There was the subtle inkling of rage within her. How could she? Bethany, the current Highness of Odium, gained power after the suspicious death of her husband. Normally, the seat was to be given to the highHeir; however, before this, rumors revealed the Lady had no intention of the early birth. Thus, her son was barely three years old. Unfit to rule.
An obvious, meticulous plan to hoard power.
The ways of Odium.
But what did that have to do with me? Ivory did not entertain the idea of the lack of presence as something as banal as "the lack of time." Never. Bethany was a Highness, one of the most powerful people in the world. What would stop her?
Which means there was another reason. A question of my legitimacy? Or the countless other rumors that circulate from the very mouths of the Valor people? She went inwards, attempting the so-called blending of data done by casters to create logic from seemingly unconnected facts.
She couldn't.
Why wouldn't she come? And Ivory saw the words and murmurs this would elicit from the attendees. They would question her acceptance by the other Highnesses. Again, they would return to the nomination of Saedon.
A dangerous prospect.
However, she paused. Considering the relations between Valor and Odium, ever since the redNight, perhaps many would see this as signs of true conflict at the highest levels. A harbinger of some imminent war.
Of course, for hundreds of years, there had been no true war between the clans, courtesy of the Theocracy, but ah, the words this moment would bring.
Ivory regarded Master Geld. The man was observing a particular dress folded into a box by a handmaiden. He smiled and said, "Wouldn't that be better on you?" The dress was red.
She replied with a sharp tongue. "An untrained eye would think this a sign of your true allegiance."
He gasped. "A simple cloth?"
"Red is the color of Odium."
He smirked. "And I am Odium."
Ivory nodded. "Today you are," she said. "Today, the Highness of Odium has given you authority similar to a regent."
"Hardly." He waved dismissively. "That woman trusts no one to truly hand over such a mantle. No. This is a ceremonial act. A thing to save face, if you will."
"Save face?"
Geld laughed. "Yes... It means to maintain dignity."
"Why not say just that?"
He shrugged. "I suppose the Hollow Chasms now infect me too."
She offered a suspicious look. "That's a lie."
"Is it?"
"Yes," she responded. "It sounds like a phrase that can only exist in the free cities."
"A bit presumptuous now, are we?" he said. "Even free cities can be civilized."
She ignored his words, added, "They call themselves free, yet are ruled by those houses. The House of Black and the rest. No different from the 8 clans."
"Who knows?"
Ivory sensed the drifting off topic and said, "How exactly did you come to have this... authority?"
"One way or the other."
So it's a secret, she guessed. "I see. But I think your presence might become the start of a trend."
"Absolutely." Surety in his tones.
This jerked her heart. "So you believe very few of the Highnesses would come?"
"I think none of the Highnesses would come. Surely not the whiteTower, as I doubt those men would leave a second from their books, or the House of Noctis, considering they have no Highness. But then there are the Honor Clan..."
There was a pause in the air.
Ivory nodded. "Honor will come."
"Honor always comes," Geld said. "Even with their territory, the highHammer frozen for years, they will surely come."
"What about the vileStorm Clan?"
"The Vale of Storms is exceptionally chaotic these months, perhaps not. But by a Black Ship, they might arrive."
"The Fools?"
Geld gave a knowing smile. "We both know the absence of the Fools would be the ultimate joke."
"And everyone knows how well the Fools love their jokes."
"Yes," Geld said. "That leaves the Fray Clan..."
"Perhaps not the Highness, but the daughters... Yes, they would come."
Geld affirmed. "True, many consider the presence of those girls the highest of Fray honor. Right behind a complete tour of the Oldbulb."
"Every Fray born considers a tour of their home a great honor," Ivory rebutted, and thought: Rumors about the elegance of the Six Daughters of the Six Clans are known to all. Is there another reason for their presence? To undermine me today?
She sensed the origins of these words as rooted in some internal pride.
Dangerous.
They must be squashed before growth. But for now, her attention returned to Geld. She said, "Is there anything that I must know..." deliberately adding the softer tones. "Master?"
This produced the desired result. "Rumors, of course, but I hear one of the Comes is moving."
This caused an almost loss of bodily control. One of the Comes is moving? To where? Night? Valor? These, to her attention, were the current clans with any worthy issue. Night with their continual refusal to gain a Highness, and Valor... her and the fellowship with I AM.
Is that it?
Dangerous matters.
"What exactly do you know?"
"Just that," Geld said. "And of course, rumors of a strangeness in the Nightfell mines."
This grasped her attention. "You have a thing of feeding the intensity to know."
"I am a teacher," he said. "Anyway, words from Excubitors and mouthful casters speak of the rise of some new religious figure."
That was the end of the curiosity. Bootless. Such things were hardly rare in Eastos. As was the outcome of the bleakness of life in the darkened world, countless prophets, false gods, religious lords, and their legions of fanatics have been a constant thing. Always, without fail, the Theocracy has ended each one. Which in the end had the effect of boosting the Church's power.
With the death of every false prophet, many would convert to the faith of the Song. It was a pattern of sorts. People bouncing from faith to faith. Annoying. But that was the way of things.
She said, "Sooner or later, the Church will end it. A slave religious figure can only be as powerful as the souls in that land with him. I doubt the Church will make a noise of this."
"Who knows?" Geld smirked. "There are rumors that his company grew to thousands in mere days. Three to four days, to be exact."
"Impossible."
"And yet that's what the chatter says."
"Even the Theocracy did not achieve such." As soon as the words left her lips, Ivory knew the committed error. A halt flowed through the swarming tides. The women froze but for a moment before resuming their activities. Monotonous, but action nonetheless.
What have I done? Ivory hid the fear within. Her words, in all their entirety, echoed with a certain heretical quality. To compare the 'Great Church of the Song' with some backwater group. And then to speak of an instance that birthed the Church? Impossible.
False, yes, but the Theocracy has long peddled the belief that their presence has always been. Since the start of mankind and the 'Ascension of God,' they had existed. All lies. Even without the Oral History, she could ascertain their origin as something during the Last Age. The Third Age, long after the Rebellion, whatever that was.
But to speak them?
This could invite some problems.
"The Theocracy could not achieve such because they were far beyond it," she said. "What is a group that merely started against a fact since the dawn of humanity?"
Geld grinned. A word present in his demeanor: Good job.
She considered and said, "Thank you for your words... I will see when it starts."
Geld knew the hidden meanings and, hence, without word or fuss, left the chamber.
This new religion, what is it?
-----
Merrin stood, watching the golden orb of the morning sun. Basking in the light, both arms crossed as it was the way of Attendants, he often found himself attempting to stare at the golden bright thing. Always a mistake, it's rays like fire dripped into the pupils. Painful. But without learning, he repeated. Almost like he sought to carve the radiance into his eyes.
Maybe he did.
Beyond that, another awe-filled thing was the casting done by these people. Before him, Merrin observed two Orvalen casters. Arms reared, twirling. Ahead, a hill was being shattered. Into shards of floating stone, or boulders, they hovered, some colliding into a rounder spherical whole. Even the once-rough edges were ground away into sleekness.
Such control was mesmerizing.
He sought it... Knew the internal caster-based hunger for that expertness. A few floated in the sky, and from what he could gather without the confirmation of the unseen world, they did so without the wind. No symbols of the gust or tempest. Something different—how? He desired the knowledge.
Most of them, however, wore a special ring around their fingers. Not like his—those acted as a barrier against whatever effect the Anti-field might have on casting within its shielding. Strange things. The Orvalen attendants, on the other hand, were building. The construction of numerous spherical balls hovered high in the sky, suspended, while others were pressed into said shape.