reopened the front doors and the air is freezing. Sena gives Taelin a private smile and floats out into the snow.
CHAPTER
9
Royal Charity Backs Pandragonian Religion
by Willis Bothshine, Journalist
In a move some have called political desperatism, High King Caliph Howl gifted three hundred forty thousand beks to the reformed Church of Nenuln in the form of a solid gold trade bar. The king’s public donation took place at thirteen o’clock on Tes eleventh, Day of Whispers. The gift was accepted by Lady Taelin Rae, currently the church’s only acting clergy, before royal knights escorted it to Crullington Bank for deposit …
Taelin’s eyes skipped down, passing over details of her arrival and purchase of St. Remora.
But according to Dr. Yewl, professor of Stonehavian Politics, “Even if the [High] King’s donation doesn’t ease the tension between [Pandragor and Stonehold], it’s a smart thing for him to do, locally. He should do more of it. Shelters bring order [instead of] rogue panhandling to pay off squat lords. We need more infrastructure for rebuilding [people’s] lives.”
Before it came to its smug conclusion, the article turned out another line or two about the High King’s failure to build relationships with the south.
Taelin set it aside with a feeling of despair. Papers were for entertainment, skepticism and veiled malice, not messages of hope.
What had happened? But she knew. Last night she had had a dream. A beautiful white figure had appeared to her, standing in St. Remora. Haloed in gold, and orbited by fantastic lights, the being had told her, in a pure high language, about the blackness that had come crashing through her chancel.
So much like a train …
All darkness and smoke and dials spinning. Like a locomotive bursting into a station.
It was the witch’s train.
And Sena had her bags packed. She had used Stonehold up. She was done here, on the edge of escaping … far away.
The language was so simple, so beautiful and perfect, that Taelin hoped Nenuln would never stop talking.
Don’t let her get away, Taelin.
But I don’t understand the other things I saw. There was a man’s body, I—
You saw the future, Taelin. It is a gift.
* * *
T AELIN touched the demonifuge against her chest. So it was meant to be. She was meant to accept the High King’s money. She was meant to meet Caliph Howl.
Yet her dream had given her no clue how to chase Sena down. Taelin didn’t know any holomorphy. She had never been good at math. Nenuln will provide a way.
She set her cup of coffee down and got up to shovel snow.
As she approached the front doors, she stopped.
A single pane of red glass confronted her. How had she missed it? Its ill-fitting edges leaked cold air. Taelin looked at it closely. There was a finger-drawing melted into the ice, flower-like.
She wiped her hand across the mark. Strangely, she couldn’t make it go away.
She rubbed harder, scrubbing with her sleeve. She began to panic. Why wouldn’t the ice melt?
“Lady Rae? Is something wrong?”
Taelin whirled. “I thought I told you to have all the panes replaced!”
A former squatter named Vera, nearly Taelin’s age—whose youth had been rasped off against sidewalks and back alleys—put a worn, ruddy hand emphatically against her concave chest. “I did.”
“Then what do you call that?” shouted Taelin, thrusting her finger at the glass.
Vera shook her head, utterly confused.
Vera liked to remind everyone that she had been a landlord and had once taken good care of her properties. Taelin now doubted that was true and regretted having given charge of the church’s restoration over to her.
“I want that red glass changed out,” said Taelin. “Today!” Then she hefted her shovel and opened the door, squinting against the sudden brightness of the snow.
There had been no knock which was why, when she stepped out onto the powder-laden step, the man standing there startled her.
Thankfully, he
CHAPTER
9
Royal Charity Backs Pandragonian Religion
by Willis Bothshine, Journalist
In a move some have called political desperatism, High King Caliph Howl gifted three hundred forty thousand beks to the reformed Church of Nenuln in the form of a solid gold trade bar. The king’s public donation took place at thirteen o’clock on Tes eleventh, Day of Whispers. The gift was accepted by Lady Taelin Rae, currently the church’s only acting clergy, before royal knights escorted it to Crullington Bank for deposit …
Taelin’s eyes skipped down, passing over details of her arrival and purchase of St. Remora.
But according to Dr. Yewl, professor of Stonehavian Politics, “Even if the [High] King’s donation doesn’t ease the tension between [Pandragor and Stonehold], it’s a smart thing for him to do, locally. He should do more of it. Shelters bring order [instead of] rogue panhandling to pay off squat lords. We need more infrastructure for rebuilding [people’s] lives.”
Before it came to its smug conclusion, the article turned out another line or two about the High King’s failure to build relationships with the south.
Taelin set it aside with a feeling of despair. Papers were for entertainment, skepticism and veiled malice, not messages of hope.
What had happened? But she knew. Last night she had had a dream. A beautiful white figure had appeared to her, standing in St. Remora. Haloed in gold, and orbited by fantastic lights, the being had told her, in a pure high language, about the blackness that had come crashing through her chancel.
So much like a train …
All darkness and smoke and dials spinning. Like a locomotive bursting into a station.
It was the witch’s train.
And Sena had her bags packed. She had used Stonehold up. She was done here, on the edge of escaping … far away.
The language was so simple, so beautiful and perfect, that Taelin hoped Nenuln would never stop talking.
Don’t let her get away, Taelin.
But I don’t understand the other things I saw. There was a man’s body, I—
You saw the future, Taelin. It is a gift.
* * *
T AELIN touched the demonifuge against her chest. So it was meant to be. She was meant to accept the High King’s money. She was meant to meet Caliph Howl.
Yet her dream had given her no clue how to chase Sena down. Taelin didn’t know any holomorphy. She had never been good at math. Nenuln will provide a way.
She set her cup of coffee down and got up to shovel snow.
As she approached the front doors, she stopped.
A single pane of red glass confronted her. How had she missed it? Its ill-fitting edges leaked cold air. Taelin looked at it closely. There was a finger-drawing melted into the ice, flower-like.
She wiped her hand across the mark. Strangely, she couldn’t make it go away.
She rubbed harder, scrubbing with her sleeve. She began to panic. Why wouldn’t the ice melt?
“Lady Rae? Is something wrong?”
Taelin whirled. “I thought I told you to have all the panes replaced!”
A former squatter named Vera, nearly Taelin’s age—whose youth had been rasped off against sidewalks and back alleys—put a worn, ruddy hand emphatically against her concave chest. “I did.”
“Then what do you call that?” shouted Taelin, thrusting her finger at the glass.
Vera shook her head, utterly confused.
Vera liked to remind everyone that she had been a landlord and had once taken good care of her properties. Taelin now doubted that was true and regretted having given charge of the church’s restoration over to her.
“I want that red glass changed out,” said Taelin. “Today!” Then she hefted her shovel and opened the door, squinting against the sudden brightness of the snow.
There had been no knock which was why, when she stepped out onto the powder-laden step, the man standing there startled her.
Thankfully, he
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