls to support a gallery that circled the room. Emmahin glanced up to see a few galen servants flying near the high ceiling—they seemed busy, so she continued walking. Soft rugs woven with threads of gold and silver covered the polished marble floor, and familiar tapestries of ancient battles hung from the walls, their vibrant colors illuminated by the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. A staircase, almost as grand as the one outside, stood at the far end of the hall, sweeping up to the upper levels. Near the base, at last, was an idling human servant.

 

The middle-aged staff member bowed when they approached. “Welcome back, Princess Emmahin. Is that…?”

 

“The one and only Lady Nike of Retaw, yes!” she chirped. Then, a nervous tone overtook her words. “Everyone knows we’re together, right? I didn’t just dream up my slideshow about it, right?”

 

The servant smiled. “It’s not the most popular of your decisions, but yes. Madam Laysa filled us in.”

 

“Speaking of her, I was hoping she’d have a moment to talk to us today. Where is she?”

 

“Last I heard, Lieutenant Eleanor was talking to the guards stationed upstairs.” They paused as if realizing something. “And on that note, I should get back to work in case she decides to come downstairs. Best of luck, Your Highness.”

 

They took large strides until they disappeared through a different doorway, and Nike felt her nerves come back in full swing.

 

“You never said your family was strict…”

 

Emmahin tugged gently on Nike’s hand so she’d follow her up the staircase. “Lea isn’t strict, per se, you can relax. Though in comparison to Laysa, she probably comes off like a drill sergeant, at least from the servants’ point of view. She worked with our special ops her whole life until she retired.”

 

“Are you sure I’m dressed right? Is my outfit too Retawan? Will it sour the celebrations if it reminds your people of…” Nike lowered her voice and tightened her grip on her partner’s hand to make her stop. “Of the time my mother was here. The occupation.”

 

The younger demigod let her dark gaze pan over Nike’s outfit again. A simple white wrap dress matching the color of her dangle pearl earrings, perfectly suited to most any occasion and a nice contrast against the sienna tones of her skin.

 

Emmahin met her girlfriend’s honey brown eyes, holding both her hands. “You look gorgeous, my love. I know things weren’t great the last time you met my family, but I promise, you’ll be okay. The crimes of a parent are not to be wielded against their offspring.”

 

“No one will punch me? I won’t get arrested?”

 

She giggled. “Not unless you break a law. You’re not a wanted fugitive, Nike. You’re our guest.”

 

Finally, Nike smiled. “Okay. I’m ready.”

 

Emmahin grinned and tugged her along. As they ventured upstairs, the palace grew more opulent, each room more extravagant than the last in  its array of mosaics and paintings. They could hear a soft murmur of conversation, the clinking of teacups, and the distant sound of a lute.

 

Eventually, they pinpointed a man in half plate armor of nearly-blinding white steel, and in front of him, a woman shorter than Nike and taller than Emmahin. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her firm stance and pale, calculating eyes like a soldier’s. She stood out to Nike immediately by her Lehlan features, even from afar. When they approached, Nike couldn’t help but stare. The woman’s fair skin seemed overlayed with strange scar tissue, raised and discolored in a range of dull pinks to light browns just as muted as the patches of unnatural grays across her complexion. Her long smooth hair, a graying sandy shade she’d never seen before, was carefully pinned into a loose bun to avoid the roots of curled horns on the sides of her head, and two gaps at the back of her robes showed deep scars where wings would normally sprout from.

 

Emmahin’s face lit up. “Lea!”

 

Eleanor gave her the smallest of smiles. “We hear you, little miss. A moment, if you please.” She turned back to the guard. “I trust you will be able to relay my orders to the rest of the palace guards on your own?”

 

The soldier put his fist to his chest. “Yes, sir.”

 

“Dismissed.”

 

Once the guard had walked off, Eleanor turned to fully face them and bowed with an arm across her torso.

 

“Welcome home, Your Highness.”

 

Emmahin rushed in for a hug, wings outstretched. Nike hadn’t seen her so outgoing since they’d first met.

 

“I’ve missed you guys so much. I thought Laysa would be around, what with Luminalia being tomorrow.”

 

Eleanor held the much shorter woman and ran a gloved hand through her short bouncy curls, her smile slightly wider. “She’s around. Queen Hadeja simply needed me to go over some new patrol routes with the guards, so Laysa decided to sleep in a little. You know how hard it is for her before the afternoon.”

 

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”

 

When they parted, Emmahin turned to her girlfriend and opened her mouth, then closed it and furrowed her brows. She glanced back at her expectant nanny. Ultimately, she shrugged. What that meant, Nike had no idea.

 

“Anyway. Lea, this is my girlfriend Nike. She was with me when we fought my mother and nearly died.”

 

“Yes, I remember. Daughter of the Goddess of Water.” The woman’s piercing green gaze examined her for a few nerve-wracking seconds, then she gave a subtle nod of approval. The bow she offered Nike was ever so slightly less pronounced. “Welcome to the palace, Lady Nike. My name is Eleanor. If you have any security concerns, please don’t hesitate to bring them to me.”

 

“O-oh, thank you. It’s nice to meet you properly. Em talks about you a lot.”

 

Eleanor looked to Emmahin with a raised eyebrow. Her demigod charge offered another shrug. Nike wasn’t sure if she should ask what that was about. Her uncertainty about such a high ranking, trusted individual bearing a Lehlan name and appearance must have shown, because Emmahin reached out for her hand and squeezed it.

 

“Lea is mixed.”

 

Her eyes said it all. Nike nodded. If that was the lie that had allowed a Lehlan to live among them in peace, she would play along. She figured if Eleanor had bad intentions, she would’ve done something when the country was steeped in turmoil around the time of Emmahin’s birth. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder how this situation had come to be in the first place. She stashed it away alongside her other questions to ask Emmahin about later.

 

“If you’re worried about being judged,” Eleanor ventured, “I can’t tell you to relax. It is not my place to judge you, however—that will fall to the Queen and the Traitor Goddess.”

 

Nike gulped. By ‘traitor’, she assumed the older woman was referring to the Goddess of Light, once the deity at the core of their temple, now spurned by her own people.

 

Emmahin sighed. “I take it you won’t stop calling my mom that?”

 

“Not me.”

 

“Okay, fair enough.” She put her free hand to her hip. “So, will Miss Dassine be in charge of the cooking for the feast tomorrow?”

 

Eleanor was the one who sighed next. “Indeed, it will give the rest of us some time to enact our Mediha containment plan.”

 

That felt like an inside joke.

 

Emmahin giggled. “Yeah, I bet. If I can help in any way, just let me know. And since you mentioned them, where are my moms? Are they here yet?”

 

“They arrived a few days ago.” Eleanor closed her eyes, and a breeze blew through her hair. After a few seconds, she opened them again. “The throne room. Off to see them?”

 

“Yep! Come on, Nike, you still have so many people to meet!”

 

Nike barely had any time to process that she’d just watched a Lehlan somehow use air magic. She took off after her partner, flying close to the ceiling and skillfully maneuvering around chandeliers. They eventually landed before a pair of tall, open doors. Emmahin grabbed her hand and excitedly stepped through the threshold.

 

Light filtered through enormous stained glass windows, painting the marble below in shifting hues of vermillion, saffron, coral, and rose. The familiar arched windows showcased stylized depictions of the sun’s path, from its fiery dawn ascent, through its zenith blaze, to its gentle descent into the horizon’s cradle. Tiny diamond chips were embedded in the grout between the ceiling tiles, like twinkling stars overhead that Emmahin knew would be flawlessly reflected on the floor at certain times of day. The closest to a view of the night sky in all of Tilgh.

 

This room’s crystal chandeliers were crafted in a shape vaguely reminiscent of sunflowers, each crystal meticulously cut to capture and refract the light. Torches lined the walls, held aloft by the beaks of carved eagle heads with cage-like prongs of gold curled around the weak flames—a little blatant as an insult to their nemesis. Tapestries hung between the torches, expertly woven into scenes any Tilghan would be familiar with: lions stalked through golden grasslands, graceful deer drank from crystal-clear streams, powerful horses galloped across endless plains, and eagles soared above jagged mountain peaks.

 

At the end of the hall, upon a raised dais of polished white quartz veined with gold, sat the throne. It was not of gold or jewels, rather an intricately carved pale wood, reminiscent of the skeletal branches of the acacia trees across the savanna. The back of the throne rose high, carved with images of falcons with wings outstretched in perpetual flight. In the center of the throne’s back was a large, perfect diamond, cut in the shape of an eye, staring out across the hall. This gem was said to reveal the truth of a monarch who sat upon the throne. Flanking the seat were two large mirrors imbued with magic, said to show true glimpses of the past; they were positioned as to create the illusion of an infinite sky. Below them, at the base of the dais, the faint scent of the lilies placed in tall, elegant vases wafted through the air. It was there that Emmahin caught sight of her mothers.

 

The two made for an odd contrast. On one side, Traitor Goddess Kahina: the Betrayer, the Quisling, the Recreant, and whatever other synonyms their people thought fit to call her. In acceptance of her sins, she dressed in layers of all black with a large hood obscuring her features: skin unmistakably the same mahogany tone as Emmahin’s, hair just as bathed in gold, though her eyes had dulled and darkened over the years to a point they hardly seemed sun-like anymore. Tight around her wrists hung chains from cuffs as heavy as the identical ones she surely wore on her ankles and the collar around her neck. Emmahin had studied these well, coated in mocking gold but made of a dense radioactive metal. The only reason her mother hadn’t suffered the same horrific fate as others shackled with the crime of high treason was likely her godhood.

 

Next to her, God-Queen Hadeja. Not a deity, merely human—yet proclaimed such by the new religious movement that had taken the country by storm and smothered the old. She fussed over her taller partner’s hidden curls. Nike’s eyes were drawn to the God-Queen’s face first, dark skin curiously dusted with tiny golden flecks across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, like scattered stardust. A few dark moles punctuated her features, and thick, wavy hair cascaded loosely down her back, a single white lily blossom woven amongst the almost onyx strands near her temple. The base layer of her dress, a heavy fabric of deep purple edged with elaborate golden embroidery, clung to her hourglass figure. Its high neckline framed a thick collar of intricately worked gold plates, each one shaped like a stylized sunflower, and from this foundation, a cascade of necklaces descended, a collection of hammered metal in varying shades of gold, silver, and copper. A heavy pendant depicting a roaring lion’s head hung on the longest of her necklaces, resting just above the meeting point of a second layer of ochre banners. The banners fell from her shoulders and met under a simple cloth sash that cinched her waist, allowing them to fall as a single panel over the skirt, both front and back. The base layer’s sleeves ended at her forearms, adorned with a clatter of mixed metal bangles, some dangling with delicate feather charms. Her fingers were adorned with thick, substantial rings crafted primarily from metal. The height of luxury.

 

The God-Queen turned to face them, her dark eyes making Nike freeze up. The trident scar around her eye almost itched. She brought her gaze to the floor without thinking. Emmahin, unaware of her girlfriend’s moment of distress, rushed to hug both of her mothers.

 

Kahina smiled and held her tight. “Em, it’s so good to see you. How have your travels been?”

 

“Pretty fun–” Emmahin cut herself off as she backed out of the hug. “Do you have to wear that?”

 

The scorned Goddess of Light raised her wrist, chains rustling. “This is my sin to bear, Em. I’ve told you this before.”

 

As far as Nike had heard from Emmahin, the marriage was null and void as per Kahina’s failure to fulfill marital duties, and Hadeja was expected to remarry. Her own mothers’ relationship wasn’t exactly far from turbulent, but she couldn’t imagine growing up in that environment.

 

“And I presume that is your partner,” said Hadeja. For a moment, the flecks of gold across her skin changed into eye-like shapes, but they reverted near immediately, as if merely a trick of the light. “Nike. Emmahin was wise not to bring your begetters.”

 

Emmahin frowned. “Mother, don’t scare her.”

 

Hadeja closed her eyes—some of the flecks of gold opened again, as if to see in their stead. “Be not afraid of insight, if you have nothing to hide.”

 

The younger demigod groaned at her mother’s usage of yet another religious adage, but gestured for her girlfriend to approach. Nike hesitantly stepped closer. In reaction, she heard a growl from below and flinched. A large maned lion with eagle wings rested behind Hadeja, its fur white and mane like the starry sky, mirrored in the tuft at the end of its tail. The creature’s eyes were a striking contrast of coal where the whites should’ve been and blinding white where the iris and pupil normally were.

 

Hadeja spared this entity a glance. “At ease.”

 

The lion ceased its growling immediately. Nike felt like she could move again when its gaze finally broke away, and she could see now the full detail of the expert embroidery in the God-Queen’s dress, from the silver wings only at the back of each banner, to the stylized deer antlers in bolder gold thread across a third, sheer layer of ochre draped loosely over her shoulders and upper arms. The same thread drew shapes of eagle feathers, falling in a seemingly windswept pattern down her skirt, most gathered at the hem. That much detail had to have taken extensive hours of labor, and the outfit looked brand new.

 

“I-it’s nice to properly meet you,” Nike said, remembering to curtsy just in time to avoid awkwardness.

 

Emmahin thankfully took over from there. “Did you just get here?”

 

“No, we’ve been here for a few days,” Kahina replied. “Had to help the clergy with preparations. That, and the tailors wanted to make sure Hadeja liked the new dress.”

 

So it was new. The Tilghan people’s devotion to their mortal God-Queen truly seemed like the stuff of nightmares.

 

“General,” Hadeja said to a large galen woman standing by the throne. “Attend to our guest. Escort her to her lodgings and ensure her comfort, as befits our hospitality.” She then turned back to Kahina. “Dear, fetch Cardinal Kanuri for me. I would speak with her ere the hour grows too late.” A pause. She sent a pointed look at her wife’s barely concealed displeasure. “Swiftly, if you please. The matter brooks no delay.”

 

Kahina sighed and bowed her head. “She’ll be in the throne room as soon as I find her.”

 

Hadeja faced her child. “Emmahin, a word. Anon.”

 

She didn’t wait for a reply and began to walk towards another corridor; the general she’d addressed was already at Nike’s side to lead her away. The lion rose and followed after Hadeja. Emmahin hurried after the familiar.

 

“Mother, are you putting my girlfriend in the west wing? Why not my room? We’re adults, you know.”

 

“You will understand in time.”

 

As per usual, then. Emmahin gave up the fight. She’d long resigned herself to the same inability to comprehend her mother’s mind that everyone else seemed to share. She followed her mother into a private audience chamber and sat on a low divan, her brow furrowed.

 

“Okay, what is it you need to tell me?”

 

Hadeja stood before the large window overlooking the palace gardens. “You are aware that our ears and eyes are not as they once were. The prayers of the populace remain a constant chorus, however they no longer rise to your mother. They have… shifted. Thus, her gaze is not as encompassing.”

 

“Yes, Mother, I know,” Emmahin replied, softly. “That’s been the case since before I was born. Why are you telling me this now?”

 

Hadeja turned, her dark eyes meeting her daughter’s. “You have declared yourself a capable adult, Emmahin. In fact, you have repeatedly requested that I cease shielding you from the realities of our situation, as I did when you were a fledgling.” She clapped her hands sharply. “This is a facet of that reality.”

 

A shimmer of light rippled in the air near the far wall, then vanished, revealing the familiar figure of a galen that had been perfectly concealed by a light magic illusion. Hadeja’s chief assassin bowed deeply. Her light brown eyes, wide and slightly unfocused, held a disturbing gleam, but her posture was impeccably respectful. Her feathers were partially painted extravagant colors to match her excessively bold makeup—the copper tone of her skin appeared difficult to distinguish beneath it—and her thick wavy hair was tied into a single braided ponytail, the sides of her head cleanly shaven. Emmahin tried not to squirm at the sight of the thick metal choker the woman wore, hoping still that her mother had never made use of its clasp.

 

“Report,” Hadeja commanded.

 

Zaynab straightened. Her hands twitched nervously. “We are… uncertain, Your Majesty. We’ve identified the potential threat as a self-proclaimed support group for those that miss your prior rule. They have gathered, yes, but whether it is for the Luminalia festivities or something else remains to be seen. They could simply be celebrating, as is their right.” Zaynab’s voice took on a sharper edge when she continued, “They have weapons, though, albeit legally obtained.”

 

“Speak freely, Zaynab.”

 

Zaynab’s eyes darted around the room before settling back on Hadeja. “I am… wary, Your Majesty. Very wary.”

 

Hadeja inclined her head. “I understand your concern. However, without evidence of wrongdoing, there is nothing we can justly do.”

 

“Is this why Lea was speaking with the guards?” Emmahin asked, her voice now openly laced with concern. “I expected to find Laysa or Dassine, not Lea…”

 

“Indeed,” Hadeja confirmed. “We are tightening security, as a precaution. Arsol City will be hosting numerous grand feasts. Celebrations are always a focal point. Especially this year, with the restructuring of the government. The people expect me to light the sacred crystal brazier, as has been tradition.”

 

“You’re still doing that?”

 

A nod. “Kahina and I have discussed it extensively. I shall continue this tradition, as I did during her absence. It is the will of the people.” She gave a nod to Zaynab. “You are dismissed.”

 

Zaynab bowed once more, swift and precise, and the illusion flickered back into place to conceal her. Emmahin remembered sitting on Laysa’s lap as a young child, fascinated by the way Zaynab would subtly alter her wing feathers to silence her flight—a common practice among galen spies and assassins, her nanny had informed her. Her only indicator that Zaynab had left was the brief parting of the bead curtain that covered the window.

 

Hadeja’s shoulders relaxed slightly and her expression softened. “I know you are here to share the wonders of Luminalia with your partner, Emmahin. I would not wish to detract from your enjoyment. I ask that you keep your eyes open. Be observant.”

 

“I will, Mother.” Emmahin rose from the divan. A knot tightened in her stomach, but she forced a small smile. “I will.”

 

She offered a respectful bow to her mother and turned to leave the audience chamber. She’d have to tell Nike about this. If she was lucky, her nanny’s generalized fretting over Hadeja’s health would trump her desire to stick to her side as a bodyguard.

 

 

Nike woke to the soft golden light of dawn spilling through the open balcony doors and a nice draft making the beads of her curtains clink together. She stretched all of her limbs on her comfortable round bed, made to accommodate a large galen. Eager to get started with her day, she went through her morning routine and ventured outside to ask a servant where Emmahin’s room was. Once there, she leaned against the cool stone of the wall as her gaze landed on her girlfriend, who sat cross-legged on a sunny spot on the mosaic floor, eyes closed, hands resting palms-up on her knees.

 

“She’s so cute when she’s all focused like this…”

 

When Emmahin finally opened her eyes, she grinned up at Nike. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

 

Nike yawned. “Morning. What were you doing?”

 

“Morning prayer and meditation,” Emmahin explained. “It’s not strictly necessary every day unless you’re clergy, but on Luminalia, everyone does it. It’s a very important day. The day of the vernal equinox, yes, but also the day Tilghan society was founded, the day Arsol City was established, the day the first incarnation of Tioueyin claimed this land for their followers.” She tilted her head. “I imagine Retaw has something similar?”

 

“We do. Do you guys celebrate the new year at the same time we do?”

 

“As far as I know, everyone in the world celebrates at the same time,” Emmahin said. “There have even been truces held during the Aneve-Lehl war for it. And according to Auntie Selma and Auntie Mireya, the Kingdom of Sandrek definitely celebrates. It’s a shame Anevians can’t see in the dark at all,” she added with a pout. “I’d love to visit Sandrek more often and actually see more of it.”

 

Nike chuckled, joining her partner on the floor. “At least we demigods get to see something in the dark, right? Not completely nightblind, at least.”

 

Emmahin’s pout vanished. “True enough.”

 

“So, what’s next on the Luminalia agenda?”

 

“Well, there’s a scavenger hunt for kids. Super early in the morning.”

 

That piqued Nike’s curiosity. “A scavenger hunt?”

 

“Come on.” Emmahin stood up and offered her hand. “I’ll show you.”

 

They flew over the city, the rising sun painting the rooftops in hues of gold and orange. Below, groups of children scurried through the streets and over the gardens, their eyes scanning the ground.

 

“They’re searching for symbolic objects,” Emmahin explained, pointing to a girl who held up a small, smooth stone. “Stones, feathers, keys… Things that theoretically represent our virtues. But the real point isn’t finding the objects. It’s about how they behave during the game, how much they embody the values of Light. The adults work together late the previous day to hide them, and the clergy oversees everything. It’s quite fun, really.” A soft smile touched her lips. “I don’t think I would’ve been able to participate if it weren’t for my mother’s inner circle. My nanny and Aunt Kanuri especially worked hard to make sure I got to do it with the other children. It’s one of the few widespread community events in Tilghan culture.”

 

That did explain why Emmahin was so fond of her mother’s inner circle. Nike had assumed she saw them as family, even visiting the palace during the holidays to be with them instead of simply going to the cottage her mothers had been living in. It clashed against Anevian culture at large.

 

Emmahin snapped out of her reverie. “Oh, right. While the kids have their scavenger hunts, the adults have their verity circles. We should join the palace’s circle before we’re late.”

 

“What’s a verity circle?”

 

The younger demigod spun around in midair. “You’ll see!”

 

They found a landing area in the palace with ease. Nike welcomed Emmahin’s hand in hers.

 

“Give me a sec, I’m going to get my nanny.”

 

And so they made a quick detour to the kitchens. The woman they were looking for appeared to be gently instructing the cooks and helping with the preparations for the evening feast, her hair in a bun.

 

“Dassine!” Emmahin called. “We have to go. Aunt Kanuri will never let you hear the end of it if we’re late for the verity circle.”

 

Nike raised an eyebrow. Another name.

 

Oddly, Dassine chuckled and wiped her hands on her apron, then put her honeycomb-patterned work gloves back on. “Alright, little one. Let’s go.”

 

She had to hurry after the two, so she had little time to dwell on how jarring Dassine’s almost motherly tone had been to hear. Completely different from Eleanor's. Even the pitch of their voices differed, though not significantly enough that it stretched her suspension of disbelief.

 

They joined the verity circle in a large, airy room. Emmahin handily informed her girlfriend that important figures from the secular government, the military, and the temple were already gathered, sitting in a large circle on plush cushions. They took their seats quietly. Nike had been expecting a somewhat festive atmosphere. Instead, she noticed a barely perceptible frown on the God-Queen’s face, somber looks on the faces of those present, and as the circle progressed, several voices expressed a shared sentiment: a sense of unease, a feeling that things were not as they should be.

 

“It feels… quiet,” one of the generals confessed, his voice heavy. “Too quiet. Like a discomforting lull.”

 

“Without God-Queen Hadeja’s direct guidance…” a high-ranking priestess began, then trailed off, glancing at Hadeja. “Things feel… precarious. Unstable.”

 

“The country has slowed to a crawl,” another added. “Everything takes so much longer to be done. And it’s only been a year.”

 

A long quiet stretched over the participants. They tried not to look at Hadeja.

 

“I have heard your concerns,” the God-Queen began, her tone measured. “Your worries regarding the shift in our governance. Believe me when I say that I understand how you feel. However, I must reiterate: the accord Kahina and I have forged is immutable. It is the path we have chosen, and it is the path we shall tread.”

 

The room shifted. Waiting.

 

Hadeja’s gaze lingered on each face. “I am not blind to the changes. I acknowledge that adjustments must be made and that you may feel lost for a period of time. I can only implore you to have faith. Have faith in yourselves, in the institutions we have built. It has been but a single turning of the sun since this new order began. Time is a healer, and with time, stability shall follow.”

 

A murmur rippled through the circle. Then, a high-ranking cleric rose to his feet, his face flushed with anger. “With respect, Your Majesty, this ‘accord’ has brought only ruin. Our prosperity has waned, the very air feels… tainted.” He gestured towards Kahina, his voice rising in accusation as he continued, “Her presence pollutes your mind, Your Majesty. It has clouded your sacred judgment.”

 

Another cleric stood, echoing the first’s sentiments. “She has brought darkness where there was once light! The Betrayer took refuge in the Land of Darkness when she abandoned us!”

 

Cardinal Kanuri, her expression one of unreadable unease, rose as well. “Brethren, please. The Kingdom of Sandrek is our ally. We do not disparage our allies; they have done nothing to earn our ire. Such accusations are… unseemly. Her Majesty has made her decision. We must trust in her wisdom.” She paused a moment too long. “Though… perhaps a period of reflection…” she trailed off, glancing nervously at Hadeja.

 

“Arrest the Recreant!” another cleric shouted. “Those chains are clearly not enough for the likes of her.”

 

The soldiers present reached for their weapons, but no hands gripped them, their gaze first on their seated general and then on their ruler. Hadeja let out a barely perceptible sigh and rose to her full height. The movement was subtle, yet it commanded immediate silence. Every eye in the room turned to her.

 

Her serene expression paired with the steely glint in her eyes. “My judgment is clear and my decision final. This matter is not open for debate.” Her gaze swept across the assembled figures, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “To question this… to question my insight, to question the truth I speak… is to question the very foundation upon which this kingdom is built.”

 

The implication hung heavy in the air. Every single dissenter shrunk back into their seats. No matter how much they hated Kahina, it seemed they were unwilling to question their chosen faith.

 

“This verity circle is dissolved.”

 

With that, Hadeja turned and strode from the room, Kahina’s hand in hers as she left the circle behind. Nike expected the room to erupt into murmurs, much like it did whenever her divine mother left any place. It didn’t. To the taller demigod’s surprise, although some shared a few words, most left quietly.

 

“Did they accept it that easily…?”

 

Emmahin sighed deeply. “Mother is their goddess. They chose that and continue to choose it. You wouldn’t go against your deity’s will.”

 

“I’m still not sure how a mortal attained that position…”

 

“It’s a long story.” She rose to her feet and offered her hand. “Come on, we have blindfolds and mirrors to deal with. This will have all blown over by dinnertime.”

 

Nike took a look around the room; the general that had escorted her to her guest room earlier had vanished, as had the cardinal, Emmahin’s childhood nanny for whatever reason, and a few other key figures. She shook her head, gave her partner a tentative smile, and grabbed her hand.

 

 

Many hours later, Nike found herself openly laughing. They emerged from the large theater when the sun hung lowest in the sky, resting on the horizon like a bed of light. She hadn’t expected a judicial court play to be as thrilling as it had been.

 

“What’s next, Em?”

 

Emmahin’s grin widened. “Are you hungry?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Perfect, because it’s time for the truth-tellers’ feast! Look forward to the gift exchange.”

 

Nike jolted. “Wait, gift exchange? I didn’t bring any gifts!”

 

Her girlfriend snickered. “You’re not expected to, silly. You’re a foreigner and this is your first time celebrating Luminalia with us. You’re just expected to pay attention for next year. Luminalia gifts aren’t exactly standard outside of Tilgh, and the traditional method is…”

 

As they walked hand in hand towards the palace once more, Nike paid as much attention as possible to Emmahin’s in-depth explanation of their customs. It was definitely different compared to what she was used to, having been raised in Retaw. What she had heard of was the lighting of the lanterns, which was apparently the final item on the event schedule after the feast. The conversation then transitioned seamlessly to talking about materials for lantern-making, and before Nike noticed, they were back in the halls of Emmahin’s childhood home.

 

“Em!”

 

Nike almost jumped out of her skin and turned, not knowing what to expect.

 

“Oh, Laysa. I thought Dassine would be adding some finishing touches to the food.”

ggg

Laysa slowed her pace when she got close enough. “She wanted to, but she’s tired, so I’ve tried my best to make sure everything is up to her standards. I overheard you talking about the lanterns. Did you know Thistle actually came out to help with the lanterns a few days ago?”

 

Emmahin’s tilt of her head betrayed her surprise. “Wow, I haven’t seen Thistle in years.”

 

“They keep busy. The others and I were a little too scared to mess up repairs on their last gift to you, so I took advantage of the opportunity to nudge them into handling that.”

 

“My pocket watch finally works again?”

 

“Consider it an early Luminalia gift to you. That’s… not really how gifts are supposed to work, and they told me not to let you see the watch until the gift exchange, but I don’t see the harm in letting you know a little early. They refurbished the entire thing.”

 

Emmahin beamed—she always seemed so joyful around her childhood nanny. “Thank them for me, please.”

 

“Will do.” Laysa turned to Nike with the same friendly smile, though lacking in familial warmth. “And as for you, Lady Nike, I sincerely hope you’ve been enjoying your stay. And Dassine hopes you’ll like her food. We should get going, Queen Hadeja gave me strict instructions to sit by your side.”

 

“I assume Lea is not pleased.”

 

The older woman rolled her eyes, absently adjusting her work gloves. “Lea would jump out of her seat to be at your mother’s side if she could, Em.”

 

Emmahin frowned. “You’ve never told me why. None of you.”

 

“We are under oath not to. Your mother would have our head if we even thought about breaking our oath. We’ve talked about this.”

 

“Even now that I’m an adult?”

 

“It doesn’t have much to do with your age, it’s more about your mother being allergic to burdening you with anything… If it helps, I do wish we could tell you. I think you have a right to know.”

 

Like she’d done many times before, Emmahin sighed, her wings drooping a little, and kept walking. “Typical Mother. How’s the honeycomb and wine for today, then?”

 

With a new, far more indolent topic, the group headed to their assigned banquet hall and took their seats where told. Laysa was the last to sit down, hovering by Queen Hadeja’s side for an awfully long time—chief of staff or not, the hushed whispers and the way she leaned into a bow gave off an impression of almost excessive closeness. She found it odd that Emmahin wasn’t seated next to Hadeja or Cardinal Kanuri, or even Kahina. Instead, although close to the head of the table, Emmahin was off to one side, flanked by Laysa and Nike herself. Kahina herself wasn’t even seated, nor allowed to partake apparently. Nike didn’t voice any of her questions so as to not seem rude or ignorant.

 

The feast looked mouth-watering from start to finish. They all had to wait for Hadeja to finish her opening speech, but after that, they were free to dive in and eat as much as they liked; just generosity. Throughout the meal, different people at the table spoke their truths. Despite how many times the unwelcome change in the government’s functionality was brought up, those seated moved past their grievances once they’d been aired and didn’t appear to expect a resolution.

 

Nike’s relief on the topic lasted only until the sacrament. Flesh honeycomb and blood wine harvested from the Vegas Strip had been brought in fresh for the banquet. The familiar tingle in her limbs from the taste of the holy combination felt so relaxing, her magic buzzing in response. The lull made certain attendees go unnoticed as they neglected to touch their plates and drinks. Then again, Laysa wasn’t drinking or eating either, so perhaps it was some part of the Luminalia proceedings that she was unfamiliar with. Or maybe Lehlans were allergic.

 

Jerking her from her train of thought, a large galen man pounced on Emmahin and plunged a knife into her shoulder as he dragged her on top of the table with him. Another sheen of metal appeared at her throat, and Nike belatedly realized in her shock that he had pulled out a second knife. “Take heed!”

 

Five others had struck to prevent the nearest guards from interfering. But by the time red droplets fell on the crushed golden honeycomb below, the man that had stabbed Emmahin had his wings pinned to the table covering his arms. For a moment, Nike wasn’t sure what she was seeing, the sudden display still not quite processed—the golden outline of large feathered wings caught her attention. Her eyes then settled on who she assumed to be Eleanor based on her expression, her knees pressing the man’s wings into the table and hands holding his head and neck down.

 

“That’s why she was seated next to Em… Shit, Em!”

 

Nike had to fight through her own stupor and force her muscles into action; her girlfriend had fallen over the side of the table and crashed into a pair of clerics who were now fretting over the stab wound.

 

“Let me see her, I’m a healer.”

 

One cleric frowned at her, but the other lightly elbowed them and both fell back. Upon peeling back her layers enough to get a good look, Nike let out a sigh of relief. The crimson stain on white fabric had made the injury look significantly worse than it was.

 

“Hold her arm like this, it should reduce the blood flow to the area. I’ll try to stop the bleeding. Somebody get me a clean bandage to dress her wound, please.”

 

One of the clerics nodded and ran off, while the other held Emmahin’s arm up as they’d been told.

 

“It’s not that bad, really, I’ve been hurt worse.”

 

“Baby, it’s a stab wound. Please shut up.”

 

Emmahin’s expression darkened as she watched her girlfriend summon a stream of water to clean her wound. “… so there’s no way to argue I haven’t been harmed.”

 

“It’s a stab wound. It didn’t get any organs, obviously, but there are still important blood vessels, nerves, and muscles here. If you weren’t a demigod, this could cause serious complications.”

 

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Emmahin struggled a little against Nike and the cleric holding her so she could sit up. Her eyes sought the head of the table. “Any moment now…”

 

Once Nike had finished cleaning and dressing the wound, she finally deigned to follow her partner’s gaze. At the head of the table, Cardinal Kanuri was still trying to make the room quiet down, the attackers all now apprehended and forced to their knees by Eleanor and the guards. It did not appear to be working, and the subdued attackers screamed as loud as everyone else. She hadn’t even processed how noisy it was around them. Emmahin seemed to be trying to assess her parents in some way, but all Nike could see was Kahina shifting her weight—as if nervous or uncomfortable—and Hadeja sitting with her hands on her lap and eyes closed.

 

“Um… What’s going on?”

 

Hadeja moved her hands to the edge of the table and Emmahin tensed.

 

“I guess you’re going to see a traditional Tilghan trial today after all. Just so you know, I won’t think less of you if you look away.”

 

“What…?”

 

Just when it seemed that people would begin to physically attack one another, Kahina took a few steps back.

 

The God-Queen of Tilgh stood. “Silence!”

 

She had barely raised her volume, yet it drowned out the room in an instant. How something so delicate could command dozens into quietude like that was a wonder to Nike. Though the woman’s expression fell somewhere between impassive and disgusted, Hadeja’s eyes were cold. Awfully, awfully cold. It made her stomach churn and every cell in her body scream for her to flee. Everyone stayed still as a statue, aggressors included.

 

Hadeja’s voice cut through the silence like a shard of ice. “You have desecrated a sacred rite. You have defiled a space of peace, a moment of profound spiritual significance, and you have violated the very sanctity of our shared faith.”

 

Her gaze swept over the kneeling figures, then softened briefly as it rested on Emmahin. Seeing her daughter stable, though shaken, Hadeja’s expression hardened once more as she turned back to the criminals.

 

“Not only did you strike at an innocent for no discernable reason, but you have also broken the law of this land on multiple accounts. You are charged with disturbance of the peace, public endangerment, interference in sacred practices, assault, and treason of the highest order against Crown and Temple,” she listed, firm and precise. Her pause weighed heavy on the room. “There will be no trial. Your actions were witnessed by all who stand here before us. There is no need for deliberation or debate, and no chance of mercy. The evidence speaks for itself.”

 

The crowd awaited her verdict with bated breath.

 

“Your lives are forfeit. Those of you who did not directly strike Princess Emmahin will be imprisoned for life; the walls of our dungeons should serve as sufficient reminder that transgressions against our laws and our faith will not go ignored regardless of our new administration.” Her gaze settled on the man who had wielded the blade. “You. You had the misplaced audacity to raise your hand against my daughter. Your punishment will be delivered here, now, for all to witness.”

 

A ripple of unease passed through the crowd. Nike had heard about something like this before, but she’d thought they were only stories. After all, public executions were rare, reserved for only the most heinous of crimes.

 

“The punishment for treason,” Hadeja declared, her voice ringing with finality, “is a painful death.” She gestured to the guards. “Bring him forward.” The man was hauled to his feet and Eleanor dragged him to the head of the table without minding the glasses and dishes in their way. Hadeja then turned to his accomplices. “Hold them down. They will watch.”

 

Nike leaned in to whisper in her girlfriend’s ears. “Wait, hold on, isn’t it a bad idea to let him be so close to your mom?”

 

Emmahin had yet to look away from the scene. “She knows what she’s doing. You’ll see.”

 

To Nike’s surprise, the galen didn’t try anything with his wings and didn’t resist the dragging. Instead, he tried to remain steady on his knees to avoid knocking over any more glasses of wine or crushing honeycomb beneath his weight. The fact that he was still on the table gave Nike a sense of foreboding.

 

“Your Majesty, please, w-we never meant to go against your rule,” the lawbreaker stammered. “The opposite, actually! We- we just want things to be the way they were before-”

 

“Cease.” Hadeja’s expression remained unchanged, her eyes fixed on his. “If you are truly a Tilghan, you will accept my justice without complaint.”

 

Her voice chilled them to the bone, a flame too hot to process. Nike shuddered. The man’s head dropped and a heavy silence fell over the crowd, now arranged in a neat square of tiered rows. Eleanor let go of him and got off the table. He didn’t move.

 

“As the mother of the affected, I will deliver your punishment myself. You may pick the weapon. Cardinal Kanuri, bring us his options.”

 

Kanuri nodded and soon returned with a few other clerics. Each weapon rested on a cushion of purple and gold: spear, axe, sword, morningstar, and brass knuckles—though all of the weapons were made with a metal somehow whiter than the guards’ armor. The last one seemed particularly out of place. Nike wondered if the God-Queen was proficient in all of them.

 

“Make your choice. Now.”

 

The man’s eyes shot between the options rapidly for a few seconds. “I… I choose the knuckles.”

 

Nike registered an ‘oh no’ muttered under her girlfriend’s breath. She could understand the galen’s choice, though. God-Queen or not, she doubted Hadeja could punch as hard as a heavy weapon would hit, and she was in a dress anyway. For some odd reason, the cardinal took her time picking up the weapon of choice and reverently sliding Hadeja’s fingers through. Nike didn’t hear whatever Hadeja said to Kanuri, but it sounded like a gentle admonishment, and the shorter woman backed off. The Queen had the room’s rapt attention.

 

To Nike’s shock, Hadeja then stepped onto the dining table, adjusting the placement of the knuckles as she took a few measured steps towards the lawbreaker.

 

“I swear on my life that I didn’t mean to harm the princess,” he said, a last ditch attempt surely.

 

Hadeja quoted the doctrine: “Deedless words are hollow.”

 

The first blow was a blur of motion. Hadeja’s fist connected with the man’s jaw in a blink, and the force of the impact sent him crashing onto the cold marble floor. His body hit the ground with a sickening crunch that must have been from the wing he’d landed on. Before he could fully recover, Hadeja gracefully descended from the table, her movements perfectly composed. As the man struggled to push himself up, she struck again, this time targeting the same shoulder he’d stabbed on her daughter. A sharp crack echoed through the room as his shoulder dislocated and his skin tore. He fell back to the floor, his head snapping to the side. 

 

“I will not stoop to your level,” Hadeja said, devoid of any pretense of emotion. “Rise. Meet your punishment like a Tilghan.”

 

Trembling, the man pushed himself up onto his knees, his face a mask of pain and terror. Hadeja wasted no time. She smashed her knuckles into his ribs and paid no mind to the crack of bone. The lawbreaker’s voice broke amidst his screams of anguish. Another punch, this time to his arm, sent him reeling into the floor again. She circled him when he got up the next time, then Hadeja threw a punch to one of his wings, then another, and another, and repeated the process with his other wing until they both looked like crudely connected pieces of a twig. Each strike landed with brutal force.

 

“Please! Grace!” he squealed, his voice hoarse and choked.

 

Hadeja delivered the next blow directly to his mouth. “You showed no grace to my daughter. You showed no respect for the law of this land.” She paused, waiting for him to rise again. “You receive the grace you have given.”

 

The lawbreaker spit out the blood pooling in his mouth, and with it came a few teeth, some only chips, some knocked out entirely. If his lower jaw had been compromised before, the way it moved under his skin now implied it had worsened. On seeing the multiple places where his blood had tainted the marble flooring, all that could be gleaned from his disfigured expression was guilt, regret.

 

Hadeja frowned. “We are not finished. Rise. I will not repeat myself.”

 

 

He could barely remain upright.

 

“Place your palms on your chest.”

 

Once he’d obeyed, she threw her fist forward to meet one hand, then the other, watching as his fingers flopped around uselessly. Hadeja continued to beat him without a hint of remorse until he could no longer move at all. Then, and only then, she reached down, her hand gripping his hair tight, and twisted his head so he’d be forced to face Emmahin. Blood stained the God-Queen’s dress and knuckles, a small splatter marring her cheek. Somehow, Emmahin didn’t appear horrified, though her frown betrayed a level of disapproval.

 

“Beg,” Hadeja commanded. “Beg forgiveness from the one you harmed.”

 

The criminal could not speak any coherent words through his swollen lips and broken teeth, but he did attempt a cry.

 

“Quiet,” Hadeja snapped. He flinched, anticipating another blow. She turned to Emmahin. “Would you like to press charges?”

 

Emmahin took a look at the pulp her mother had beaten this man to. The tears that streamed down his face were tinted pink, and he looked like he was on the verge of drowning in his own blood. She looked to her mother then. “No.”

 

The man, without prompting, managed to mumble a garbled, “Thank you… Your Highness…”

 

Hadeja’s response was swift and decisive. A single, powerful punch to the side of his head rendered him unconscious, his body slumping to the floor. “If he does not die from his injuries, he may keep his life,” she said, her voice flat. “See to it that he repents accordingly if so.” Without so much as a glance at the other bound criminals, she turned to leave. “Lock them up.”

 

The guards present bowed deeply and moved to obey. As though by magic, a roar erupted from the crowd, a mixture of cheers, religious praises, and fervent cries of loyalty to the God-Queen. They had not witnessed such a display of direct justice in years.

 

Nike shrunk back in the wake of such fervor. “Your mother is terrifying.”

 

Emmahin sighed. “This is our justice. Exactly as stated in our laws. Not a smidge more brutal than the written word.”

 

Cardinal Kanuri stepped forward and raised her hands to the crowd. Sensing that she was about to lead them into a chant of praise, Emmahin stood up and went over to where her mother was being tended to. She’d taken off the knuckles and handed them over to a grinning Zaynab already.

 

“Mother,” Emmahin started.

 

Eleanor held out her hand for the Queen to place hers in it and, reverently, cleaned the blood off of it with a damp towel. There was a devotion in her slow movements—even slower still when she reached up to wipe the blood from her face.

 

“I know you disapprove.”

 

“I do. I–”

 

Kahina strode up to them then, carefully reaching her hand up to her daughter’s elbow, but stopping herself from taking hold of it. “Em, are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, Nike patched me up.” Emmahin leaned into her mother’s arms with her uninjured shoulder. “I’m tougher than you think.”

 

“Thank the Light…”

 

Eleanor glared at her. “You have no right.”

 

“… Sorry.”

 

Far too focused on finishing her task, she returned to wiping off what little blood remained on Hadeja’s other fist. Kahina sighed.

 

“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll come see you when we head out to light the lanterns. Promise.”

 

Kahina showed her a hint of a smile, then pulled her hood further up to cover her face and hastily took her leave before the chanting ended and they started looking for a scapegoat.

 

With a weary Eleanor handing the now bloodied towel to a servant, Hadeja was free to close the distance between herself and her daughter. Ever so gently, she cupped Emmahin’s cheek in her hand.

 

“It’s my duty as your mother to protect you. You know I would not have done this myself had you not been their target.”

 

Emmahin brought her hand up to her mother’s and leaned into the touch with a sad frown. “Yeah. I just… don’t like that our laws are so ruthless when it comes to punishment.”

 

“Perhaps you can change that one day. For now… Do try to enjoy the rest of the day with your partner.”

 

She looked at her mother for a few long seconds, then wrapped her arms around her. Hadeja took a moment to react, but relaxed into the hug, her shoulders finally slacking. For once, Emmahin felt like her mother would at least permit support. It left her smiling when they broke away.

 

“I’ll go see if we’re able to salvage anything. Lea, are you coming?”

 

The chief of staff trudged forward, holding a hand to her head. “Yeah…”

 

Hadeja lingered. “You have been pushing yourselves a great amount this past week.”

 

“They have? I had a feeling.” Emmahin pouted at her nanny. “You know, for at least three people that kept telling me not to do exactly that when I was a kid, you sure don’t practice what you preach sometimes. Are you sure you can stay in front, Lea?”

 

Eleanor exhaled heavily. “Likely not, I am exhausted.”

 

Hadeja and Emmahin watched her stare into space for a long couple of minutes. Emmahin took the chance to look back at Nike and gave her a reassuring smile, but Hadeja’s eyes never left her chief of staff.

 

Eventually, Eleanor’s head dipped. “… I’m stuck.”

 

“You are excused from your duties for the rest of the day,” Hadeja said, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. “You have done more than enough.”

 

It seemed she was going to protest for a moment, then she stopped herself, went quiet again, and relented. Emmahin guided her back to the table.

 

“What did your mother say?” Nike asked her approaching girlfriend. “Is anything wrong, or does she just always look like that?”

 

“She’s fine, don’t worry. She wants us to keep doing our thing today.”

 

“… and what’s up with her?”

 

Eleanor picked up a piece of honeycomb, dejected. “We’re tired. And we used to be a beekeeper. Dassine is mourning the amount of processing work that’s been wasted and Laysa is mourning the work of the flesh bees. Can they even salvage this…?”

 

Fortunately, it seemed Kanuri had talked to the people at the other tables. She and her clerics returned with baskets full of unopened blood wine and flesh honeycomb. Emmahin and Nike did their best to shake the feeling of danger, knowing the threat had been apprehended.

 

The feast thus resumed without further incident.

 

 

By the time everyone was done with their meals and gift exchanges, the darkest hour of Tilgh’s perpetual day was upon them. The gifts were odd, not necessarily items, with most importance placed on learning ‘the truths of others’ or something similar. She’d learned they often came with stories, as she had received such from the people who approached her, recollections about how they had tried out certain Retawan customs or even traveled all the way there.

 

Nike stood beside Emmahin in the main square, the air thick with the scent of incense and the low hum of chanting. Despite the earlier display, the rest of the day had been filled with a vibrant energy she had seldom experienced in her homeland, and excluding that jarring incident, she had genuinely enjoyed her time in Tilgh. Luminalia had been a memorable festival, if nothing else.

 

Before them, the massive crystal brazier stood waiting, its facets gleaming faintly in the light of the sun that would never set. The crowd held their breath as Hadeja approached. In theory, humans couldn’t use magic, especially not unassisted. As far as Emmahin had explained, the brazier could only be lit by powerful light magic, so Nike had been looking forward to how Hadeja would handle a job that had previously only ever been done by the country’s deity.

 

Had she not been determined not to blink, she may have missed the visual part of it. Her heart started to race and her blood felt like it was bubbling in her veins as Hadeja raised a steady hand. The God-Queen’s normally dark eyes lit up gold, and a brilliant flash of light erupted from the brazier, bathing the courtyard in a warm glow. The crystals shone without a flicker, casting long shadows that danced across the faces of the onlookers, and the gold slowly faded from Hadeja’s eyes. A collective gasp of awe rose from the crowd, followed by a wave of cheers and religious praises.

 

Emmahin turned to Nike, a radiant smile on her face. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

 

Nike could only nod, mesmerized by the spectacle. “How did she…?”

 

“Beats me.” Emmahin shrugged. “She’s never really told me how she does that, or where her familiar came from. Familiars are supposed to be something only gods are able to create. Mom is clearly the Goddess of Light, in terms of soul, so I seriously do wonder how all of this can happen.”

 

“Have you never… confronted her about this?”

 

“I’ve tried. It’s frustrating that even Auntie Selma seems to know about it. All I know is that having any more information than I do would potentially hurt me, because that’s the only reason Mother ever hides things from me.” She frowned. “She’s… never been too concerned with how the truth may affect my view of her. Just with how it may hurt me.”

 

Nike raised an eyebrow. Her own mothers were incredibly powerful and in one case equally as ruthless as Hadeja, yet her entire life she had been raised in the midst of unrest, assassination attempts, and often violent protests. She had always overheard rumors, the words of naysayers, and criticisms, even in their own home.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“No one can tell you anything? Not a single person? Your mother’s circle seems pretty big.”

 

Emmahin’s eyes followed the line of people lighting their lanterns at the brazier as she spoke. “And they’d all rather die than displease her. They’re all happiest when they’re around her and carrying out her will. She didn’t do this on purpose, she’s been fighting off suitors since her marriage to Mom was annulled in the courts. Heck, the Goddess of Fire is shooting her shot!”

 

“Isn’t that… illegal? I mean, a Lehlan deity…”

 

“Doesn’t seem to care. I have no idea what made her so passionate about Mother, but I’d rather Mother marry someone in her circle. We’re pushing things enough as is with the Sandrek-Tilgh alliance.”

 

Eleanor walked up to them, finally not glued to Hadeja and with her lantern lit. “Princess, you and your partner should take your turn.”

 

Nike nodded to Emmahin. They lightly touched their lanterns to the large crystals in the brazier and watched the magic within them spread into their tiny crystals. Particles drifted through the air like fireflies, staggered as if music notes placed along on a melodic scale. The square was soon filled with thousands of glowing lanterns, transforming the darkness of twilight into a sea of twinkling lights.

 

“It’s so pretty…”

 

They stayed after Hadeja and her entourage took their leave. Only as the crowd began to disperse did Emmahin and Nike make their way back towards the palace. But before they could reach the entrance, Lieutenant Eleanor approached them, her face etched with exhaustion.

 

“Lady Nike, you’ve been granted permission to share the princess’ quarters for the night.” She rubbed her eyes wearily. “I apologize… We would rather not give Marrow extra work, so we will not be available if you call for us. Sweet dreams to you both.”

 

With that, Eleanor turned and disappeared into the palace, leaving Emmahin and Nike alone in the soft glow of the lanterns.

 

“Did your mother take pity on us?” Nike asked.

 

“I… don’t know.” Emmahin smiled and wrapped an arm around her girlfriend. “But I’m not gonna complain about having my cuddle buddy back.”

 

Nike returned the gesture. “Whatever you say, little spoon.”

 

They walked quietly to Emmahin’s room and placed their lanterns together on her bedside table. Their soft glow illuminated the room as they changed into more comfortable bedwear. The circular bed was welcoming even to their combined eight wings when they crawled under the thin covers together.

 

Casually, Nike broke the silence. “So, Eleanor. Laysa, Dassine. A system, I assume?”

 

“Yeah.” Emmahin tilted her head, eyes drifting to the ceiling for a moment. “Well, there are more of them, but those three tend to be out the most.”

 

“That explains a lot.” Nike chuckled. It was much easier to simply accept that information. “That’s actually really cool.”

 

After a few seconds of silence, Emmahin bit her lip. “What did you think of Luminalia? Besides… you know.”

 

“Besides that, I loved it. It’s so different from anything I’ve ever experienced. The sense of community, the… light. It’s beautiful. We don’t have stuff like that in Retaw, except maybe out at sea.”

 

“And… my mother?” Emmahin asked hesitantly.

 

Nike chose her words carefully. “She’s… powerful. Very powerful. And… intense.” She looked at Emmahin with a concerned frown. “Does she deliver punishments herself often? Does it… weigh on her heart? My mom- she’s a knight, so she’s had to carry out unsavory orders a lot.”

 

Emmahin laughed softly, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “You needn’t worry about my mother. She’s… different.” She hesitated, then continued, her voice dropping to a near whisper, “When she was little, her father… he wasn’t the best. I don’t know the details, she doesn't speak of it, but it left her with a curse. One that took away her empathy. Her ability to feel regret, or guilt. Most of her emotions, really. That’s why she didn’t hesitate to strike him down. Why she didn’t hesitate to strike us when we stood up to her. She just… doesn’t feel it the way others would.”

 

A heavy silence fell between them. Nike reached out and squeezed Emmahin’s hand gently. Before she could speak, Emmahin shook her head, forced a smile, and flopped over.

 

“But enough of that. We should get some rest.”

 

“If you’re sure…” Nike murmured, snuggling closer.

 

They lay in each other’s arms, Emmahin reaching one of her upper wings over her girlfriend like a blanket. Nike giggled, nuzzled her, and left a kiss on the top of her head. Soon, the exhaustion of the long day caught up with them, and they drifted off to sleep.