“This is his highness, Darshan vris Mhanek,” Gordon said by way of introduction to the man. “He’s a spellster from Udynea and has expressed interest in the inner workings of our cloisters.” Gordon’s expression grew dark for a heartbeat. “He will be returning with us.”
The old man’s face scrunched as if he had bitten a lemon. “It isnae our policy to let those with magic just wander out our gates.”
“It would be prudent for you to make an exception here,” Darshan said before either prince could reply. “If only for the good of your kingdom. My father would be rather vexed if he was forced into a war to recover me.”
The old man peered at him. Then the reality of the situation seemed to seep into his mind as his ruddy face slowly drained of colour. His dark eyes darted to Gordon, finding only confirmation. “As always, your highnesses are welcome to come and go as you please. Will you be staying long?” There was a hopeful note in the man’s voice of the answer being in his favour.
“A day or two,” Gordon replied. He made his way up the stairs leading inside, tailed closely by the old man. “We should make our sister aware of our arrival. Where will we find her?”
The man’s bony shoulders bobbed. “The study hall, where else?”
“Still? I would’ve thought she’d have learnt all she could by now.”
“There is always more to be learnt of the body, your highness. Some of our texts speak of reviving the dead, but none so far have ever been able to successfully duplicate the act.”
Darshan frowned as he followed the men into the cloister. What did the feats from spellsters of old have to do with a Tirglasian princess? Was she ill? Deathly so? Or was there some ailment that wound through the countryside that he hadn’t heard of? It wouldn’t be the first time a plague had come to Tirglas. He’d been quite shocked to find one had ravaged the land only a generation ago.
Inside, they strolled by the men and women also walking the corridors with little fuss. A few were in the same drab robes that the man who led them wore. The vast majority of the people were clothed in modest attire that appeared no different to any he had seen on those walking the streets. Whilst a casual glance revealed that a number of clothes appeared threadbare—mostly on a few of the younger subjects—there was nothing else to suggest their position.
He eyed the necks of several, finding them bare. Odd. After hearing they’d bound the first cloistered spellsters, he had expected to find the current ones also leashed by infitialis. Perhaps they weren’t spellsters, but the cloister’s caretakers.
On the other hand, there seemed a great deal them, ranging from young children to white-haired elders who would surely be retired from their duties rather than bustling through corridors. “I would love to know the number of years it takes to indoctrinate them all into staying.”
“A lot of spellsters turn themselves in to the local chapel,” the old man replied, his chin lifting indignantly.
“So this obedience is something taught as a child, then?” It stood to reason. “Are there any active hunts for them?” Beyond Obuzan’s merciless pursuits of spellsters by their priests, he knew only of one other land that seemed so intent on ridding their populace of magic. Demarn. His nanny had told him wicked tales of the King’s Hounds stalking through that kingdom, corralling their spellsters like wayward cattle.
But where people like Demarn’s hounds sounded as though they were specifically chosen and trained to deal with their rogue spellsters, the Obuzan priests were mere men. Spending a lifetime believing magic was sinful or made a person dangerous beyond measure would certainly aid in their compliance. Nobody wanted to think of themselves as the very monster they’d been taught to fear.
“You mean witch hunts?” Gordon asked. “Nae that I’m aware of. We’re nae like our neighbouring lands.”
“The Goddess had a plan in sending her power to mortals,” the old man added. “Even if our minds are nae capable of discerning what that plan is. The chieftains of old might’ve abused their power, but we’ve grown humble with the centuries and the whims of magic no longer rule our clans. If we keep our faith in the Goddess absolute as scripture decrees, her divine plan will be made known to those who are in need of guidance.”
Darshan chewed on the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep his true thoughts from showing on his face. He wasn’t an overly religious man and none of the deities throughout the Udynea Empire required unfailing devotion. Coin, perhaps. Maintaining temples and feeding the various priesthoods wasn’t free.
The man waved them through a doorway that appeared to house only an array of tables and chairs.
Darshan eyed the bare stone walls. Only the presence of the two brothers kept him from heeding the itching urge to form a shield around himself. Even so, if this was a study, then where were the books? The scrolls? Even a few diagrams would’ve put his mind at ease.
A lone woman occupied the space. She sat at one of the tables, her shoulder to them and bent over a large book spread before her. Her head rested on one hand, the fingers disappearing beneath the mass of gravity-defying blonde curls that crowned her head.
She glanced up as they neared, then lifted her head, beaming. “ ‘Mish? Gor?” She stood, one delicate finger pinning her place in the book. “I didnae think I’d be seeing you two until the summer. Is Mum being that much of a pain that you’ve had to escape already?” Her features didn’t bear the same stark resemblance to the two princes as their
