Chapter Text
It begins when His Ephemeral Holiness Regent Nahyuta Padamjit Sahdmadhi releases his fourth proclamation to the people of Khura’in. The current priestess would ascend to Queendom, and at any rate the backlog of case review and pending litigation was far too much for one girl, even one so talented and blessed as Rayfa Padme Khura’in. The first to answer the call surprisingly comes from overseas, a token of goodwill from the peasant village of Kurain. All Rayfe feels at the moment of their meeting is a vague sort of contempt; Pearl Fey is plain and grave and perhaps a little stupid. She carries her own small bag instead of giving it to a servant and she tries to take her shoes off at the door to the temple and continue in bare feet. What could be expected, when the Fey sent their spare along for training? “Master” Maya was an obvious fluke.
At the evening banquet, Rayfa sits on the golden dais in her red backed chair alongside her mother. Nahyuta moves through the Grand Crane Hall, greeting their eternal stream of guests: dignitaries, councilmen and little Pearl Fey, ambassador of Kurain. Afterward, when he joins them, he chides her.
“Be kind to that child,” he tells her.
“I am the crown princess, I have been benevolence personified,” Rayfa answers him, though her eyes are sparkling - as though Pearl Fey sits alone at the lowest table near the draftiest window by happenstance.
He is less than pleased but he does not pursue the matter. She will do as she likes for the same reason she stays seated while he flutters about with useless diplomacy: she is the Queen, or nearly. He is her Regent and her brother so he can take certain liberties, but she will not be directed by anyone.
She accepts the proclamation with grace. It is a practical concern, but she is dissatisfied with the end result. One hundred girls are accepted for training, ninety nine Khurainese and a single outsider. Most are utterly useless; commoners with little ability or discipline. Pearl Fey outshines them - a filthy foreigner. They are all unworthy of her presence and she makes quite sure that they know her displeasure. By the end of the first week, a third of them have quit. The number irritates her. It should have been twice that; they should never have attempted it to begin with.
“Let it go and move on,” she announces before leaving. She tells the head priest of the temple to dismiss any of the ones still crying.
“You must have patience, my precious one,” Queen Amara soothes her after. “The road to enlightenment is difficult for those who do not have royal blood. We must make concessions for the lower beings in our charge, as we care for the animals of the forest or the flowers in the field.”
“And why should they be given the title of royal priestess, then? It is a shame, mother.” She fairly trembles from the indignity. “Nahyuta has overstepped himself. I will order him to retract the proclamation at once.”
“Such an action would cause discord. You know as well as I the precarious nature of regency. Think on this another way. Are you not the queen presumptive, the one true royal priestess of Khura’in? Only you can guide them. You can be sure they meet your qualifications and remove them if they do not.”
There are fifty-four girls left when she returns.
“You have six days to learn the Dance of Devotion in its entirety,” she tells them, smiling with childish anticipation of their despair. “Anyone who fails may return home at once. Anything less is an affront to the Holy Mother.”
For the next six days she ignores them completely. She accompanies Apollo and Nahyuta on investigation. She has tea with her Queen mother. She sits in the royal gardens among the lotus and wisteria and has her royal portrait painted. It will be hung in the Reception Room, so that all may gaze upon her youth and beauty as her mother before and her grandmother before that. Then Rayfa returns to the Temple. To her surprise, Apollo and Nahyuta are already there that day.
“Ahlbie wanted us to come see,” Apollo explains. “He said this week’s been really something,”
“Their abject failure should be entertaining,” Rayfa agrees.
But that isn’t what happens at all.
It is a far cry from perfection, but the girls move in unison to the soft chanting songs. They sway and dip, eyes open and close on cue. The collective swell of spiritual energy flows through the room; with no pool to gather in, it creates a sort of vertex around them all. Apollo’s silly bangs, Nahyuta’s long silver braid all are caught in the preternatural wind. A rising sense of ease fills the assembly. Ahlbie swings around his filthy little mongrel, who barks with brainless delight. Everyone is smiling. Pohlkunka! She bangs her staff against the ground and orders it to stop.
“You worried they weren’t getting it, but they are. You see, they’re working hard for Khura’in, just like you,” Apollo grins, the idiot, as though any of them ever suffered or sacrificed as she has.
“You,” she says decisively, pointing at a girl in the front and center who had caught Rayfa’s eye with her stilted movements. “Again.” The girls all move into position and Rayfa shakes her head. “Just you,” she smirks.
Shakily the girl complies. No one else is smiling now, but that’s all the better, isn’t it? This is a sacred calling, not a peasant’s bonfire dance.
“Hm.” Rayfa pretends to stroke her chin in thought. “Again.”
“Your Benevolence,” a girl says timidly and Rayfa turns her head to glare the interloper into silence. Pearl Fey falls quiet but she stares right back. What hideous manners.
“Again, I said.”
It’s even worse this time and Rayfa holds up a hand with the air of long suffering at the end. “Clumsy,” she says. “Oafish. Your movements shame the Holy Mother and all she stands for. Your mudras are wrong, your hand placement atrocious. You are sure to summon an evil spirit with your lumbering-”
“Rayfa,” Apollo says and oh, it’s so quiet. Nahyuta’s gaze is askance, as though even looking in her direction is unbearable. The girl in question covers her face with her hands in despair and Pearl Fey comforts her. It is only then that Rayfa sees the two missing fingers on the girl’s right hand.
~~
“How was I meant to know?” Rayfa pleads hotly back at the palace. Nahyuta paces before her in a flutter of fine robes. Her mother presses a fine handkerchief damp with sweet scented water to her face, on the verge of collapse at the prospect of conflict.
“How can anyone with your training miss such a detail? The Pool of Souls is but a glimpse into a life, each sensation briefly interpreted. You could not tell the girl had such an injury after three attempts at the dance? It is your own training that is lacking!”
Rayfa looks aside, shaking with fury. How dare he, this powerless wretch.
“Nahyuta, do not speak to your sister so.” Queen Amara cries. “She is young, you’ll hurt her.”
“I must, Mother, she is to be Queen and she must learn to be benevolent instead of just assuming the role.”
Rayfa gasps, the words like cold water dashed in her face.
“Must I remind you that we were not the only observers? Those girls, the temple priests, the gossips in the bazaar will all hear of your heartless conduct and believe me, they will remember it. And stifle your protests, you should have known as I did.” Nahyuta’s face twists in revulsion turned inward. “Don’t you recall? Three years ago, that girl was suspected of negligent homicide when her grandmother died in her care, though Apollo has since had it overturned as natural causes. At the time, after your Divination Seance and my excellent prosecution, the Judge showed her mercy. She had the choice of two years confinement - or…”
Oh.
~~
After the third week without any serious errors, Rayfa does a little investigating of her own. She does not have the same charm as her brother or the clever silver tongue of a lawyer so she must use her position and a few vaguely worded threats, but she arrives at the same conclusion nonetheless. These common things sully the temple with their very breath, tainted with the putrid rot of unclean souls. Whatever dark force allows them to pass each of Rayfa’s challenges unscathed must be stopped.
When Pearl arrives at the Reception Room, Rayfa sits on her throne with her crown and her cape and her heavy unwieldy staff, Queen Amara standing at her back. Rayfa does not allow Pearl to rise, and so she stays bent with her eyes directed at the floor. Even after several long minutes her posture does not shift or tremble. How annoying.
“You have been subverting my training.”
“I have not.” The answer is immediate.
“Then you deny holding practice sessions for the Dance of Devotion? Reading up on the secrets of spiritual connection and disseminating that information among the rank and file?”
“I don’t. I mean, I did those things, but I wasn’t subverting anything.”
Rayfa thrusts her staff outward and her mother takes it as she always does when Rayfa tires of its weight. She walks down the steps, standing over Pearl. If even the greatest of the Queens of Khura’in bows to Rayfa as the lowliest servant, this girl is nothing.
Rayfa reaches out and grasps those two twists of hair braided up like butterfly wings and pulls with all her strength. Surprised, Pearl falls to her knees as Rayfa drags her several feet up toward the throne.
“Ow! You’re hurting me, stop-”
“This is discipline,” Rayfa says sharply. It’s nothing compared to what her old mother did when Rayfa dared to disobey. “You have abetted those of inferior talent, lying about their worth-”
Pearl’s hands push and slap at Rayfa’s grip. “I’ve, ow! just been helping everyone meet the requirements you’re asking for! So you can have as many royal priestesses as you need, I didn’t do anything wrong, let go-!”
The last blow catches Rayfa’s cheek briefly and she winces. Maintaining her grip with one hand, she holds the other out, palm up. Her mother knows what she wants; she always does. Good kind gentle Queen Amara could never deny her daughter anything. She lays the pair of jeweled scissors in the exact center of Rayfa’s palm.
snip snip
Pearl slumps to the floor in a heap. Rayfa drops the severed braids on the rug, flicking her fingers in distaste to dislodge a few sickly pale stray hairs from her delicate fingers. She holds out the scissors away from her body and Queen Amara takes them.
“The position of royal priestess is sacred and treasured. No matter what the regent has declared, I will not permit entry to any but a deserving few. Don’t get in my way again, Pearl Fey.”
~~
Apollo Justice will not speak with her.
When Rayfa steps outside of court, he turns his back to her. He will not take her calls or answer her summons. When she visits, Datz greets her at the door of her father’s agency, his arm leaning across the frame, barring entrance casually.
“She has poisoned his mind against me,” Rayfa fumes, tears gathering in her eyes. “I won’t stand for it.”
“It’s a funny thing,” Datz says thoughtfully. “She never said a word against you.” Rayfa blinks in surprise. “Oh yeah. Just said she felt like a change, is all. She’s still real cute with the pixie cut.”
“Pearl Fey must bow to my authority as royal priestess,” Rayfa insists.
“Who?” Datz feigns ignorance, then grins. “You give away the game too quick, you know? Isn’t half the fun of being in charge lying about things? But I guess I can’t blame you for slipping up. When you’re royalty it’s hard to remember that you’re not ever really alone.” His eyes drift away from her toward the distance.
No. Not the distance. The line of her personal guard standing at silent attention at her back.
“Those disloyal dogs, I’ll hang the lot of them,” she swears.
Datz shrugs. “They say she’s a channeler.”
Rayfa scowls fiercely. “I am the heir apparent.”
“Not if you can’t channel.”
“Insolent cur-!”
Datz leans down into her space. One guard behind her shifts uncomfortably in place but does not approach. Datz is a cretin, an imbecile, a clown, and the paratrooper with sixteen kills under his belt before he joined the Defiant Dragons for a bloodless revolution. The only thing holding him back then was Dhurke and Dhurke is dead.
“I like you, Rayfa. You’re Dhurke’s kid, so let me give you a little piece of advice: you wouldn’t be the first royal to lose their head or their throne worrying about the wrong kind of things. The people are angry, and they won’t accept another faulty Queen. Maybe you ought to get yourself in order first before worrying about anybody else.” He flicks the center of her forehead and she reels back, spitting curses.
In the window, the curtain twitches. Two bright eyes look out at her, then narrow. Sha’doh growls low in his throat and Ahlbie closes the blinds.
~~
They love her.
Pearl Fey cleans the temple like the lowest devotee. She helps translate foreign records into Khurainese, for she is nearly fluent. She stands beside children and frightened women in the docket, helping Apollo and his newly trained lawyers coax testimony from the anxious and weak. They call her the Golden Pearl for the way her light hair catches in the hot Khurainese sun and Rayfa hates her more each passing day.
The thought haunts her through her devotionals, her divinations. I am Rayfa Padme Khura’in. Bow to me. To me!
And they do, but when they rise, their eyes are surly. Their mouths do not curve with genuine delight at her mere existence as they once did. They dare to judge her, her actions and her worth.
“They must love you as I love you, flower of my heart,” Queen Amara croons. She has trouble walking sometimes, because of the bullet. She tires easily. She has had to postpone the Rite of Channeling three times this year due to poor health. Something must be done.
Nahyuta passes the fifth proclamation. It is decidedly less popular than the last.
“It was perhaps unwise,” he sighs. “But equally dangerous to leave unaddressed. Officially outlawing spirit channeling outside of those with a royal title might be the only way to cement your position.”
Rayfa bristles. “I am cemented and certain. I am the only Khura’in.”
Nahyuta lays a hand on her head, heavy and comforting. “You are,” he says. “And I love you as my sister, my princess, my queen and my country. It must be you.”
“And you’ll do whatever you can to help me?” She squirms beneath his arm until he is embracing her.
“I always have,” Nahyuta says dreamily. She wonders if he too remembers the stacks of execution orders with his signature, her former father’s seal, and her own little pink thumbprint at the bottom of each and every one.
~~
At the end of the year, Queen Amara officially retires from spirit channeling. Two days later, Pearl Fey completes her first Divination Seance at the request of Apollo Justice. The verdict is not guilty. They all go out for banu’puun afterward. Rayfa learns of it when they send the priestess testimonial for her seal afterward. She takes it down to the Hall of Justice and tears it to shreds before the assembly.
“Pearl Fey does not hold the title of royal priestess,” Rayfa snaps. “The ruling is invalid and the defendant must be tried again properly.”
Then she is being dragged back to the palace by her own guards at her brother’s command. She sits, confined to quarters and stewing in her fury over the unjust treatment. Her mother tries to offer her comfort from her wheeled chair but Rayfa will not have it.
“Where have you been? Why have you locked me up like a prisoner?” She demands as soon as Nahyuta arrives.
“Cleaning your mess, Benevolence. Thank the Holy Mother that His Majestry was in such a cooperative mood. If you rejected a not-guilty ruling on that basis, they would eat you alive.” Nahyuta warns her. “There is already too much discontent for you to make such a foolish declaration.”
“I am the princess of Khura’in! My word is law!” She rages.
“I am the Regent, Rayfa. My word is law, and I wield it, as ever, in your service. If you had any idea what people are saying-”
Rayfa throws her staff against the wall; it ricochets and strikes a nearby servant boy on the leg. He crumbles where he stands and Rayfa’s hands fly up to cover her mouth. She had grown used to giving in to her small rages against grown men who stood stoic beneath her frenzy. She had forgotten her own strength and the weight of the thing she carried.
“Oh,” she says weakly. “I didn’t mean to…”
“It was an accident, he should not have been standing there,” Queen Amara assures her. “Take him for treatment, we will pray for him.”
Two guardsmen carry the boy from the palace, crying. His leg, she would learn later, had been badly broken.
~~
“Ahlbie, wait!”
His steps stutter to a stop.
“His Holiness asked me to come here for an investigation,” the boy says, looking down at his feet. His little dog yips at her among the royal flowers.
“No, he didn’t. I… I sent that message.”
Ahlbie straightens up to look at her, surprised and a little betrayed.
“Not-! Not because you’re in trouble. I… I’m…” Rayfa presses a hand to her chest; her next breath is ragged. Perhaps she faints a little. When she calms she finds she is sitting on a low stone bench with a warm puppy in her lap. She touches Sha’doh’s ears and he licks her finger.
“He’s not mad at me,” she says wonderingly.
“He’s all bark.” Ahlbie crouches at her feet, then smiles up at her. “Feeling better?”
“No,” she says truthfully. “I need to ask you something, Ahlbie. You probably hate me, but I need to know.”
“You’re my princess,” Ahlbie says, face scrunching in confusion. “You’re the direct descendent of the Holy Mother. Your word is the word of Khura’in, how could I hate you?”
Warm gladness flows through her, sure and swift. “I am,” she says gently. “Thank you for knowing me. Will you tell me what people are saying? About me and… Pearl Fey.”
His eyes slide away.
“Please,” Rayfa begs.
“She’s the Golden Pearl,” he says slowly. “They think her presence brings prosperity to Khura’in. One day we will spend the last of our Golden Pearl and be all the poorer for it.”
Rayfa nods, clamping down on her furious jealousy. “I see,” she says. “Thank you for telling me. And what about… me?”
“You are our Ruby Princess, crown jewel of the kingdom.”
“Ruby…” her fingers come up to her tiara, tracing the large inset jewel of her ancestors. A ruby, she knows, is worth more than a pearl. Her mouth curves up into a satisfied smile.
“Yep,” Ahlbie says with the artlessness of a child. “Because of all the blood.”