“But he’s my brother.”
“Half-brother,” she corrected. “However, that is irrelevant. Tarjanian is a troublemaker and you would do well to disassociate yourself from him.”
“That makes it kind of awkward for you, doesn’t it? A woman in your position? It’s a good thing I toe the line.”
Joyhinia’s expression clouded with annoyance. “Don’t presume to threaten me, my girl. I’ve no need to remind you what will happen if I hear of you misbehaving again.”
“I’ll make certain that the next time I misbehave, Mother, you don’t hear about it,” she promised with a perfectly straight face.
Joyhinia sipped her wine and studied her daughter critically. “You will push me too far one day, R’shiel. And I can assure you the consequences will not be pleasant.”
R’shiel knew that look. A change of subject was in order.
“Why is the Karien Envoy here?” she asked. Politics was the one topic she could rely on to divert Joyhinia.
“I’m surprised you have to ask. He’s here because we have a new First Sister. He wants the treaty between Karien and Medalon reaffirmed.”
“Oh,” R’shiel said. Any first-year Novice could have worked that out, but for the time being, her shortcomings were forgotten.
“He’s also here to observe the Sisterhood,” Joyhinia continued. “He wants to assure himself that we are not wavering on our policy of suppression of heathen worship. He wants Mahina to initiate another Purge. He’s lobbying members of the Quorum to support him. Harith is already on his side. Francil won’t care one way or the other, so long as it doesn’t interfere with the running of the Citadel. If I can be talked around, Jacomina will follow, and he’ll get what he wants.”
“Isn’t a Purge a bit extreme? There can’t be that many heathens left. It hardly seems worth the effort to rid Medalon of a few scabby peasants secretly worshipping trees or rocks, or whatever it is that they hold divine.”
Joyhinia frowned at R’shiel’s impudence. “I see our new First Sister has her supporters. I hope you don’t espouse such sentiments publicly, R’shiel. You must never forget that you are my daughter.”
“Don’t worry, Mother, there’s no chance of me ever forgetting that.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’ve done everything I could to make your life as easy as possible, R’shiel. I expect you to return that consideration, one day.” Joyhinia’s face was hidden by the goblet, so it was hard to read her expression, but R’shiel had a bad feeling that Joyhinia already knew exactly how she expected R’shiel to repay her.
R’shiel also had a very bad feeling that whatever Joyhinia had in mind, she probably wouldn’t like it.
chapter 5
The Lord Defender waited until the end of the month of Helena, three months after Mahina’s promotion, before approaching the First Sister with the plans he had for some much-needed changes in the defense of Medalon. He unconsciously straightened his red coat as he and his officers strode the long hall that led to the First Sister’s office. The sound of the officers’ boots was muffled by the blue, carpeted strip that stretched with stark symmetry toward the large double doors at the end of the hall. The walls were at their brightest this early in the afternoon. On his left strode Commandant Garet Warner, the officer in charge of Defender Intelligence. A slender, balding man, with a deceptively mild manner, he had a soft voice which disguised a sharp mind and an acerbic wit. On his right, carrying a stack of rolled parchments, was Tarja Tenragan.
Sister Suelen, Mahina’s secretary, rose from her desk as they approached. “My Lord Defender. Captain. Commandant. I’ll tell the First Sister you’re here.”
The three men waited as Suelen knocked and then vanished inside the double doors. Jenga studied the plain, unadorned doors with curiosity. They were veneered with a thin coating of bronze to conceal, presumably, the heathen artwork underneath. There were many doors, walls, and ceilings like this one throughout the Citadel – covered with any material that would disguise the origins of their builders. Jenga had seen enough of the exquisite murals and delicate friezes to lament their camouflage. The Harshini who had built the Citadel were accomplished artists, but their subject matter tended toward the baser side of human nature and unfailingly depicted one god or another. Before the Sisterhood had taken possession of it, the Lesser Hall had been a Temple devoted to Kalianah, the heathen Goddess of Love. It had a ceiling that was, reputedly, quite explicitly erotic. It was whitewashed every two years without fail, to prevent the heathen images from ever showing through.
Jenga’s musing was interrupted by the reappearance of Suelen. “The First Sister will see you now.”
Jenga pushed aside the heavy door and entered the office first, followed by Garet and Tarja. Mahina stood as they entered. Draco remained standing behind her desk, his expression as inscrutable as ever. Mahina came around the desk to greet them, holding out her hands warmly. Jenga could not remember the last time a First Sister had shown him so much respect or had treated him so like an equal.
“My Lord Defender! Am I so daunting, now that I’m First Sister, that you felt the need for moral support?”
“Never, your Grace. I’ve brought these two along so that you can question them and spare me.”
Mahina’s brow furrowed with curiosity. “This is not a social call then, I gather? Well, let’s be seated. By the look of that pile Tarja’s holding, this is going to take a while.”
The First Sister’s office was a huge room, although Jenga had never been able to divine its original purpose. The walls shone with the Brightening, and large, multipaned windows that reached from floor to ceiling looked out over a stone-balustraded balcony. The massive, heavily carved desk sat in front of the tall windows, making the most of the natural lighting. Four heavy, padded-leather chairs, normally reserved for the Quorum, sat before the desk. Mahina indicated they should sit and took her place behind the desk, placing her hands palm down on its polished surface.
“So, my Lord Defender, what can I do for you?”
“I have a number of proposals, your Grace,” he began. “Issues that concern the Defenders and the defense of Medalon.”
“Such as?”
“The Hythrun Raiders. The treaty with Karien. The defense of our borders. The issue of internal unrest.”
Mahina frowned. “That’s quite a list, Jenga. Let’s tackle it one at a time, shall we? Start with the Hythrun.”
“As you wish, your Grace,” Jenga nodded. “I want permission to allow the Defenders to cross the border into Hythria in pursuit of Hythrun Raiders.”
Her matronly face was puzzled. “Jenga, are you telling me our boys simply stand on the border and watch the Hythrun ride away with our cattle?”
“I’m afraid so, your Grace.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“A decade, or so,” Tarja replied for him, making no effort to hide his contempt for the practice. “Trayla introduced the prohibition while she was visiting Bordertown about ten years ago. Her carriage broke down and she was stranded for the afternoon on the side of the road. She decided that if the Defenders had been closer to home, rather than across the border chasing the Raiders, she would have been spared an uncomfortable afternoon in the heat. She issued the order the next day and refused to counter it, despite numerous pleas by both the Lord Defender and Commandant Verkin.”
“Is that right, Draco?” Mahina asked, looking to the First Spear of the Sister for confirmation. Draco nodded, his expression neutral.
“I believe it is, your Grace.”
“Consider it countered,” Mahina snapped, turning back to Jenga. “That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard. How much have we lost to the Hythrun in the last decade, because of her fussing? By the Founders, I
