Rianaire absentmindedly poked the nearest cheek of the girl’s arse.
“Eep!” She shocked bolt upright and turned to look at Rianaire, covering the place she’d touched. “Ah!” She flushed red and Rianaire smiled at her before waving her away.
“—think there is much worry in it though. The woman is simply emboldened by the sense of importance that came with being chosen by her people. She imagines there is deep meaning in ruling a place.”
Síocháin looked at her, the slightest twitch in her lip. “A fine thing from our wondrous Treorai.”
Rianaire laughed. She stood, picking up the refreshed wine glass and spilling a deal of it onto the table. “Yes! She who ushered in the golden age of Spéirbaile! Protector of the north and thief of chastity!”
Inney quietly raised her own glass, stifling a laugh. Rianaire drank from her own and put it back down.
“Well. This has been a delightful meal. I will now go and ruin it by speaking to very serious mages about very serious magics.” She leaned down to Inney as she passed her to leave and put a finger on her nose. “Perhaps the population will fall again.” She kissed the half-Drow on the cheek and continued on. Inney stood to follow, leaving Síocháin behind with her papers.
They were walking through the halls toward the colonnade room, at least as much as Rianaire cared to make straight progress. She walked and hummed.
“Have the colleges’ chosen not come yet?” Inney wondered aloud, not mentioning their slow progress but likely curious at it.
“Oh, I’m sure they have.” She grabbed Inney’s hands and pulled her around, dancing in the quiet. “Eala as well. They must learn patience.”
“And you must not?”
Rianaire had forgotten how much she loved the sound of playful sarcasm in a voice. Inney had come to comfort her in ways that she had not known she needed.
“How very dare you. I am as patient as I am graceful.”
“I’ll not argue with that.”
Rianaire laughed first and Inney allowed herself to do the same. She sighed, then, knowing that Inney had the right of it. She must go and tend to her duties. The familiar carved doors were soon enough in front of them and were pulled open to the frigid room of stone. Eala was the only body in the room who did not show the chill in her posture. The girl looked regal, though there was flush in her cheeks from the cold.
Inney took her place at the door to the side office as Rianaire plopped into her seat, looking up as though there was nothing more to discuss than the weather. There were eight gathered there, as she’d insisted before eating. The most senior member of each college was brought to her as well as the most adept. Unfailingly, as she looked around the table, the order was an old and a young. Telling, she thought. The most senior had no doubt spent more time with noses in books. Unhungry for knowledge of the Gifts they possessed but desperate for new ways to bend the knee to dead women.
“Well, let’s not make this painful.” Rianaire looked to those sent from Tine’s college. “Remove those.”
She meant the veils they wore. Silly things more natural for a cult than anything else. The two hesitated until Rianaire rolled her eyes. There was no complaint. The two unmasked themselves. Old and young, again. Rianaire continued.
“I have decisions I mean to make. And what meaning is there in a decision without spirited debate?” She crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair. “The question is simple. Should the colleges contribute to the defense of the province against the hippocamp hordes?”
She said nothing else, offered no opinion. Those she had gathered looked among themselves not sure if there was some deeper concern they were missing. No doubt word of the exile of the college heads had made them nervous. Rianaire had no intention of allowing such a sweet concern to be assuaged, however. Their conviction was the very thing she had an interest in.
It was Spéir’s college that spoke first. The elder. “I believe… that is, of course, we must not be outside of thought that the colleges could assist in such an aim. But the Gifts are just that. Not tools of war. They are fantastical things which aid us in life.”
The elders of Abhainn and Fásach’s houses slapped the table lightly, agreeing. Tine’s college showed nothing. Typical of that lot, she thought. They were strange at the best of times.
Abhainn’s elder nodded, stroking his beard. “Yes, I think my colleague has made a statement most profound.” He nodded, almost rocking in the chair. “The Gifts are a peaceful thing. Meant to bring us closer with the Sisters and their love for us. How else could our waters heal? Hmmm.” He frowned. “No, I think they must not be used for ill. This may anger the Sisters and they may reclaim their Gifts.”
The first of the youth spoke. A boy, light-skinned but showing the desert heritage in his dark hair and eyes. “What a grand manner of shite old men spit.” He stood, eyes annoyed. “What scrolls have you read that make you believe as you do? Fásach would be sick to see it, elves waving the tools she used to rid us of the horsefolk as flags of surrender.”
The pale girl who had come from Spéir’s school joined him. “Aye. He’s the right of it. What Sisters do you know who smiled on horsefolk? Who walked with gentle steps?”
The youth of Abhainn was a fair thing, freckled with deep green eyes. She was calm, remaining seated. “Abhainn could not abide such a devout who would let death come to her people while her waters still flowed.”
The bearded elf had contained his shock so long as he could. “You… bah! Bah! Children! Such insolence! To your elders, even.”
Fásach’s boy spoke to that. “Was it age the
