Part I
Chapter 1. The Captain of Police
Beauty is truth, truth beauty
All that is good is beautiful
All that is beautiful is good
--Morchella, Sacred Text
The Priestess entered her temple through the inner sanctum and paused for a moment at the edge of her sacred pool, catching her breath and putting her hair in order. Layers of crystal and colored glass in the roof let in diffuse sunlight that dappled and swam on the walls. The Priestess drew a deep breath and then opened the silver inlaid door, which was the only visible exit from the room. She passed through the curtain of colored beads and bells, which signaled her approach to those in the outer sanctum, then down the short passage, unlit and filled with incense smoke, through two more curtains, one opaque and gauzy, the last light and sheer.
She stepped into the outer sanctum—an octagon, with pools all round the edges. Dazzling pillars with clear crystal overlay and pavonine cores supported a vaulted roof, capped with a dome of cut crystal, colored glass, and lapis. Colors reflected from the pillars and roof onto the lily white walls, broken by rippling chords of light reflected from the water. Silver incense stands, twice the height of a shelt and wrought like coiled dragons, stood in pairs around the throne. It rose above them, a seat of black coral, inlaid with mother of pearl in intricate scenes of conflict and triumph. White clad harpers sat at either side of the throne. Their instruments were fashioned of rare turquoise gem stone, the strings flashing silver.
The Priestess had ordered sweet incense in her outer sanctum half a watch earlier, and at the sound of the curtain bells, the harpers began a soft melody. She entered to this music and ascended to her seat. The Priestess gathered her sleeveless ivory robes, shimmering with faint color, and sat down. She put her bare elbows on the arms of the throne, folded her hands before her, and fixed her eyes on the shelt whom she’d called to audience.
“Gerard Holovar.”
“Your Highness.” He bowed deeply, eyes respectfully downcast.
Gerard was taller than she had expected, with hair black as her coral throne and large black eyes. A young grishnard soldier, he stood very straight in his dark green uniform—the uniform of her overguard.
The Priestess changed what she’d been going to say. “Have you ever been in my temple, soldier?”
“Highness, you know I have not.” His soft, low voice resonated in the chamber.
“How do you find it?”
Gerard’s eyes flitted to the side a moment, though he did not move his head. “Beauty is truth, truth beauty,” he quoted from a sacred text. He hesitated. “I have never seen a temple that was not beautiful. Yours is surpassing so.”
The Priestess inclined her head. “A good answer—an answer that shows schooling. Do you know why you are here?”
“Because I exercised successfully the command that fell to me in an unexpected situation.”
The Priestess laughed. “A clumsy way of saying that you killed over fifty of my enemies with only a half dozen rowers for aid.”
Gerard nodded.
“And you brought back prisoners.”
“General Lamire did that, your Highness.”
“Only because you threw them into his lap.”
“Overguards are not authorized to escort prisoners, your Highness.”
“An excellent point, but it is not often that I have princes in my overguard.”
Gerard’s black tufted tail flicked behind him, and she thought he almost forgot himself enough to look up at her. “Nor do you now, your Highness.”
She waited a moment, but he did not continue. “Holovar is one of the wealthier of the lesser houses,” said the Priestess at last. “As the heir to your father’s small kingdom, you could have started as an alpha lieutenant…if you really wanted a career in the temple guard.” She spoke gently. “Why start at the bottom, Gerard?”
His tail flicked again. “Surely you know, Lady,” he said quietly.
“I want to hear it from you.”
“I have been disinherited, because my choice of mates was not to my parents’ liking. My younger brother will inherit.”
She could detect no emotion in his voice, no hint of what he thought about it. “Look at me, Gerard.”
He raised his head obediently. To look directly at the Priestess was irreverent and impious unless she expressly gave leave. Their eyes met. She saw him swallow. The Priestess of Wefrivain rose and came down from her dais. Her robes, like pale dragon scales fell around her, tracing her long curves. Her mahogany hair shone glossy where it tumbled from its silver clasp onto her shoulders.
Gerard broke his parade stance and fell back a pace as she approached, a little below his height now that she stood on the floor. “Have I offended, mistress?”
“Not at all. My name is Morchella. You have permission to use it. I’m promoting you to the rank of alpha Captain. Change your hat feather as soon as possible. I find I haven’t one about the temple at present.” She smiled at his astonished expression. “Also, my Captain of Police has been missing for a red month. It is time to consider him dead, and I have decided that you will replace him. In that role, you answer only to me. Not to anyone else, including Silveo Lamire. Is that understood?”
Gerard nodded, his expression suddenly wooden.
“I’m
putting you in charge of interrogating those prisoners,” she continued. “Find
me
When he had left, Morchella went thoughtfully back into her inner sanctum. She found a wyvern, a sea dragon, swimming slowly around her sacred pool. The animal was long and slender, with webbed, clawed feet that he kept tight to his sides as he swam. His scales glistened an iridescent aquamarine. He kept his leathery wings folded as he swam, but raised them a little as he spotted Morchella. The wyvern put his front feet on the edge of the pool and raised his long, slender snout. “You sent for me, Mistress?” His speech revealed his long, ivory teeth, sharp as needles, with two thicker incisors.
“Yes.” Morchella raised her robes about her and sat down on the edge of the pool to dangle her bare legs in the water. “Hoepali, isn’t it? You’re the high deity at my temple on the Isle of Holovarus, that little kingdom ruled by the house of Holovar.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“I’ve just spoken with Gerard, the heir apparent.”
Hoepali gave a toothy sneer. “Not anymore. He’s been disowned.”
Morchella
nodded. “Your loss; my gain. He’s done me a great
service in the
The wyvern lay his head on the marble pool side with a bored expression. “Sounds like something he would do.”
“Does it?” Morchella leaned back on her hands and stared absently at the vaulted ceiling. “Such a thing from Thessalyn’s lover—I would not have guessed it.” She glanced at the wyvern sharply. “Do you know why he married her?”
“He got her with child,” said the wyvern lazily.
Morchella shrugged. “If Holovarus is like the other island kingdoms, then it is swarming with court bastards. Two or three would never stain a royal heir, and they’re certainly no reason for a brilliant young grishnard to throw away his kingship.”
Hoepali gave a great sigh. “You don’t know Gerard, Highness. He’s in love with his honor. He didn’t have two or three bastards. He had only one, and that was Thessalyn's. He was determined to marry her.”
Morchella caught at one word. “’Had’?”
Hoepali looked up meaningfully through his long eyelashes. “I asked for the child.” He licked his lips, delicate as a cat.
Morchella’s eyebrows rose. “I see.”
“It pleased the king, as you can imagine—confirmed to him that he was right in disinheriting his son, that Gerard had committed a grievous crime to marry outside his wishes.”
Morchella looked at Hoepali narrowly. “It pleased you, too, I can see.”
The wyvern curled his lip. “I gave direct omens that Gerard should not marry Thessalyn. He asked at my temple, and I gave my answer. He defied me.”
“How did Thessalyn and Gerard take the death of the baby?”
Hoepali shrugged with his wings. “Oh, you know something of her, I expect. She could think no ill of us. I really don’t know how he took it.” Hoepali smiled nastily. “Hard, I hope.”
Morchella watched the wyvern for a moment. “You may have to give up your grudge. I’ve made him my new Captain of Police.”
Hoepali raised his head out of the water and looked her full in the face. Then he sank back down and lashed his tail a couple of times beneath the surface. “You’re a female,” he said simply.
Morchella laughed. “You think I promote every handsome soldier to my inner circle?”
Hoepali didn’t seem to be listening. “If you really want to keep him about you, put him in your private guard. He’s simple, Mistress. He won’t last outside.”
“I can tell from one interview that he’s not stupid. He’s resourceful, and he’s a survivor. I need someone like that over the Police.”
Hoepali shook his head. “I don’t mean he’s stupid. He’s just…all of a piece. He doesn’t bend. He’ll never survive among your officers.”
“He’ll bend to me,” said Morchella. “Nothing else matters.”
Hoepali shrugged with his wings. “Do as you wish. Collar him and keep him on a chain in your inner sanctum for all I care.”
Morchella frowned. “You presume too much on my good humor, Hoepali.”
He bowed his glistening head. “A fault of mine, Mistress. I apologize for my impertinence.”
“Goodnight, Hoepali.”
When he was gone, she went to the other end of the sanctum and rapped twice on the floor. A much smaller wyvern shot from beneath into the pool and vaulted out of the water with one beat of his leathery wings. He landed with a soft, wet plop in front of Morchella. His voice came in an exited yap, “Yes, Mistress?”
“That order I gave earlier about Thessalyn—is there still time to reverse it?”
The messenger glanced about nervously as though doing quick calculations. “Yes. If I go immediately, Mistress.”
She nodded. “Go.”
Morchella lingered a moment, staring into the empty pool. Outside, the sun was setting, playing streamers of soft, colored light across the gently undulating water. “Thessalyn… Gerard, you don’t know it, but you have saved her life tonight.”