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Jav straightened and lifted his chin, trying to martial courage. And stifle irritation. “I hope not. My faith is as strong as anyone’s.” It didn’t even sound like a lie. He believed it absolutely.
He glanced back to the candles for strength—but his eyes caught on the tapestry. Nefrana’s laughing eyes glinted at him, her perfect face smiling down. Wasn’t that the real reason he’d come? To speak to Nefrana, not Rifan.
The golden-haired woman on the white horse seemed almost to be winking at him. What kind of deity could smile about a girl’s death?
Or… was it something else she smiled about?
My faith is as strong as anyone’s. It wasn’t a lie. He lived and breathed his duty; he dreamed about his goddess nearly every night. The priests would probably tell him this was the corruption seeping into him.
This horse with its copper-studded bridle told a different story.
He swallowed. The direction of those who ruled him was clear. And yet his duty was ultimately not to them as men. It was to Nefrana. Was it possible there was a difference? What was truly the Way of Things?
He met the priest’s eyes. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your counsel. You’ve steadied me in a dark time.”
“I’m glad. The difficult tests always come. There’s no avoiding them.”
“I’ll be on my way now.” Jav bowed his head for a moment.
Rifan patted Jav’s shoulder and smiled broadly. “You’ve always been the reliable sort. I’m not surprised you see the proper path. Good luck.” And then with a sway of robes, he strolled further into the temple.
Jav watched until the priest was out of sight. Then he rolled his shoulders to release the tension. He knew what he needed to do.
The true test was in doing it.
Chapter 8
Stone of Devotion
One of the two candles had burned down, so Jav took a replacement from the box on the shelf, set aside the old one, and lit the new. This small room, deep within the rarely visited temple’s archives underground, was dim and plain but for the pair of candles, the pedestal, and the artifact that was the room’s central purpose: the temple’s single Devoted Stone.
Their stone was only one small shard, barely larger than the head of a blooming rose, small enough he could fully enclose it in his fist—if he dared to pick it up.
It looked like nothing special, an inert black fragment of some larger rock. He would never have guessed it had any special meaning or power. Did the others that apparently exist in the world look this benign? If he’d seen it on the side of the road, he would have let Sky trod right over it without a blink. How could such a drab hunk of earth glow?
A thick layer of dust covered the stone and the pedestal around it, but the dust around the candles had been disturbed where priests or priestesses had replaced burned down candles with fresh ones from time to time. But the stone itself couldn’t have been touched in quite some time.
This was exactly what he had expected, but it made his jaw clench harder.
If no one had moved the stone in what appeared to be a very long time, clearly no one had used it to see if Iseris was, indeed, a mage. Without using the stone, it was impossible to say. They were either very certain—or they didn’t care about the truth. Or they had checked a long time ago. Long enough for dust to gather.
He couldn’t imagine a land where Devoted Knights roamed, carrying these, hunting in the darkness. He shuddered at the thought. How could any land be so overrun? And how could anyone holy be so comfortable with death?
He’d shed blood in defense of Nefrana’s name. He could still see the eyes of one particular warrior from the battle with Olgaria to the south. The surprise, the blue color, the wide whites of the eyes—they all haunted him. He never wanted to do it again if he could avoid it.
He shook his head and took a deep breath. A chill breeze stirred the dust, beckoning him outside.
He picked up the candle box from the shelf again and removed the remaining candles, putting them back on the shelf. Then he carefully gripped the stone and placed it inside the empty box.
When this stone lay dull and lifeless in the presence of the princess, he would be able to prove her lack of magic. And then…
And then what? He still hadn’t figured out that next step yet.
He doubted he’d be able to convince the prince or the queen to have mercy. But, surely, the king—her father—would want to know. Or the knight captain?
Grudgingly, he had to admit that none of them would care. Perhaps the priests? They’d have to admit she was no mage if the stone could prove it. And they, too, should serve Nefrana over the king.
Should.
