[ The Rotting Hound] [ Preview ] Chapter III

III.

I went to the king to announce my intentions.

I found him in his study, polishing one of his prized hunting bows in a chair that arched over him. He glanced up at me, disinterested, and continued his work. After a moment, he grunted, allowing me to say my piece.

King Galen was that year fifty-five. He had succeeded to the throne twenty-nine years ago, after his mother was killed in the war that claimed so much of the Order of Night. Though he had all the conveniences of kingship, wealth uncounted and an endless array of healers on hand, King Galen had the look of a man who had not had one good night of sleep in ten.

“I am to take the Emissary of Saturn to Silverwood,” I said.

The king frowned. I had not gone to him for permission, but as a courtesy, not wanting to embarrass him should he find reason to summon you over those coming weeks.

“Must you?” King Galen asked.

“The arrangements have been made.”

The king tested the tension of the bowstring.

“Is the Emissary of Mars not company enough for your Emissary?”

“The Emissary of Mars has been a constant friend to my Emissary, but they were born into their rebirth. There are matters in which the Emissary of Mars cannot be turned to for guidance,” I said.

King Galen made no quick reply. He had always allowed the Emissaries and their Orders free rein, and not simply because it was the very least owed to you. He performed the piety his role demanded of him and distanced himself from the planets, devoted to the unflinching god as he was.

“That is a shame. My daughter is to return to the palace within a day or two,” the king said, humming. “I had looked forward to introducing her to the Emissary of Saturn.”

The princess had spent those past four years travelling across Valtir and distant lands, studying at the most renowned academies and experiencing the truth of the kingdom she was to inherit. I did not think the king had any real interest in his only child befriending an Emissary, nor was it a convincing argument to stay.

“I hope you will extend the honour when my Emissary returns. I expect the princess will be more settled into palace life by then,” I said.

The king hummed. Bowing, I took my leave.

Before I reached the door, King Galen said, “Take care on the roads, Vaşak.”

I glanced back, raising my brow. I went maskless before the king, as plainly as I would present myself to any but you.

My mask has only ever been for you.

“There’s been trouble on the roads. Atils crossing into our territory. But when aren’t they causing trouble for us?” the king asked. He lifted his bow, pointing it at an invisible enemy. “Their ambassador wrote to me. Eight pages, both sides full of her ramblings. They’ve yet another theory as to why they are plagued by such earthquakes.”

I leant against the doorway. The Atils’ blasphemy would be entertaining, though good for little else.

“A reason other than not respecting the balance of the planets and thus insulting the unflinching god?” I asked.

“Mm. It had something to do with…” King Galen furrowed his brow, waving a hand in the air. “Something about the ground not being whole. It having cracks in it.”

“The River Tethys? That gorge of theirs—Balttar, isn’t it? We have valleys and ravines too, but Valtir does not tremble,” I said.

“No, no. That is all part of the surface, see. The Atils have decided that there are cracks and divisions beneath the earth, and that these shelves of buried stone rub against one another, as naturally as the tide comes in.”

I was appalled by the mere suggestion. The Atils have had countless attempts to make amends to the planets, have had every chance to lend fragments of worship to the balance beyond, but they would not be swayed. Their blasphemy was an innate part of them. They wanted their earthquakes to be a fact of nature, as though our unflinching god had no control over itself.

“The unflinching god is an unbroken circle. Everything on the surface, the mountains, the dales, are mere decoration for its people. They are ours through worship. Was it not enough for the Atils to turn their backs on the planets? Must they slight the unflinching god so?”

Even I, whose very being was turned from the solitary worship of the unflinching god, would never dare blame a single misfortune upon it.

The king shrugged, returning to his bow. I excused myself with a nod and closed the door behind me, puzzled by the thought that I had not given King Galen quite the response he had wished for.

The workings of the king’s mind were not mine to concern myself with. I was no politician, nor did I consider myself his subject. I had no need of anyone, king or commoner, to advise me to take care on the roads; my every thought revolved around your safety and comfort.

I donned my armour, excited to share with you what I had put into motion. Iapetus returned my mask to me and I raised my fist to knock on your chamber doors. As if knowing I would arrive at that very moment, you called for me to enter before my knuckles met wood.

“I’m so glad you’re back, Vaşak,” you said, stretching out from beneath the pile of pelts that decorated your settee. “Winter is so still, isn’t it? It’s like time refuses to pass. I feel like we haven’t had a festival in months and there’s so little for me to do.”

You yawned, though it was not yet midday. That winter was especially bitter and the only true refuge was in sleeping your days away before the fire your maid tended to constantly. Rest is vital for all living beings, and as the fields slumber, exhausted by the harvest before and preparing for the sowing that would come, so too must you devote yourself to short, quiet days, made only for respite.

But the palace was not the only refuge open to you.

“I beg of you, my Lady, come with me. There is somewhere I wish to take you,” I said

You struggled beneath the pelts and furs to sit up, intrigued. The relentless cold beyond your chamber was not enough to douse all interest in the plans I had laid out.

“Where would you take me?” you asked.

“Not far, Lady. Silverwood is only twenty miles from the capital. The journey will be made in a day.”

Pushing the furs aside, you wrapped a fox pelt around your shoulders and rose to your feet. A smile spread across your face, as brilliant as the burning line of an autumnal sunset, gloaming promising to never end.

Had it occurred to you that you could leave the palace?

“Twenty miles!” you said, mind racing not to Valtir’s meadows and scattered villages, but to foreign realms, landscapes beyond comprehension. “I’ve never left the capital—well, the Temple of Saturn is outside of the city itself, I suppose, but that was before I was reborn. What is Silverwood? A town? A village? What is in Silverwood might be the better question.”

“Silverwood is the estate of the Emissary of Mercury,” I explained. “I think it is past time you met her, Lady.”

You rushed forward, so delighted by the prospect that you almost placed your hands upon me. You caught yourself a blessed second before the mistake could be made and pressed your hands palm to palm, fingers knitted together. Your joy did not fade, but it was an incomplete sort, going nowhere.

There are no laws saying you cannot touch me. You had inferred something was forbidden in it by my own refusal to desecrate you with my unworthy touch.

I cursed myself, in that moment.

“The Emissary of Mercury!” you stumbled into saying, regaining your momentum. “I know knights of the Order of Day occasionally visit the palace, bringing news, but I admit the Emissary herself has always been a mystery to me. They speak of her as they do the Emissary of Venus, twelve years dead. I had grown so afraid to ask what had become of her and why she was exiled from the palace so.”

“I hope to one day become a person you may ask anything, Lady,” I said. “And the Emissary of Mercury is not exiled. She would laugh herself to tears at the prospect.”

You narrowed your gaze the slightest amount, as you always did when you wished to see beneath my mask. Was it the Emissary of Mercury’s way of living, utterly incomprehensible to someone who had spent their entire year of rebirth in the palace that fascinated you, or my apparent familiarity with her?

“I’d better pack, hadn’t I?” you said.

You directed your maid around your bedchambers, seeking my approval for every piece of clothing picked out. Never had you made such a journey and you could not imagine what twenty miles in a carriage would bring. Your maid looked at me askance, thinking I could not see her as she could not see me, displeased by how comfortable I was in your bedchamber.

I did only your bidding. You had invited me in time and time again, often wishing to pass hours of repose with me at the foot of the bed, and it was not my place to deny you anything.

“Will it just be the two of us, Vaşak?” you asked, once the chest was packed and your maid had sought a servant’s help moving it to the carriage. “Well, us and whoever is to drive, I suppose.”

“Iapetus will remain to watch over the Order. The Third and Fourth Hounds will join us, along with your maid, two servants, and three grooms; we shall travel in separate carriages,” I said.

“Oh.”

Your excitement wavered. I stepped closer, tilting my head a little to catch your eye.

“Would that it were safe to do so, my Lady, I should wish for nothing more than to travel to any distant corner of Valtir, just us two,” I assured you. “But the Emissary of Mercury is a great lover of company and will wish to entertain at least three knights. And I am afraid, Lady, that I would be of little service in fixing your hair with these gloves on.”

“Atres is a wonderful companion and I will be glad to spend more time with my Fourth Hound,” you hurried to say. “Only—well. It’s nothing, Vaşak, nothing at all. I simply don’t know how these things work. When do we leave?”

“At dawn. You ought to spend today resting,” I said.

We left the palace as the sun struggled to rise. Through winter’s chill, you clung to the open window, eager eyes taking in every rock and turn of the landscape. You saw the kingdom at large, the fields you presided over, not only for the first time since your rebirth, but for the first time in any life.

I instructed the Third and Fourth Hounds to keep watch of the road, that I might watch you.

In spite of the season, we made good time and encountered no delays on our journey. The roads were clear, troublesome patches of ice glinting in the sunlight and easily avoided, as though the unflinching god approved of our journey and aided us.

The Emissary of Mercury lived in a sprawling estate rich in birch trees, with lush forest to the east. There was no better hunting ground in all the kingdom. The house at the centre was large and ornate, easily mistaken for a palace at a distance, and the lake behind it was large enough to sail on.

Our intrusion did not go unnoticed. Our carriage had barely passed the boundary line of Silverwood when a knight came charging towards us on horseback. I had not sent word ahead of our coming, had not begged for an invitation; never had there been such formalities between the Emissary of Mercury and myself.

“State your name and business,” the knight called.

I opened the carriage door and raised a hand.

“Greetings, Fourth Hawk,” I replied.

“Vaşak!” the Fourth Hawk cried. “We didn’t think to look for you, not this late in year. But if you’re here, then—”

The Fourth Hawk could not finish his sentence for excitement. He turned his horse around, tugged on the reins, and charged straight for the manor house.

I sat back in the carriage, door closed behind me. Slowly, we continued along the long, uneven path through Silverwood.

“That knight recognised you, even with your mask,” you said, puzzled. “But I have only ever seen the Eighth and Twelfth Hawks at the palace. Do you know him well?”

“I have known him since he was the Twelfth Hawk. And who else would be behind this mask, Lady? News of your rebirth has spread far and wide, but has been met nowhere with more joy and reverence than Silverwood.”

You returned to looking out the window, pleased by the thought.

We had arrived at the exact right time. Gloaming covered the land, forest turning to mere shadows as we wound our way the estate. A half-dozen knights rode out to meet us, and the representatives of the Order of Day escorted you with real pride through the iron gates and down the long driveway to the manor house.

The building, seemingly older than the palace itself, was by measures wild and well-maintained. Ivy climbed the columns holding the cornice above the main entrance, but the steps were clear of moss. Rhododendrons burst forth along the edges of the paths and the hedging shrubs were alive with birdsong, but never did a stray branch reach out to brush against our carriage.

One of the knights opened the carriage door for you, bowing as they spoke.

“It is an unlooked for honour to have you here, Emissary of Saturn. We could not be better pleased,” the knight said. “The Emissary of Mercury is eager to welcome you.”

They were a young knight, having joined their Order that summer. The higher-ranking knights afforded them a privilege they would never forget.

You turned to me, grinning. What laid within the house scarcely mattered to you; the journey, the open country, and dense gardens had lifted your mood beyond the firmament of the high palace ceilings. It was true these were not your knights, but they adored you nonetheless. They understood you.

“Thank you, Sir,” you said. “I didn’t expect such a wonderful welcome, uninvited as I am. The Emissary of Mercury has a fine Order indeed.”

The gathered Hawks took the praise to heart. Each bowed to you, sharing their rank and names, and the household servants tended to more menial matters. Rooms were assigned to us, our luggage carried to them, and our horses taken to the stables as our servants were shown downstairs.

You stared at a fixed point on the manor walls, as if knowing exactly where the Emissary of Mercury awaited you.

“Here, my Lady,” I said, gesturing to the great doors held open by Hawks. “We will not keep you waiting any longer.”

The Emissary of Mercury presided over the domains of healing and justice, and like you, she viewed her mortal form as a solemn, precious duty. Much of the kingdom’s progress in the healing arts was down to those working under her commission, her protection, and the king often wrote to her to consult on the most grievous of offences dealt within Valtir’s borders.

The manor, adorned with antiques, reflected much of this. Wherever you looked, you saw silver scales: scales placed on sideboards, on pedestals, scales depicted in thick, fluid oils; scales that were mere trinkets, some so delicately crafted they were not an inch tall; scales so large they reached your ribs and would take two knights to lift from the floor.

None of the scales were evenly balanced.

Jars rested on the scales and every flat surface. Each held a small treasure: dried leaves, petals, crushed bark, damp moss. A healer could make an antidote to almost any poison with the fortune on offer. Other jars contained specimens held in thick, yellowish liquid, lizards and birds and small rodents, and more often than not, human bones.

You were free to take in the Emissary’s house with open wonder. The same was not afforded to you in the palace, where you could not be seen to mirror a servant gawking at splendour, a commoner envying what they had never dared imagine to exist.

The Order of Day ushered us into a large hall, an open space where the Emissary granted audiences to petitioners and guests alike. Many great healers had stood in that hall and asked the Emissary to bless their experiments, to fund their work, and she had always been a generous woman.

Many of those implicated in theft or murder, accused of burning fields or aiding the Atils, had knelt before the Emissary, awaiting their fate. Often, they were sentenced to learn the healing arts, that they might be of some use to themselves and the world around them.

The Emissary of Mercury lounged in a great chair upon the dais, though it was no throne. It was a rugged, wooden piece, free of ornamentation, with furs wrapped around the arms for comfort. She propped her chin on her fist and could not stop smiling.

“Emissary of Saturn!” the Emissary of Mercury called, voice booming. “I feared we would not meet again in this life. Well? Step forward, won’t you! Let me get a look at you.”

The Emissary of Mercury was a large woman, fat and muscular, with a striking face. Her nose was slanted, broken a decade ago during a particularly thrilling hunt, and her skin was mottled with patches of white. She had served as Emissary for more than thirty-five years, reborn in her twenties as you were, and was beyond doubt, beyond fear; she knew her role to be as true as day, as clear as the sun forever forced to rise.

You stepped forward, breaking from my side for the first time since leaving the palace. I let you go alone, trusting well the Emissary.

“I am honoured to meet you, Emissary of Mercury,” you said, doing your utmost to greet her as a true equal and not bow. “The Order of Day have already made us welcome, have shown such care and consideration that it is hard to believe that this is a rather sudden visit. Thank you for indulging us so.”

The Emissary of Mercury waved a hand.

“My home is open to all, Emissary. The villagers and townsfolk around these parts are welcome to wander my forests, trapping and hunting whatever they can, collecting all the fruits and berries they desire. I am doing you no favour, here; the honour is all mine. I’ve been eager to see you all this last – what is it? a little over a year? – but the palace has never agreed with me.”

The Emissary dropped her hand. You followed the motion, noticing for the first time the figure sat beside her.

The First Hawk of Day rested on the top step of the dais, posture easy, relaxed, and leant against the Emissary of Mercury’s seat. They did not wear armour as I did, though their breeches and shirt were paired with gloves. They wore no helmet and their red, wavy hair spilt over the edge of their plain ceramic mask.

“I…” You began, distracted. “I would never leave Silverwood, if I had such a home. I do not feel such a fraud walking these halls as I do in the palace.”

Already you could speak freely before your fellow Emissary.

“All those nobles leering at you doesn’t help, eh?” the Emissary of Mercury said, idly patting the First Hawk’s head. “And that Galen is the worst of all. His mother was a pious woman and it’s a shame her rule ended when it did. But let’s not waste our breath on him. Now—”

The Emissary of Mercury got to her feet and descended the dais. The First Hawk hopped up, filling her now empty seat.

She placed her hands on your shoulders, grinned, and pulled you into an embrace. Your surprise melted in all of an instant as you clung to the Emissary, laughing into her shoulder as though reuniting with an old, dear friend.

I knew I had been right to bring you there. I knew the Emissary of Mercury would give you what I could not.

“And more to the point,” the Emissary said, patting your face as she eased back. “You have brought my dear friend Sir Vaşak with you. Does she treat you well, Emissary? Is she everything you hoped for in a knight?”

You startled, surprised the Emissary of Mercury would speak so plainly of me. You understood the Order of Day knew me by name but had not considered it would extend so to the Emissary.

“Sir Vaşak has been most obliging. She has helped me settle into this role in earnest,” you remembered to say. “I feared it would be intrusive to always have someone at my side, but she is like—well. Like a shadow, I suppose, only more comforting.”

“Ah! I always knew she had it in her,” the Emissary said. “Let’s drop the formalities, Vaşak. Don’t be a stranger.”

I stepped closer, relaxing my posture. The Emissary of Mercury took my hands, pressed them warmly, but could not embrace me as she had you. It was not a matter of propriety; my armour made it a ridiculous proposition. Instead, she clapped a hand on my shoulder and patted my face through the mask.

“I am glad to see you, Emissary,” I said, clasping her shoulder in turn. “And all the happier to see you are doing as well as ever.”

“Enough sweet-talk, Vaşak. You’ve left me here all alone for more than a year, as though hunting partners of your calibre grow on trees. Tell me. What brings you to Silverwood now? As much as I’d like to believe it’s a mere social visit, I get the feeling there’s something more to this.”

I held out my arms, armour clanking. The First Hawk watched me from behind their mask.

“It is, in a sense. I have no grand schemes to entertain you with, Emissary. There are things only an Emissary can teach my Lady, and the Emissary of Mars did not have a past life to speak of,” I said.

The Emissary of Mercury raised her bow at my Lady, as though she had not run her fingers through the First Hawk’s hair.

“Ah. Growing pains, is it?” the Emissary asked, smiling softly at you. “Don’t trouble yourself, Emissary. We’ll get you all straightened out in no time, then those good-for-nothing nobles won’t be able to conjure a remark snide enough to make you flinch. But you must be exhausted from your journey, Emissary. Please, head to your rooms and rest yourself while I have dinner prepared.”

I kept my gaze on the First Hawk as you mumbled your thanks, grateful for the chance to escape and process all that had just happened. The First Hawk tilted their head but made no other movement.

Two other knights led us to the guest chambers above. They were large, airy rooms, hearth already lit for your comfort. Heavy velvet curtains framed the tall windows, ready to be drawn against the bitter night.

You paced impatient circles as your maid unpacked your belongings and ensured the bed was made to the exacting standards you had never imposed. I thought you overwhelmed in the best of ways, anxious to share all you had seen and learnt in so short a time, but you snapped at your maid halfway through her duties and demanded she leave the room.

“You know the Emissary?” you blurted out.

It was a bizarre accusation to make, considering I had brought you to her estate.

“Yes,” I said.

This did nothing to offset your frantic pacing.

“I know the Emissary of Mars and I knew the Emissary of Venus,” I said into the silence. “Why should I not know the Emissary of Mercury? The purpose of a knight is to keep the planets in balance. We cannot do so if we live in ignorance of Orders and Emissaries other than our own.”

You shot me a cold, withering stare. You did not need me to patronise you; you had joined in the festivals of Night and Dawn and knew the desires of the planets better than a mere knight ever could.

“That isn’t what I meant, Vaşak. How long have you known her?” you demanded.

“Many, many years. I have known her since the first winter following my knighthood, twenty-one years ago.”

I could not account for the thunder that covered your face. I had not lied to you, would never lie to you, and could only silently beg forgiveness for the truth displeasing you so.

The heavy curtains rattled on their rod as you tugged them closed, driving out what faint glimmers of day remained.

“And did you visit Silverwood regularly? The Emissary seemed upset at not having seen you in so very long.”

“I did. Several times a year. Before you were reborn, Lady, the Order’s purpose was not so very focused. We held all the ceremonies and oversaw the festivities, of course, and aided the other Orders where we could, but we often grew restless during peacetime. The Emissary of Mercury has always been a great friend to us. She often invited us to her estate, where we might hunt in the forests and train with her knights.”

You kept your back to me. You hunched your shoulders, balled your hands into fists.

“And have you ever been her knight?” you asked.

Nothing you had ever said or done had wounded me so.

My first reaction was pure, confused offence. I was grateful you could not see my face burn beneath my mask, my lip curled into a snarl. You were the Emissary of Saturn and I was your knight, your First Hound. How could you not understand the implication behind your words? How could you entertain the thought that I could belong to an Order other than Dusk, that I could belong to anyone but you? I had no purpose beyond serving you. Had I not yet proven myself?

The feeling did not last.

It could not, as absurd as your statement had been.

It was soon replaced by a glee I had not thought to look for.

I took a step towards you.

“Why ask me something you know to be impossible, my Lady? I have only ever served the Order of Dusk, have only ever been Sir Vaşak of the Gloaming. I am your knight and yours alone, but I need not tell you this. You know it to be true. I will happily say it time and time again, should you want to hear it, but I do not think that is what this is about,” I said.

You turned from the curtains blocking any view you could hope to distract yourself with and started to find me so close. You bit your thumb, brows screwed together, feeling the ripples of your own absurdity.

“It’s only that…” you murmured, looking askance. “Well, the pair of you spoke so easily to one another.”

I tilted my head. You stood close, staring up at my mask. Even if you had seen through the fine threads of steel dividing us, there would only be a mess of shadow beneath.

“What is it you truly wish to ask, my Lady?”

You looked away, embarrassed. Your brow twitched. After some internal debate with yourself, some recent memory rekindled, fury returned to your features.

“Did you sleep with the Emissary of Mercury, Vaşak?” you spat.

There was the truth of it. There was what repulsed you so. You wanted to possess me in all ways, wanted to own me long before I was yours; and who was I to tell the Emissary of Saturn that she could not reach back through time, that the past was not hers to reign over?

“Are you jealous?”

Why did I take such delight in the question? What did I hope you would do to me? What punishment did I seek?

“Yes!” you said, throwing your hands out to the side. “I saw the way she looked at you, Vaşak, I saw how she touched you. She touched you as though you were hers, just like she touched the First Hawk. Why do you not answer me, Vaşak? Is her authority greater than mine simply because this is her house?”

I knelt before you. Not as I had knelt at the altar of your rebirth, but prostrate, mask the only thing stopping my face from pressing to the floor.

“I have never slept with the Emissary of Mercury,” I said, not deigning to move. You let out a gasp, something like a sob of relief, but still I remained pressed to the floor. “And I shall repent of anything in my past that displeases you. I am bound to you in every sense, my Lady. I know you spoke from a place of frustration, of jealousy, but I wish to assure you that I could never be another’s knight; my very life is entwined with yours. When an Emissary dies, so too does their First. Not a moment before or after. Please believe I speak nothing but the literal truth when I say I cannot live without you.”

I felt your hand hover over me, hesitant. Did your fingers curl towards your palm, not daring to breach that insignificant, meaningless distance that had always stood between us?

“Vaşak,” you whispered. I stood, knowing it was what you wished of me. “You’ll die when I do?”

The simplicity of horror did away with all your anger, with all the confusion the indulgence of embarrassment brought.

I did not ask how you did not know. They would have taught you as much in the year following the omen, but that was in your old life. All you now remembered from the Temple of Saturn was what you had already put into practise, taught to you by your own reborn self.

“Yes, my Lady,” I said, back perfectly straight. “That is why it is of the utmost importance that I do everything in my power to protect you.”

You heard the smile curling my words. You exhaled, breath fogging up my armour, and let your palm hover over my chest plate. I would not touch you, would not degrade you so, but I would never stop you from taking what you wished.

“I’m sorry, Vaşak. I truly am. I don’t know why I said such a thing. It doesn’t make the slightest amount of sense, does it? It’s the journey, it must be. I’m exhausted and I’ve already seen so much here, so much I never imagined in the palace, and—well, the Emissary is very beautiful isn’t she?” you murmured.

“My Lady,” I said. “There are none so beautiful as you.”

The praise emboldened you. You pressed your hand to my cuirass, close to my heart.

I felt the heat of your touch through layers of metal and cotton.

A deep, guttural groan left my throat. My mask could not hold it back. But you were patient, you were forgiving; if you mistook it for an admission of pain, it was not enough to make you recoil and snatch your hand back.

My flesh burnt, though only the metal of my armour was graced by your touch.

♄

The pain was not unbearable.

I cannot claim it was, for I bore it with silent composure. The Emissary of Mercury laid out a feast for you, our servants and grooms invited to sit at the far end of the table, the Third and Fourth Hounds either side of you. I stood to attention; a feast was no place for a masked knight.

I remember nothing of that meal. I cannot say what was laid upon the table or what discussions were indulged in. My mind knew only one truth, clung to only one sensation: the pain you had caused. You would turn unprompted from your meal, brow furrowed, not certain of the question you wished to ask me.

When at last the evening drew to a close and I had seen you safely to your bedchambers, I locked myself in my room and pulled off my mask. I plastered my gloved hands to my mouth, muffling the sobs held back all those hours.

I undressed slowly. The pain in my chest doubled if I moved my arms too freely and my cotton undershirt was plastered to the wound. The burn was deep, pressed between my breasts, holding the perfect shape of your hand.

I could not let if fester. I would treasure it, tending to it with patient care, but I could not allow infection to spread.

Using the few supplies I had, I pressed bandages to the wound and slipped on a tunic. Where better to be branded thus than in the house of the Emissary of Mercury? I peered into the corridor, suspicious of every shadow, and did not make it far.

“Can you not sleep, Vaşak?”

I turned on the spot, startled though I recognised the voice.

The First Hawk sat upon a cabinet, silver scale at their side.

“Eidro,” I said. Hazy though my mind was, I knew their judgement would be my salvation. “I cannot. There is… I have a wound. I require medicine. Salves.”

Eidro tapped their chin. Like me, they wore no mask in the darkness. They were in their sixties, skin lined and very pale, their eyes grey and flat.

“What sort of wound?” Eidro asked.

“It is not dissimilar to a burn. It is like an open sore,” I said.

“Will you show me?”

“No.”

The word was sharp, hissed through my teeth. It rattled me out of the inertia of pain. I would not share what you had given me with anyone, even another knight, a fellow First.

My reaction told Eidro more than I cared for them to know. They took my hand, leading me quietly through the manor, and searched through their personal supplies by candlelight. Knight though they were, Eidro was also a talented healer. They’d spent decades in Silverwood with their Emissary, studying the healing arts and acting as a teacher to many.

They gave me all I asked for, all I might need. They escorted me back to my room, patting me square between the shoulder blades, and left me to my pain.

I followed their instructions. I washed the wound with vinegar; I was a fool to think I had known pain before then. I applied a salve, a thick, numbing concoction, and layered dried leaves atop it. Eidro had explained how those leaves had been specially cultivated, how the graves their roots intruded on imbued them with healing qualities, but I did not have to understand their nature for them to work.

I trusted Eidro. I padded the wound with a dozen layers of thin cloth, then wound bandages tight around my chest.

I laid in bed, unblinking eyes fixed on the moons beyond the window. Though it was the dead of winter, I burnt, finding no relief in sleep.

The next morning, the Emissary of Mercury took us hunting.

It is not easy to hunt in a helm and mask, but few things are. When I visited the Emissary in the past, I was not the First Hound and you were not yet reborn. My surroundings were open to me, my face bare.

I feared I would embarrass myself, now I lived with blinders on, but over that last year, I had become more comfortable behind my mask than outside of it.

You had never hunted before, but came with us, sat astride a beautiful, temperate horse the Emissary had chosen specifically for you. The First Hawk stayed close behind you, their own horse moving at a lazy canter a quarter-mile behind the main party.

I was torn between remaining at your side to protect you in those well-protected lands and riding ahead, that you might see what I was capable of. There has been little reason for me to draw a weapon since your rebirth.

The pain of your touch, raw against my sternum, spurred me on. We followed a stag through the dense woodland for the better part of the morning. I claimed the first blow, my spear perfectly aimed to catch the creature beneath its shoulder joint. That first strike was a gift from the Emissary of Mercury, knowing you watched me.

I laid the stag on its bed of frozen grass, hand around the wound I had gifted it. I carefully wrenched the spear free, basking in the stag’s final gasp. The Emissary of Mercury had the stag carried back to the manor house, where it was to be prepared for the feast ahead of us.

All the knights but Eidro and myself returned to the house. Together, the four of us took the horses through the Emissary of Mercury’s land, passing out of the forest and into open meadows.

“Have you had any trouble with the Atils yet?” the Emissary of Mercury said.

“No. No, I’ve never met one,” you said.

There had been Atils at the palace in the years before your rebirth, but that was no memory of yours to search for. For all you had been schooled in the intricacies of our kingdom, all of it centred on the tapestry of nobility weaved through the palace, you knew only rumours of our neighbours to the east.

“Let’s hope it stays that way. Back when I was reborn, the war was at its worst. It’s one of the many reasons I never took up residence at the palace,” the Emissary explained. “I was young then, very young, but I don’t think my fear that Valtir might’ve fallen was entirely unfounded. Those were difficult times, Emissary! Being what I am, I would’ve been one of the Atils’ first targets, had they managed to invade. They would’ve made an example of me, the Emissary of Venus, too. Mars’ old Emissary was around back then. Those were dark days.”

Your hands tightened around the reins. Until then, you had perceived of politics as something entirely contained to ballrooms and courtyards, petty squabbles over imagined slights and ostracization based on wealth. War was something that belonged in stories of the past; a war decades behind us surely implied that the present would prosper with peace.

But like you, war is reborn. It is its own cycle that will never break, so long as the Atils revile the planets and envy the River Tethys.

“Our borders are secure now, are they not?” you asked.

“As secure as something imaginary can ever be. The unflinching god is not ours to divide like cuts of meat,” the Emissary said. “The Atils want more of the river to call their own. King Galen wants the Balttar Gorge for himself. The Atils want us Emissaries struck down for heresy and the king wants to avoid war at any cost. That isn’t to say that he won’t fight. That he isn’t fighting. And then there’s Palat to the south. They’re only raiding our outlying farms and villages right now, but that’s how it starts.”

You took in the Emissary’s words with a soft horror, your worldview expanding to banish any sense of safety the palace offered you. Already the Emissary of Mercury had taught you more of the world than your year at court had. To look at you was to know how young you truly were, how little of this world you had experienced; I prayed you did not feel foolish for not knowing what you could not possibly know.

“You are certainly well-informed, Emissary,” you said, in time.

“I’m not hiding away in my estate, pretending it’s my own kingdom, despite what Galen thinks. I keep my ear to the ground. We Emissaries have to look out for ourselves and our own. I don’t want to scare you, Emissary, but keep what I’ve said in mind. Watch out for the Atils.”

Your horse cantered on, dutifully taking the winding path to the highest point of the estate.

“And how do I watch out for these people?”

The Emissary of Mercury steered her horse closer to you, patting your shoulder.

“They send their diplomats, every now and again. They claim they’re there to discuss peace, but really, they’re trying to put an end to our temples and Orders. They blame us for the way the unflinching god makes their land tremble! Don’t meet with them, Emissary. Don’t speak with them. Keep your pretty head out of all that trouble.”

You took her words to heart, as uncomfortable as they were. You had come to Silverwood for answers about your rebirth, about who and what you were, and had thought your identity the greatest obstacle you would face. It had not occurred to you that you needed to master more than your own, unsettled being.

As we reached the top of the hill, looking down on the snow-capped forest we had hunted within, you found the courage to ask the questions that had brought you to Silverwood.

“Thank you for your advice, Emissary. You are far more forthcoming than any of the nobles at court. But what I came to ask, Emissary, is what you remember of your old life. How much do you recall of the years before you were reborn? I have no way of knowing whether what I am experiencing is unusual or not,” you said.

The Emissary of Mercury enjoyed bestowing knowledge on any that would listen, but much preferred speaking to a purpose.

“Nothing,” she said.

You had come all this way for answers, and that was all she offered you: nothing.

“Nothing?” you repeated.

“Not a thing. And it isn’t because it’s been thirty-five years, Emissary. These thirty-five years are all the life I’ve ever lived in this body. This body is a vessel, and it was kept warm for me until I arrived. I appreciate its past inhabitant for keeping it in good condition, but it’s mine. This life belongs to me alone.”

The Emissary grinned, making a challenge and a blessing of it. Never before had the truth been spoken so clearly: your rebirth was literal and your soul had reached you from beyond the pull of the unflinching god.

You paled. My heart lurched against the wound seared into my chest.

“Then I—I took this life from her. I stole it from the woman who used to inhabit this body?” you asked, not yet able to cleanly divide the servant you spoke of from yourself.

“Come now! Don’t be so hard on yourself, Emissary. There was a fire at the palace, wasn’t there? Out in one of the storehouses, I’m told. That girl would’ve perished along with the others, if not for you. She did perish. She is all ash and charred bones, long departed, and you kept that body safe. You carried it out of the fires and ensured it was in pristine condition. You didn’t take anything; you preserved what would have been lost and found a new use for it.”

Had it ever occurred to you that you were an Emissary because you had been sent to us? To the palace, to Valtir, to the unflinching god? It had not. You could never have entertained such a thought with how eager those in the palace were to dismiss you by adhering to ritual and treating the omen as one more chore to attend to.

“But I was reborn,” you murmured. “From that life into this one.”

And there was the crux of the matter. There was what you had not been allowed to understand.

“Emissary,” the Emissary of Mercury said, voice gentle. “You are not a servant girl reborn. You are yourself reborn; you are Saturn, stood amongst us. You have been here a hundred times before, reborn time and time again.”

Tears welled in your eyes as the Emissary spoke.

I gently tugged the reins of my horse, giving the pair of you space to speak in private. I can and will give you anything, but I was born of the unflinching god and would not presume to take the place of an Emissary.

“Isn’t it nice, Vaşak?” Eidro asked, swaying unsteadily atop their horse.

“It is,” I said, not certain what I agreed to.

Again, Eidro dressed plainly. Where I wore armour, they dressed in breeches, a tunic, and a light cloak, carrying no weapon at their hip. They wore the same simple mask they had the day before, affixed to their head by a thick leather strap.

“I’m so glad you finally have your Emissary,” they said in a soft, melodic voice, veering close to pat my shoulder. “How does it feel, Vaşak? Are you happy? Are you whole?”

I wondered if Eidro remembered meeting me in the corridor the night before. Eidro moved through the world as if in a dream, their every movement slow and leisurely, like a cat perpetually stretching as it wakes in a sunbeam. Those flat grey eyes of theirs had been blue, decades ago. Had I not witnessed Eidro pounce on an intruder, landing with their feet on their chest as they drove a fire poker into their throat, I would have thought them a farce of a knight.

Or I would have, before I had you. Before I understood what had made them as they are, changing and defining them.

“I am happy, Eidro. Even when it hurts,” I said. “Especially when it hurts.”

“It won’t hurt, soon. It won’t hurt at all!” they promised.

Eidro’s pollution was the reverse of so many knights’. They were born sick, a fragile scrap of flesh following a succession of stillbirths, and rarely had the strength to leave their bed long into their teen years. It was not until their pollution came upon them that they knew the agony of healing, that sweet, sharp stab of pain peeling from their bones.

The Order of Day, hearing of a miracle in a small village, followed the rumours of a child dragged towards death time and time again. They found the child basking in the sunlight, face aglow. Eidro had told me many times how they understood healing to be the domain of Mercury long before the Order found them; when the knights arrived in their village, Eidro already had a small bag packed.

“You have been acquainted with my Emissary for many, many years. You have been a good friend to her, Vaşak, and to me. My Emissary is very kind, isn’t she? She lives well and lives strong. We will not die for a long, long time,” Eidro said. “I hope your Emissary treats you just as well, Vaşak. I hope you both live for countless decades. I always knew you were just like me. I always knew you were waiting, waiting.”

A smile spread beneath Eidro’s mask. Some people find them distant, caught in a perpetual daze and disengaged from the world around them, but it is only because none can comprehend the bliss that thirty-five years of duty brings. They were sharp, quick on their feet. They never missed the slightest disturbance in their surroundings, seeing the unflinching god as if from above, from Mercury itself. They moved through life like a stone through water.

“I am honoured, First Hawk,” I said, truly meaning it.

There are few in this world capable of understanding the core of my being, few who would not jeer and call me a dog. Eidro, Phobos, and I were born for the same purpose, born of the same purpose. I have made myself deaf to the insults that pass behind my back, knowing my rewards will outshine any glimmer of joy in the minutia of their lives; even my misery will be treasured. I care only for the bonds that bring me closer to you.

Did you know what Eidro and I spoke of? Did you hear us?

Do you hear me?

We returned to the manor house, both you and the Emissary of Mercury eager to get before a roaring fireplace. She had imparted much wisdom upon you and you were giddy with the thought of all she could yet share. The servants had been busy, stag already skinned and roasted, air suffused with the victory of the hunt.

Eidro helped the Emissary remove her muddied boots. As you unbuttoned your heavy winter coat, a tall, lithe woman rushed in from an adjoining room.

“Mercury!” she called, throwing herself at the Emissary. “There you are! I didn’t know we were to have guests, darling.”

The Emissary of Mercury caught the woman in her arms and pulled her close, welcoming her home as though there was no one there to witness the display.

“I didn’t think you’d be home for another two nights,” the Emissary of Mercury said, kissing the woman.

“Oh, I made my excuses and left early. Those little retreats are always such a bore.”

Grinning, the Emissary of Mercury said, “Look who has come to visit us, love.”

The woman turned, catching sight of you. I knew Viola well, the woman having been wed to the Emissary for twenty-six years, and she saw you clearly for what you were. She greeted you with neither awe nor dismissal; she looked upon you as a beloved extension of her wife’s being, her purpose.

“My goodness, you must be the Emissary of Saturn. I’ve been pestering Mercury to invite you here for months, but she said you’d appear when the time was right. It’s such a pleasure!”

Viola took your hand, clasping it warmly.

After the day’s revelations, this was the one that struck you deepest. Viola threw into question all you thought you understood of yourself, of the role you were forever reborn into.

“Hello,” you said after a long beat. It was like your first day in court; overwhelmed though you were, it was a soft, blossoming feeling, promising to bring joy once you mastered yourself. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

Viola introduced herself, welcoming you into her home, and turned to me once she had given you the attention you deserved.

“And this must be dear Vaşak. I was starting to fear we wouldn’t see you again, busy as you now must be. That mask looks wonderful on you,” Viola said.

She held out her arms to me. The handprint on my chest flared to life. Remembering well our conversation that night before, I did not take her hands. I bowed deeply, keeping a slight distance, and it pleased her well enough.

Again, I spent that evening’s meal stood behind you. You feasted on meat that sloughed off the bone, devouring the very creature I had felled for you, smiling with every mouthful. It made my own hunger and the thought of the cold food that would await me in my room long hours later not only tolerable but truly gratifying.

The Emissary’s wife was an even more indulgent host than she was. The pair of you soon became fast friends, and I believe you learnt just as much about yourself from the woman who loved the Emissary of Mercury as you did from the Emissary herself.

Viola was good enough not to beg that I join the festivities as I once would have, perhaps even sat at her side. She truly understood what I was to you. Eidro stood with their arm about my waist, humming as they leant into me.

I took the chance to study the top of their head. There were no burn marks beneath their hair, no scars that spoke of an Emissary’s touch. I had seen the Emissary of Mercury handle her knight time and time again, offering them easy embraces, and had known them to spar together.

“When the Emissary touches you,” I said in a low voice, “How does it feel, Eidro?”

“It is like a gift,” they replied. “It weaves me back together.”

I told myself it was a difference in pollution. Eidro’s pollution had been a healing balm, and so the Emissary’s touch kept all wounds and sores at bay. I had been marked by Saturn, seven rings lining each arm, and so I was marked by you.

It was gone midnight when all returned to their chambers. My promised dinner sat on a tray outside my room, but you were eager to speak with me alone. You had imbibed much wine with dinner, but I did not think that the reason for your giddiness.

“Vaşak!” you said, once the door closed behind us. “It’s incredible! Oh, thank you for bringing me here, for even thinking to do so. This is exactly what I’ve needed. Oh, the Emissary of Mars can’t be blamed for not having the answers for me—they can only be envied for having chosen such a young form to be reborn into. But the Emissary of Mercury, she’s… I recognise her. Everything she says is like an echo of something I once thought. And I don’t recognise her in the way I ought to have recognised the girl’s fathers, but as—as a part of myself, I suppose.”

It was a blessing to see you reach beyond the confines of your mortal body, seeing clear through the ignorance of those you spent your days surrounded by.

“I am glad you have found your time here so useful, my Lady.”

Almost shyly, as though you could ever defer to me, you cleared your throat and said, “To think, an Emissary can have a wife.”

I stepped a little closer. The handprint against my chest did not hold me back.

“Would you like a wife, Lady?” I asked.

You laughed, sound abrupt and unsummoned, and shoved playfully at my spaulders. Pain radiated through metal and cloth. You laughed again, commanding the sound.

“Do not tease me, Vaşak. It is clear how little I understand thanks to all these self-imposed limitations I placed upon myself,” you said.

I did not roll my shoulders beneath my armour.

“You are free to do anything you wish, my Lady.”

“Yes! The Emissary said the same. I no longer have to concern myself with that old life, her life; it is the future that matters, the future I know is mine,” you said. My heart pounded with the adrenaline of pain and pride. You were becoming who I had always known you to be, guided gently by your First Hound. “And the Emissary’s wife is a lovely woman. She truly understands her.”

Your smile did not fade, even as another thought crept into your mind. A reminder of our conversation from the evening before, perhaps. All at once, you summoned your maid to help you make ready for bed. I watched her brush your hair through, tangled as it was by hours spent riding, and carefully work it into braids. Your eyes fixed on my reflection in the mirror, expression unchanging.

When your maid left, I did not excuse myself as I usually would.

You made to pace the room, but abruptly realised how much the motion gave away. Getting into bed did not help you relax, either. You sat upright against the pillows, arms folded over your chest.

“My La—” I started, mistaking myself for someone worthy of comforting you.

“I understand I made baseless accusations, yesterday,” you began. It was not a prelude to an apology. “And I am glad I did, because it cleared up a number of things for me. I was reassured for a time, but I realise I did not quite comprehend the scope of what troubled me. You are… older than me, are you not?”

I did not yet move closer.

“Yes, my Lady. I will turn forty, this coming harvest.”

You bit your thumb, brow furrowed. I knew what you wished to ask of me but I could not help you, not in this. You needed to form the question in your own time and way.

“And I expect in that time you have… known women. Intimately.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

I did not hesitate to answer. I did not wish to leave you in suspense. Anything you wish to know of me is yours by right, only to be asked for, no matter how personal or painful.

Part of me was eager to trace your reaction. The colour surged in your face. Were you flushed by embarrassment at demanding such details? Was it anger that I had not waited for you and you alone in all ways?

“How many?”

The question was its own accusation.

I tilted my head. I had not kept count.

“Several dozen,” I guessed.

The number shocked you. It only amounted to a woman or two each year over the past decades, and it was not difficult for a knight or countess’ daughter to garner meaningless attention for an evening.

“Several dozen,” you repeated, scorn in your voice. “How could you even—how dare—”

You were not wrong to distain me. Though you had been reborn so recently, Saturn has always hung in the sky above me. You were right to have expected better of me.

I took slow steps across the room and seated myself on the edge of your bed.

“And when did this happen most recently?” you demanded.

“The summer before last,” I said.

“Then you’ve restrained yourself, have you? Or have I kept you too busy for such things?”

You could not see the smile I wore beneath my mask. Saturn truly had set me aside as your knight.

“That is not it, my Lady, though I am grateful you find such constant need for my company,” I said. “I’ve no need of such things, now you are reborn. I see myself clearly in my service to you. I no longer feel compelled to seek out that which has never truly satisfied me.”

Curiosity did away with anger. You studied me, seeing more in my unchanging armour than any ever had in my face, but could not puzzle out my meaning.

“What do you mean, never truly satisfied? Do you not enjoy the act?”

I tapped a finger against the bedsheets.

“It is not that. It is not so simple as that. Had I felt no desire for pleasure, my frustrations would not have lasted so very many years,” I said. “My tastes are… peculiar, I suppose. I have never met a woman I felt I could confide in, that I could risk sullying my reputation before. You understand how rumour travels through the palace. I have always played the role expected of me, feigning satisfaction and asking nothing in return.”

You stared at me. You did not struggle to understand what I meant, though you were not long reborn.

You had no need to ask what my true desires were.

Whether intentional or not, you had left your brand upon me.

“Well, that’s…” You frowned. My honesty had softened your mood, but I understood your need to be absolutely certain of my devotion. “I do not like the idea of you with another woman. I do not like the idea of you touching another woman, or being touched.”

Had you noticed I hadn’t accepted Viola’s embrace, friend of twenty years though she was? I did not point this out to you. I did not wish to ask for praise, to beg for it.

I wanted to earn it. I wanted my devotion to be such that you saw it clearly, freely.

“Do not trouble yourself, my Lady. I am yours, body and soul; I belong to you alone. I shall never again indulge in such practises,” I swore.

You did not ask if I was certain. You did not protest, professing your trust in me. You understood what was owed to you and were good enough to accept my words, as overdue as they were.

I rose, wanting to leave you to dwell on more pleasant thoughts on your way towards sleep.

“You really would do anything for me, would you not?” you said in a low voice as I reached the door.

“Yes, my Lady.”

Your tongue moved across your dry lips. You hesitated as you had not in months, as you never again would in court, inhaling sharply and letting it all out as a breathy question.

“Then would you do something for me now? Just one thing?”

Just one thing. I would die for you, though such a thing is not possible until you yourself perish. I would kill for you and not know a moment’s remorse. I would give you all the riches I no longer own, would see my hands scarred and bloodied if you wished to hold them tight.

“Yes, Lady. Just one thing,” I said.

“Would you—would you call me Saturn? Not in public, never in public, but when we are alone, if you would indulge me…” Your face burnt with the fires of your planet. “I miss having more than a title, but you are the only one I truly wish to call me by a name.”

I thought of the Emissary’s wife rushing into her embrace with the word Mercury on her lips. I thought of how jealous I knew you to be.

“Saturn,” I said with a reverence that has never before reached the unflinching god. “As you command, Saturn.”

Your eyes were wet with tears. I saw determination rise in your chest, your posture straighten and your jaw tense with certainty, only for it to fizzle out in the next moment. Whatever you wished to ask of me next, whatever ways had been devised to test the limitations of anything, folded away into soft, delighted embarrassment.

It was not the right time.

There is no better judge of that than you.

Kneeling by your bed, I lifted the hand that wounded me so and pressed my mask to your knuckles.

“Goodnight, Saturn. Get your rest and I shall see you in the morning,” I said.

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