HEL

Mansions lined the halls from end to end, and all of them were empty. Eerie and untraversed. Each entrance exact. A rounded wooden door, reinforced with iron, tucked into a tall narrow arc with flattish pale columns. Balconies flanked the arc beneath their tiled rooftops, looking down on alabaster boundaries that rimmed the brick porches below. From those porches bled winding cascades of marble steps. The design was beautiful without being flamboyant. Composed of healthy maroons and wealthy browns. Silent, but strong.

Though massive, the mansions were cut in depth. Like a hall of abandoned plays. Hel could never figure out why these mansions were like this. All exact. All inside a hallway. All inside the palace peak. Though dead of day, it always looked nighttime here. All were ominous besides her own. The marble cascade from its rounded wooden door guarded by the pink bangs of a weeping willow and the long lashes of a sleeping boy. Hel’s lantern moaned when she raised it, lighting the nearest torch. A wavering heat ignited, sending the shadows of her mansion and its clones to dance.

Heavens opened an eye. “It should be symmetrical.”

The strangest things bothered him. It was dim. And dangerous. Palace law was strict but unmoderated, given how large it was. Nowhere was truly safe until you locked your doors, windows, and climbed into your bed. Yet here he was, concerned with the symmetry of a mansion that was not even his.

Hel lit the other torch. “They’re like stages.” She said, scanning about them. “Cut off by the walls of the hall, every action performed designed for dullards, with the most important of events cut off from where the decorations end.”

Hel supposed Priestesshood housing was no different from any other household, then. She wondered if they all looked the same inside as they did on the out.

“Don’t you ever wonder who built these mansions and why they are here?” Hel asked.

“Someone with too much money met someone with too much time.” 

Hel laughed at that. What a wit Heavens had today.

“Growing a brain, are we?” Hel asked, still giggling, taking a wine opener from Heavens’ bag. “We ought to take care of that.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Because Teara told you not to?”

“Teara? What does she have to do with this?”

“You said she was against all things inhibiting.”

Heavens sighed, troubled, as if Teara was such a bizarre topic to bring up. For a girl who was never seen, Heavens spoke about her a lot, and now that Hel brought her up for once of her own accord, she was the strange one? Hel wasn’t entertained.

“Teara doesn’t have anything to do with me not drinking.”

And maybe Heavens was right, because he was adamant when it came to her. Many chocolate boxes and two bottles of wine later, Heavens was sitting under the living room’s pinao on the floor like a fool. Hel almost wobbled of the piano seating, face flushed, feeling pleasantly light in the head. She stepped in melting chocolate.

“NO!” Heavens screamed.

“Ugh.” Hel stumbled on one foot to try something to hold on to, then found some cream on the piano and drank it.

She didn’t like dairy products much, but Priestesses weren’t allowed. They couldn’t get “fat”, or leave their makeup off, or play sports. Hel didn’t really care for those things, but being told not to do something, made her want to do them.

“I thought you said it was too sweet.”

“It is.” Hel continued to drink anyway, her lips puckered as she struggled with dryness oozing up her throat.

The last time she’d gotten to eat chocolate was in Yiddlestine. Fitting into the Priesteshood was easy, but it wasn’t what she wanted. Hel finished the cream, looking towards the kitchen ice box for more. It was so far away, and she had chocolate on her foot. 

“Ever feel like running away?”

“I have. Remember?”

Hel frowned. She’d forgotten Heavens was notorious for running away. In fact, back in Yiddlestine there were posters of himself as a toddler to save the knighthoods time to find him.

“And now?” Hel asked.

“Why? I’m in a palace.”

“When you ran away, didn’t you ever worry about taking care of yourself, or what you would do next?”

“I never thought hard about it. I just didn’t want to be there, so I moved, and I just kept moving. Eventually I always returned one way or another.” Heavens chuckled shyly. “There was never anywhere else to go.”

“Could live in the forest.” 

“There aren’t any sweets there.”

“We could make our own.” Hel mumbled. “I’d rather be the baker than the bakery.”

She slid. She slammed her hand on a chord of high keys to catch herself. Notes spilled out and into the air. Complex waves, ripples, and motes swung about, varying in color and shape. She blinked, stunned. A soft hum filled the room.

Heavens touched one, surprised at the speed of the vibration. “You had money in that thing?”

“I guess The Thaumaturge did.”

“I’ve never seen Notes this floaty before. Must be worth a lot.” Heavens pushed one back towards the piano’s opening.

Hel blocked it, then swatted several others around. She slammed madly on the keys. More money poured into the air. The Notes were beginning to cling to the ceiling, getting pushed up from the waves of new ones.

“Stop!” Heavens shouted.

Hel twisted to the windows. “They’re closed. It’s not like they’ll fly out.” She looked up at them, it felt like they were in a cavern of gemstones, the effect of the Notes washed the room in the shimmer of a wavering surface. “It’s a shame we store them away.”

“If we didn’t, they’d fly out. The whole economy would fly away.”

“We could trade other things. Horses. Goats. Sheep. That’s what we did before The Silent Wars. I want to start a guild. A guild where we trade things again. Not just Notes. We’d give every item a set price and sell it for the same amount.”

“Then how would you make money?”

That remark seemed to come from a flawed understanding of trade.

“We would charge double the fee to people who want to trade using us. We use those Notes to invest until the item is sold. Once it’s sold, we give the initial seller double what they gave us… What they gave us initially plus what the buyer gave us.”

“Wouldn’t we lose money doing that?”

“What? No. Do you mean taxes?”

“Taxes? Isn’t that what the Moonking pays us at the end of the year?”

Hel slammed her head on the piano’s keys, a reverberating “DUMMMM” shook about the room, along with more Notes. She sighed. Every Priestess was required to an education encompassing economics, politics, and law. It ensured the Cathedral’s future. There was a famous saying from Solare about how the Cathedral behaved in Lunare. If God needs a house, God needs a shield, and that shield was women. It was probably fair to expect Yiddlestine children, much less boys, were taught anything about fundamental concepts outside stick, stone, and how to steer a horse.

“Do you still have your guitar?” Hel asked.

Heavens lifted it from under the couch. “Nothing’s in it.”

“Even better.”

 Hel left to her in the bedroom. She plucked her transfer chord, then Heavens’. Notes went from one to the other. About 100,000. It was tough to get an exact measure of musical complexity without a musician’s trained ears and eyes.

Heavens frowned. “If I’m carrying more than 1,000 Notes in a single instrument, don’t I need to register it with a Cardinal so that the Moonking can Mute me?”

“Nobody will care. I do it all the time. Most just carry around multiple instruments to get around that.”

“I’m not spending your money.”

Hel knew he was too stubborn to do so. “You don’t need to. Just show your family your working. That’s what you told them, right? That you found a job in the palace.”

Heavens’ mouth opened as if he’d forgotten he’d lied to his parents to let him come here.

“You can just bring it back to me when your done.” Hel said.

Heavens was still staring at his guitar. “100,000… That’s crazy they pay you this much.”

“That’s not pay, that’s allowance.”

“From The Thaumaturge?”

“Yeah. A month’s worth.”

“Couldn’t we use this to pay Thalane’s bail?”

“Why?”

“You got her in there! You betrayed her!”

“Heavens, I would have loved Thalane to get away with theft but imagine what would happen if her trouble led back to us. If I turned her down, she would have used some other child from the palace. I did everyone a favor!” Hel hiccupped, getting worked up. “Yiddlestine is not like the palace. Here, the Cathedral always wins. So, until I can change the rules, I will not play. Being even a minor Priestess pays well. If we save enough Notes, we can start our own company and buy our own house. The Guild of Pryshta is buying up every rental property they can and leasing them out at double the price. Our country will suffer the greatest housing crisis known to man and I have no interest in being a part of it.”

“You own two houses.” Heavens said.

“Two houses too little. Two homes from being homeless.” Hel retorted, raising her glass to him. “Now stop thinking and drink more wine.”

There was a knock on the door.

Probably delivery from the palace knighthood. Hel ignored it.

Another knock, then the doorknob began wriggling. Hel pounced up, nearly knocking over a bottle. Only one other person had the keys to this mansion. That was Songbird Shanai!

Shit!

Hel would be tossed out of the Cathedral for this! She scrambled for to hide all the bottles and remains of stupidity. Nobody cleaned faster the Heavens. The speed of the boy was unearthly. Cartoonishly plucking up everything with his toes and fingers with a dexterity that only a crane could have. By the time the door opened, Hel and Heavens were reading a book on the couch.

The old Songbird shuffled annoyedly into the living room with her flutecane. Shanai wore many necklaces, amber robes, and a scowl of sucked-in lips only toothless gums could achieve. Her grey hair braided forward over her shoulders and into one stream swung stupidly like a pendulum as she stood expectantly in front of the couch.

“Hel.” The old woman finally said.

“Yes?” Hel asked.

“Your book is upside down.”

Heavens tried to turn it correctly, but Hel stopped him. Doing so would be admission of guilt, and suspicious in and of itself. Shanai sneered at the slightest sign of struggle.

“A cognitive exercise.” Hel answered.

“Here’s a cognitive exercise...” Shanai exclaimed. “Can you tell me what an alcoholic is?”

“Someone who has a reliance on alcohol.” Hel answered.

Shanai raised her brows as if waiting for a confession. The woman had no proof. Hel could say the wine had been cleaned out by a visit from The Thaumaturge.

“Your mother is not in the country right now, so don’t bother.” Shanai said.

“What are you implying?”

“I’m implying you need to prove to me that a prospective Priestess was not just drinking, much less with someone of the opposite gender behind closed doors.”

“Proof?” Hel asked, looking to a set of lanterns set on the kitchen table. “You see those four lanterns? “

“Sure.” Shanai said.

“An alcoholic would see eight.” Hel exclaimed.

Shanai frowned. “Hel, there are only two lanterns.”

Hel hiccupped innocently. She had bamboozled herself. 

“Actually, there is only one lantern.” Heavens said.

Shanai hiccupped.

After everyone agreed no one would speak of the overage or underage drinking, Heavens left to show his parents his Note-filled guitar and Hel followed Shanai to the lower level of the palace. The bad parts. Where the walls and gardens sprawled along the rest of the capital. No swords sheathed. Parrots on every shoulder. One poor merchant trying to shove a complex-looking Note into a bag. You know things were getting bad when people didn’t carry money in proper instruments.

A lost Note hovered by, and a claw swiftly snatched it. A Farr. One with a beautiful and reflective earthy maroon coat. Bigger than any bear and with a face of a lion, the beast snorted, pleased with itself, and then quickly stepped out of the way when seeing the Songbird. It stuffed the stolen Note into a pouch of coins.

You know things got really bad when beasts were trading in silver instead of Sound.

“There are Faar here. Why are we?” Hel asked.

“I’ll show you why.” Shanai peeled aside a curtain of fabric leading into an office guarded by Solare samurai.

Strange. Hel wasn’t sure what this place was, but it had a carrier center. Parrots flew in and out with the sigils of “better” bloodlines. It smelled like wax and pulsed with heat. Hel covered her mouth with her garbs, coughing at the wretched heaviness in the air. At the end of the carrier hall was another building inside the building. A luxurious office. Eerily like the way Priestesshood housing was. Empty posh seating greeted them.

Perhaps the most beautiful woman Hel had ever seen strolled into the room. Black skin. Nose dotted with white. Dark braids held by gold. A gale of silk finger, jewels, and perfume trailed after her. She walked around the desk but decided to sit on the front, leaning forward with a smile and a hand.

“Xina.”

Hel didn’t shake it. “What is this place?”

Xina smiled further. “This is a Sunqueendom relations center, and I am its director. You stand on the grounds of Solare law.”

“Then this place should only concern Nobles and Cardinals?”

“The cathedral as well.”

“Priestesses can’t own parrots.”

Xina smiled, her head tilting into a slight nod. “But they can own slaves.” Her rich brows raised. “And slaves? Slaves can own parrots. A slave of a slave. Everyone speaks through one another here. And nothing is ever disconnected. I evaluate the information passing through papyrus and parrots. Do you know what my other responsibility is?”

“Talking about yourself?”

Xina leaned back, annoyed, or amused, crossing her legs. “I’m your lawyer.”

Hel froze. She turned to Shanai, troubled. Lawyers were only assigned to Priestesses from the Cathedral that were under investigation.

Hel shrunk. “Am I in trouble?”

The first thing her mind spun to was Thalane’s break-in. Hel had said that she was tricked though. It was her words against Thalane’s. It was possible she’d gotten a chance to explain her end of the story, but unlikely. Maybe she’d lied about something. A lie so bad that it was worth investigating it. A lump formed in Hel’s stomach. She shouldn’t have gotten involved with Thalane after all. Maybe she should have just let her use some other kid in the palace.

“Two guards said they saw you share your trumpet with a boy in the gardens.” Xina said. “Is this true?”

Hel looked around, unsure what the right answer was. Was she supposed to say yes, or no?

Then a second thought occurred to Hel, this could be a trick to determine whether or not she’d lie. 

She would have to put the stupid little girl face on. The face she hated putting on the most.

“Uh.” Hel said. “I don’t know.”

“The trumpet for the doves and the lovebirds. You don’t remember who used it to guide them?” Shanai asked.

“Am I the only one allowed to?” Hel asked back.

“Technically breaking the law but that doesn’t matter.” Xina said. “You shared saliva with a boy.”

Hel turned to each woman quickly, confused. “Why does that matter-” Before she could even finish, Xina had picked something up and slammed it on the desk.

A trumpet.

“Let me tell you about what matters.” Xina spat a bit in Hel’s face with that word.

Hel didn’t flinch. You did not flinch when someone in a position of power spoke to you. That looked bad for the cathedral of Moons, Suns, and Cardinals that had placed their faculties into the Priestesshood. The cathedral was the most powerful of all. 

Xina turned to the window, where the back of the building slid from the worst parts of the palace grounds and off a steep cliff overlooking the capital. “Life. Law. Contractual agreements to social expectations. Even definitions of beauty. In your country, the Moons and their company decides all these things so perfectly indirect, by the scrolls and paintings from which the winged carry, the glorification of every hint their speeches hide. Here, in this room, and on the other side of the planet, her highness does. The opinions of a handful design the opinions of councils. And the councils? They design the opinions of billions. Since the dawn of civilization. Before our two kingdoms made peace and war and peace again. Before the reign of the Faarlands, the Divine, and even the Oldies. Saliva. A fluid used to digest. To eat. To pleasure. An element purposed purely to become one with something and regulate the self. A concept of function no nation can define. When you shared saliva as a Priestess with that boy you undermined that structure. Their reality. You broke the boundaries between entire worlds. Your single indirect kiss has replaced a poor mixed child from Yiddlestine three years your youth with the status of a God.”

“What do I do?” Hel blurted.

“You do nothing. I prosecute Heavens.”

“NO! That can’t be the only way!”

“The other way is you losing everything here and returning to Yiddlestine, permanently. Someone must be blamed.”

Saliva. All of this because of saliva. It was so difficult to grasp it all.

Hel swallowed. She thought she’d be told of a rule like this. But this wasn’t anything so clear. Suddenly, she was shocked a guard had found out only until now. She’d been having Heavens practice herding the palace winged for weeks.

“Do we know which guards snitched on me?” Hel asked.

Xina raised her brow. “Finding them won’t help you. I’m beginning to think you have feelings for the boy.”

“Spare the girl a heart.” Shanai said. “It’s entirely possible someone is trying to sabotage her career after all. The guards must have had incentive of some kind. You know what they say. The walls have ears, but they are deaf when paid.”

The Songbird was right. Someone was trying to take Hel out of the Priestesshood. Her first thought was Thalane, but the girl was in chains now. Her chance at vengeance would be something to worry about later, not now.

It could have been another.

The other possibility was Moonprince Jamal.

It had to be. His daughter, Enesca, was Hel’s only competitor for Diva. The foolishness! Hel didn’t even want the title. 

The Diva was a figure of faith that the people turned to during periods of alliance over uncontested Grand Instruments. She was to listen and speak for them. The leader of all Songbirds and Silencers, second only to the leading authorities of the kingdom she resided. A mortal Goddess of artificial sorts. It also meant you couldn’t have sex, drink, or use black market instruments. The last Diva died from stress, the one before ran away, and the one before that had offed herself.

If all that didn’t say anything about the title, Hel didn’t know what did. She wanted nothing to do with being Diva and yet, she was going to be perceived as wanting regardless.

There was no place more vulnerable on a mountain than the top of one. The Thaumaturge said that to her all too often, but only now did it make sense. She’d never seen her own mother’s face, but she was a good mother, apparently.

No.

Hel caught herself trying to blame her mom again. She had to be better than that. She had what others didn’t. What Heavens hadn’t. She had to save him from her mistake.

What would The Thaumaturge do?

Everything at once, that’s what the woman who raised Hel would do. Never any time for anyone else. Just this once, Hel would have to be like her. She realized the key to all this.

The palace prison.

Hel would have to make plans to visit.

There, the girl who had started all this waited. The one who tried to desecrate the Royal Athenaeum. Enesca’s best friend. The valkyrja immigrant. She who really really had a high likeliness of punching Hel’s face in for selling her out to the guard. The girl who was there below the nymphaeum of the palace menagerie. Behind bars and beneath chains. A hateful glare on her face. Hair like snow on cinder.

Thalane Enalath.