“Are you nervous?”
“No,” said Amadeus.
His sister leaned in. “Liar. Not to worry. I too was nervous.” Amadeus chuckled to himself; she was using her posh voice. Cardinal Page must be near.
Loretta had been nervous though. She revised up to the last minute, practicing answers for every conceivable question from every conceivable God. She failed. Then she spent the next three years trying to prime Amadeus for the same test.
“How many people are here?” Amadeus asked. The temple had not sounded this full since… Well, since Loretta’s trial.
“They’re running out of seats; they’re all standing at the back now. It shouldn’t be long until we start.” A reassuring pat on his hand had Amadeus flinch.
Loretta tried to get a little more revision out of him, but it only stoked the fires of his nervousness. He told her as much with his tightening grip on her arm. His cane was slick with sweat too, and a whole new fear of accidentally dropping it mid-ceremony swept over him. “Could we maybe wait quietly, Loretta?”
They did not need to wait long. The meticulous design of the temple’s acoustics had been amplifying the idle mumblings of thousands. In an instant, it turned to the hurried clattering of the peasantry standing to attention, then total silence. Pacing up the aisle came a dozen footsteps or so. Once upon a time, the king entered the temple unaccompanied, trusting the Gods to protect them. But King Karloman II did not care for magic, even that of the Gods. Cold steel and sheer numbers suited him better.
The slow march finally ended. “Alright then, Amadeus. This is our cue.” Loretta stood, resting her hand on Amadeus’s, which was still affixed to her arm. “Careful now, there’s a step here.”
The prince’s cane clacked against the marble stair, splintering the total silence of the temple. He had felt the eyes on him before, but now their gaze was burning a hole in the back of his head. He found the step and followed Loretta’s lead to the centre of the altar. Amadeus recognized the slow, frustrated exhale of the king holding back a snide comment.
Cardinal Page began proceedings before his father could hiss some admonishment to him, his voice amplified by one of the few magics Karloman would abide. Page was an old man, most cardinals were. And like most cardinals he worshiped Zynterra, the long-missing Queen of the Gods. Her domains were clear in his voice, somehow soft and gravelly all at once. The gravel may have come from the tobacco he stank of. He meandered through opening pleasantries, and Amadeus struggled to listen for his queue.
His father was evidently waiting too; he cleared his throat. With a cough of his own, the cardinal faltered briefly, turned a few pages, and resumed. “Before the Frost and amid the Swords, King Ignatius I secured for this proud, stalwart nation, the blessing of the Allmother. O, return to us.”
“O, return to us,” echoed the thousands of onlookers. Amadeus muttered along too.
“Ignatius built for us this, the Great Temple of Thelaron. And in this tribute was perceived such adoration, such respect, that our heavenly queen allowed Ignatius a single request. The good king was a man of little want, and one fear. And thus, he asked that Zynterra might always guard and protect his family. O, return to us.”
“O, return to us.” The prince muttered his response a moment too late. His father tutted.
“And our good and great Creator said, ‘In this great gift, beneath this great altar, you shall build a chamber. And no soul but a Thel’s soul shall ever enter this chamber. Here, I shall know your kin by three questions. And when they are shown fit, they will have my protection.’ O, return to us.”
“O, return to us.”
Page flipped through old parchment once more. Amadeus could nearly recite the coming passages. Zynterra’s disappearance. Then the Era of Frost. The Conclaves and the Regency. They had rehearsed today far too much. The king coughed impatiently once more. To hell with all that then.
The cardinal fumbled for a starting point that would suit Karloman. “Yes, the… um… Well, as it is known, the Allmother has taken her leave, and we petition her return in every act of grace and kindness. In this interim, the other Gods, blessed and revered are they, watch over our benevolent rulers. Today, on his sixteenth birthday, Prince Amadeus Nicolas Thel, shall be questioned. Gods willing, he will emerge chosen and warded by divinity until his last breath.”
The cardinal hobbled toward them, doing away with the magical amplification. “Your Highnesses. If you would make your way down the stairs. Milady, I would ask that you allow the prince to enter the chamber himself.”
“Of course, Brother Page.” Loretta whispered guidance to Amadeus as they descended the steps slowly. He felt a wash of relief knowing he was now out of view of the laity. There was little room at the bottom, it had been designed for one entrant after all. The door lay immediately at the base of the staircase, so Loretta whispered, “Good luck, Mads,” from a couple steps behind, before ascending out of earshot. This was to be a private affair between Amadeus, and whatever God would spare him the time.
When Loretta’s footsteps stopped, Amadeus stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He felt heat on his arms immediately. Two torches crackled softly either side of him. Cautiously, he moved into the room, swinging the cane liberally. Finding no obstruction, he stopped in what he hoped was the centre of the chamber.
“I, Amadeus Nicolas Thel, Crown Prince of Thelaron, am sixteen years of age. I stand before thee, humbly, seeking the protection promised by Zynterra, Allmother and Creator, to my ancestor, Ignatius Roland Wichmann Thel I.”
The slight echo in the room told him it was relatively small and without furniture. Loretta had told him the walls were adorned with carvings of Zynterra and her brothers, showing the world in its infancy as she assembled it with their help. He resisted the urge to find a wall and feel them.
“This is always a weird room to visit,” Her voice was creaky, verging on monotonous and riddled with disinterest. He had expected some booming demand of tribute. He had been ready to kneel and honour their name with a prayer. Instead, he had no idea who this might be, and they sounded positively bored.
Light footsteps circled him, and a finger traced along the wall. The God passed within a foot of him, then carried on behind. “I suppose I ought to ask you some questions then, see if you’re worthy?” Amadeus almost agreed, but her tone had risen at the end, questioningly. Was that one of the questions? He remained silent.
A short laugh. Amadeus couldn’t help feeling like he had passed a test. The God lapped the room five more times before the first true question came. “Which God did you want?”
Amadeus thought for a moment. He and Loretta had schemed shortlists in private. They had compared the Gods that guarded previous Thels, trying to figure who’s turn was next. He had hoped for Qaregnon, the God of Strength and Resilience. But it was a Goddess in the room with him, so he would answer with a Goddess. “Vána, perhaps? The Goddess of Truth and Family. Good traits for a future ruler. Or for anyone, that is.”
The footsteps stopped behind him. “Not Xelve?”
Amadeus almost answered but thought better again. Was she taunting him? He wanted to say the Goddess of Healing was no use to him, that you cannot fix something that never worked. He bit his tongue and squeezed his cane. His cane was always his anchor, the receptacle for his frustration. Insulting a God was never a good idea, especially when they might be in the room. He waited silently for the second question.
Silently, the God had found their way in front of Amadeus now. Less than a foot from his face she asked, “What do you aspire to?”
He had been ready for this, or rather Loretta had been ready for this. “The Kingship. I will be a kind ruler. My people will prosper, both in our motherland and in our colonies. They will be healthy and joyous and want for nothing.”
The God huffed in his face at the answer. Her breath smelled herbal, fresh. Had she cleaned up for this event, or did the Gods just smell like that? She paced at length again, tutting idly to herself as she thought of a third question. With a mischievous laugh, one came to her. “What’s your favourite flower?”
Amadeus’s heart plummeted. He knew which God stood across from him. Zynterra’s youngest daughter. They called her the First Falsehood. Every town on the continent had a story about how she had visited, and all hell had broken loose. Heralded by dark leathers and a luminous streak of green hair, if she deigned to make her arrival apparent. This was the God of Deception. “N-Naxera…”
“Sorry. That’s a sweet answer, but I don’t count. Favourite flower, now.”
Amadeus’s head was spinning, but he had to answer. He didn’t have a favourite flower; he didn’t know what any looked like! Flowers were her domain though, along with laziness. Poets sometimes called her the Lazy Daisy, that might be a safe bet. “Daisies. I like daisies.”
Naxera let out a small gasp at the answer, one that felt markedly patronising. She paced for a time again. Amadeus wanted to ask if he had passed. Part of him wanted to fail just to avoid her. He wouldn’t speak out of turn though. He had heard enough tales about her turning people into animals, or flowers, even furniture. His legs were going stiff. Perhaps he was already turning into a chair. He wanted to join her in her pacing, but didn’t dare.
Five long minutes later, Naxera simply said, “Alright, you passed. Consider yourself… what was it? ‘Warded by divinity’, I guess.”
Amadeus didn’t know if he should be proud or worried. He waited in silence, assuming the God would take her leave. Naxera simply sucked her teeth, tutting quietly to herself. The prince formulated the politest way he could to ask what happened next, but the God stepped in first. Clicking the heels of heavy boots together, she asked “So, any questions?”
Amadeus shifted his weight onto his cane. There was no kinder way to ask. “Why you?”
“Why not me?” The mocking pout was almost audible. “You know already Mister Majesty.”
He did. The God reflected the royal. King Emmerich the Miser was warded by Eteral, the God of Wealth and Trade. Karloman paired with Paxim, the God of Discipline and Security. Loretta, a savant on the piano, spoke with Nelos, one of the Gods of Music. Amadeus sighed. “What does that make me then, a liar?”
Naxera gasped with indignance, and she prodded his chest disapprovingly. It was a light tap, but all the power she could have shoved with was somehow implied in that single finger. “I have plenty of domains, thank you very much. You could be a gardener. Or maybe you’ll make friends with the Fae.”
Amadeus doubted the God’s affinity for flowers was what had bound them, and the fairies had been missing longer than Zynterra. He noted her omission of her last domain. “Or perhaps I’m fated to a life of laziness.”
He heard more indignant gesticulation squeak out of the God’s leathers. “I am God of Apathy, not Laziness. Very different things.”
“None of it bodes particularly well for a crown prince, does it?” Amadeus moped. Then he checked his attitude. Did Naxera emanate informality, or was he letting his disappointment lead him? He elected to finish the day and put it behind him. “Will you make an appearance?” After a short pause he tacked on, ‘Your Majesty,’ for good measure. She was a princess after all, and Queen of the Fae, if they existed.
Naxera wretched. “Don’t call me that. Naxera is fine.” Her voice sounded from behind him, though she hadn’t walked past him. He heard the gilded door unseal behind him. He turned to face it. He’d take that as a yes, then. When the God spoke, it was away from him. She must have been peering through the door. “Nah, I won’t embarrass you like that. I have a better idea…”
Amadeus stepped out of the chamber, being sure to avoid the doorway’s lip. He was sweating again, even though Naxera was gone. He couldn’t relax, not yet. He cleared his throat. Soon, light clacking descended toward him, and Loretta was by his side. “How did it go?” she hissed excitedly.
“Bring me to the cardinal. Let’s get this over with.”
He grabbed Loretta’s arm for direction and she gasped. “You’re cold as ice, Mads! Wait… No! You didn’t…” He was freezing, now that she mentioned it. Despite the heat in the chamber, he was frigid. He knew why.
“Please, Loretta. Let’s just finish this.”
His sister practically dragged him up the stairs, and passed him off to Cardinal Page. The clergyman whispered, “Take my hand, your Highness. And your voice shall carry as mine.” He did as he was told, and received a congratulatory chuckle when the cardinal felt his freezing touch. Cardinal Page addressed the nave. “The crown prince is returned. And I sense he ferries news that calls for celebration. Your Highness, are you warded by divinity?”
Amadeus felt the eyes lock on him again. He wanted to shake his hand free of the cardinal’s and wipe the sweat from it. “I am, Cardinal.”
A wave of impressed murmuring erupted rather disrespectfully. He heard the guards surrounding his father adjust themselves, and order was restored. “And which God wards you, your Highness?”
Amadeus gulped. This should have been the easy part. He had rehearsed this. If he could get his lips to move, this would be the only part of today that had remained on-script. He wasn’t sure how long he had been silent, but his father suddenly barked, “Speak, boy!”
“The God-,” Amadeus’s voice cracked. Mother Almighty, this was torture. “The God of Strength. The God of Resilience. The God of Heroes. The God of Ice. I am warded by Qaregnon. Son of the Regent. Saviour of the Endless Dream.”
He had expected applause. And he had expected it to be loud. He had expected Loretta, the Cardinal, maybe a few guards to clap. But never had he expected to hear the unmistakable, thick-handed, booming applause of King Karloman II. It should have been affirming, in some way. But it wasn’t. As the applause met the sonorous walls of the Great Temple, its echo returned with a strange addition, one for his ears only. A roguish giggle; unwanted praise from the God of Deception.
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