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“An exmoor!” I exclaimed with delight.
Khor was riding a huge ivory-hued cat, its eyes bright and cunning. The cat wore armor similar to its rider. A massive breastplate of silver covered its chest and on its back was a curved saddle of resplendent gold.
“I understand that you’ve seen one in the flesh,” Crescent commented, his brown eyes dancing. “The very one our prince brought back.”
I stared at him. “Draven... Your prince brought the exmoor back?”
Crescent nodded. “He’s been trying to train her ever since. Perhaps we might go and have a look together one day.” He flushed slightly. “With the prince’s approval, of course.”
I frowned darkly. “Of course. Only with my liege’s approval.”
I turned back to face the paintings. Further down the curving row were more figures, many of them with brilliant-hued skin and vibrant shades of hair.
“So many fae in your pantheon,” I murmured. Whereas in Pendrath, the gods were always depicted as human. Now that I had seen the paintings, I had to admit it made more sense in some ways for them to have been fae.
“I thought you would appreciate the artistry. The temple is sadly out of favor with most of the Siabra nowadays.”
“Why?” I asked curiously. He was right. The place was empty except for ourselves. Back in Camelot, the Temple of the Three was a constant hub of activity, always filled with worshippers from the city and all around Pendrath.
“We used to revere them,” Crescent replied. “But ever since our split with the Valtain, not so much.”
I stared stupidly. “But... What does one have to do with the other? Do the Siabra not believe in respecting the gods?”
For someone who didn’t even consider herself all that religious, I was oddly offended by this.
Crescent shrugged. “Depending on who you speak to these days, the Siabra may not even consider the gods divine at all.”
My eyes must have widened for he laughed. “Most Siabra no longer care, Lady Morgan. They believe the gods and goddesses are part of our past, not our future. Some have decided that is a question best left for scholars. As for whether we still respect them... In a sense, we do. Some we still celebrate for their great deeds. Others we fear for their terrible ones.”
“Like Perun, you mean? Did he not bring down Vela herself?”
Crescent tilted his head. “Did he? Some of our stories say it was the other way around.”
“Is that why they both hold Excalibur?” I challenged. “You can’t have it both ways. Who was the victor?”
Crescent crossed his arms over his chest and looked contemplative. “I have heard it said that Perun and Vela have lived many times before. And in some lifetimes, Perun triumphs. In others, Vela. It is a cycle that goes on and on. Spanning countless millennia.”
I gaped. “I have never heard anything so...” I was about to say “far-fetched.” Or perhaps “sacrilegious.”
But Crescent’s face had turned pensive and almost sad. He was looking back at Vela and Khor with a wistful expression. “Of course, who knows if the cycle will continue,” he murmured. “With all that has happened...”
“What do you mean?”
He glanced at me. “Oh, I meant the curse.”
I tried to speak lightly. “The Siabra curse? Of course. The prince has spoken of it, but I fear the details escape me now.”
“It is his very reason for being. I am not surprised he has spoken of it to you,” Crescent said. “Everything you see around you has changed because of it, discernible or not. Our lives are static. Frozen. We live without knowing if we will go on. It is a terrible way to exist. The Siabra have fundamentally been altered because of it.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but all I said was, “Because of this dreadful curse, yes.”
“Of course, the prince has seen the damage the curse has brought first hand. More than anyone. Why, it nearly brought down the royal house.”
I was on precarious ground, but fortune favored the bold they said. I had to risk it. “You mean because of what happened to his brother?”
Crescent nodded. “The Crown Prince Tabar was very different from his younger brother, Prince Kairos. Some said that was why he would make an excellent successor to his father, the Emperor Lucius Venator. They shared the same ruthlessness of spirit.” He grimaced. “Others would say it was that ruthlessness that got us into this mess of being cursed in the first place. The price of our own cruelty.”
He met my eyes. “Still others claim the emperor acted alone, brutally, irresponsibly. And doomed us all.”
