Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [61]
There it was: that shocked look on their faces as they took in his skin, his eyes—always the same reaction.
“Ah, the albino? Sele of Jamur, commander,” said the youngest of the three. “My name is Ardune, and I’m a priestess here. These two are my clerics.”
“You received notification of our arrival?”
“Indeed,” Ardune said. She blinked several times in the wind, as she looked back over his shoulder toward the other three men.
Brynd tactfully drew his cloak over his sword. “And does the Lady Rika know what has been happening?”
“She’s been told very little, but has been waiting inside the temple for some time now.”
“Right,” Brynd said. “Well, I’m here to return her to Villjamur. We must leave as soon as possible.”
“You’re taking her away then,” Ardune said. “Just like that?”
“She has a role to fulfill, priestess,” Brynd explained. “We can’t always choose what we want to do in life.” And I myself know all about that.
“Indeed not, commander, but you cannot simply take her. She has a life here, you understand?”
“Yes, I do,” Brynd continued, trying to be sensitive to the priestess’s feelings. “However, she’s been enjoying a quiet life here because of who she is. If she was a native, or simply a peasant, she’d never have been able to live in such a privileged position. Well, now the time’s come for who she is to really matter. You understand, it’s not just a few priestesses that this matters to—it’s an entire Empire?”
Something faded in her eyes then, conceding defeat. “Quite. Well, please be sensitive. She’s a person, not just a title.”
“Of course I will. Remember, I’m the one who has to tell her about her father. I promise I’ll not crush her.”
Ardune appeared to have a genuine affection for Rika. Still, Brynd didn’t know what to make of her, since he wasn’t one to trust the mind of a Jorsalir. Not that they were untrustworthy in themselves, more that they had conditioned their minds to think on a different level, to question the world in a way no one else did. It gave them an air of superiority that he felt was unjustified.
Ardune led him inside the temple.
Rika’s room contained minimal furniture, a few parchments on the wall, faded through exposure to sunlight, fabrics smelling of dried lavender, darkened limestone, a small burning fire in the corner. If there was indeed Bohr or Astrid up there, Brynd assumed they didn’t much care for elaborate furnishings.
She was sitting on a chest, Rika, staring out of a narrow arched window, a book forgotten on her lap. This was clearly Eir’s sister, although her face was more slender, making her cheekbones jut out unattractively. Her black hair was tied back plainly—no style in her appearance, no finesse.
“Jamur Rika, Sele of Jamur, I am Commander Brynd Lathraea and I have some … bad news for you, I fear.” He hesitated. “Your father, Emperor Johynn—I’m afraid he passed away some few days ago.”
“Oh,” Rika replied. No emotion in her voice, nothing whatsoever. “Why, thank you for telling me this. It really is very kind of you to journey all this way.”
Brynd held her gaze as if to work out what was happening in her mind. She appeared to be barely disturbed by the bad news. He may as well have just told her it was going to rain today. He knew she had problems with her father, which was why she had spent the last few years in exile here. Was that her anger forcing out any other emotions? Or was it her religious training, her perfectly controlled mind making her emotionally dead?
“The Council of Villjamur have nominated you as the one to inherit all that was your father’s, since you’re his eldest blood relative. You realize what this means?”
She met his gaze with silence, with a cold stare—no, a neutral stare, nothing in it. This girl seemed the embodiment of emptiness.
“Jamur Rika, you’re to become Empress,” Brynd said. “Ruler of the Jamur Empire, its nations, its people. I’m here, therefore, at the request of the Council, to escort you back to Villjamur immediately.”
She stood, gazing out of the window again—at the sea,