Chapter Text
But those who hope in Sol will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.
Some mornings, in those bleary minutes between dreaming and wakefulness, she likes to imagine wings sprouting from her back. Opening her eyes to find she's suddenly grown feathers, wings as wide as she is tall that carry her out through the window and over the sparkling Celestine and up, up through the clouds and sky, ever closer to His light.
Then, her brain clicks fully awake and she remembers herself, and dismisses the fantasy with a yawn and a shake of her head. She knows where her place is, here among the flock. She's important to the Church, to Highcourt, to Archbishop Amelia. Important to Helio, which is really all she should be concerning herself with in the first place, and if Helio says her place is here then far be it from her to question His will. Never mind that the Cathedral feels like it's running out of air sometimes. Never mind that with every service, the congregation's eyes feel more and more like they're burning ragged holes into her skin.
A cool, gentle sensation on the back of her neck, like a hand made of morning dew. She throws her linens to the side of the bed and pushes to her feet, toes curling against the shock of freezing marble. There are still a few minutes before she's meant to be awake, so she spends them at the washbasin pressed against one wall. Maybe there used to be a mirror hanging above it before she moved in, but now the space is taken by a portrait of Helio, golden and glowing. His lips quirk upwards knowingly, his left hand loosely curled around a tall shepherd's crook.
He's alone on the wall. Her chambers are gilded and concise, far from the cozy clutter of her childhood home. Her memories of the place are faded, but she remembers parents and brothers and neighbors, and so little space that loneliness was inconceivable. Here, now, her empty chambers ringing back at her, she doesn't remember the last time she felt anything but alone. The thought feels dangerously like sacrilege. Helio, ever-present, casts his judgment from over the basin.
The door is pushed open, jarring her from her thoughts. A few attendants enter, bowing deferentially as they carry in robes and combs and Helioic adornments. They hadn't knocked, but then, no one ever does.
"Your Holiness," One says, gesturing to the stool beside the window. She smiles awkwardly and sits, letting her eyes unfocus and thoughts drift as the sun begins peeking out over the coast. A comb is run through her hair, meeting little resistance, while someone else lifts her arm to pull it through the sleeve of a pale yellow garment. She's dressed and prepared for the day in a whirl of foreign hands, like every morning. Like every morning, it all happens at a distance, like she's just a mannequin being readied to parade about the monastery halls, displayed in the cathedral during the day's service, handed books and bibles and prayer scrolls and sent off to an empty room to study alone. Like every morning, the pressure in her chest sits a tiny bit heavier, and she wonders how many more silent days she can take. The hands plaiting her hair finish, and on the periphery of her vision, she watches as a shimmering veil is draped over it and pinned down.
"The Archbishop says you're to observe the sacraments with her today, Your Holiness," The same person who'd spoken earlier informs her, once she's dressed and upright and the rest of the room is emptying.
She stands a bit straighter, bolstered at the prospect of having a legitimate task. "Where am I to meet her?"
"Someone will come to collect you. Within the half-hour, Your Holiness." With a final bow, she's alone yet again.
She recites her morning prayers in the meantime. By the time her door is pushed open for the second time that morning, she's just finishing them, a bit less than half an hour later. It used to be that she could spend well over an hour on prayer each morning, but in recent months her energy has been flagging. Sometimes she'll blink and realize she hasn't said or thought a single thing for stretches of time, having lost herself somewhere between words. It's a little worrying, but Helio refuses to address her fog with any real concern the few times she's brought it up in her dreams, and so she's decided it must not be a big deal. She can still perform His miracles, after all.
"Good morning," Archbishop Amelia greets, the woman's ever-dour face making an exception to smile warmly down at her. "I'm heartened to find you as devoted as ever, though I must apologize for interrupting your prayer. I trust you slept well?"
"I did, Your Eminence, by Helio's blessing." She bows. "No apologies are necessary. I had just finished when you arrived."
The Archbishop nods approvingly. Breakfast is normally taken in the refectory, but today she's told that they're to take a late meal.
"I'll have you accompany me more often from now on. It's time we had you taking a more active role within the Church," She explains while they walk. As they pass through the doors of her chambers, two of the guards flanking it move to follow behind them instead. "Performing miracles for the public is well and good, but there are workings more vital to the Church and Court, and your connection to Lord Helio will be a blessed addition."
She nods eagerly in response, then remembers the Archbishop can't see her. "Yes, Your Eminence."
"And your studies? You've been progressing well?"
"I have, Your Eminence."
The Archbishop hums thoughtfully in response. Footsteps sound, and a new figure stops in front of them, having emerged from one of the corridors branching off the main hall.
"Your Eminence. Your Holiness." The monk bows to each of them and turns again to the Archbishop. "A messenger has arrived from the Citadel. The High Priest requires your presence."
"Of course." Archbishop Amelia sighs, turning her head the barest of degrees, addressing her over a shoulder. Her heart sinks. "Go break your fast and then return to your chambers. I'll call on you this evening, time permitting."
"Yes, Your Eminence." She bows, hearing the two guards behind her do the same, and waits for the even footsteps to fade around the corner before she rises. She loiters awkwardly for a moment before turning about-face and starting down the same hall she had just come from. Her guards part slightly so she can pass between them, then turn to follow her. Their presence is, oddly, more obnoxious than most days. Something on the corner of her consciousness won't let her tune them out, plated footsteps ringing louder in her ears than the typical practiced grace of Court-trained soldiers. It feels almost like when Helio has something pressing to tell her while she's awake and is forced to wait, an impatient, hovering presence that has her teeth gritting and gooseflesh erupting down her arms. This isn't quite like that, though- this is a cooler sensation, less an insistence and more a gentle nudge to attention.
Morning dew, she thinks, a little nonsensically.
Cool and quiet, suspicion snakes its way down her spine. The guards flanking her look the same as they always do, wear the same armor, walk step-in-step as comfortably as they have every day. The longer she fixates on it, though, the stronger that persistent feeling that something is off grows.
She glances over her shoulder, and one of her guards looks back, meeting her gaze. Even more damnably, they hold it for a beat, then another, and the shock distracts her so badly that she nearly walks into someone as they appear from around a corner. The contact is broken, but she's sure her eyes are still wide, brows probably up to her hairline.
"Woah! My apologies, I didn't- oh!" A boy, maybe around her age but standing a hand above her, with wheat-gold hair and a scattering of freckles. She recognizes him as one of the apprentice clerics, could maybe even place his name if she were thinking more clearly. "Oh, goodness, Your Holiness, I- forgive me."
The boy ducks into a painfully deep bow, white apprentice robes swinging apologetically with it. When he straightens his gaze keeps respectfully low, ears flushed red.
"No, you- I- it was my fault." She hesitates, resisting the urge to turn around again. Or- even worse- the urge to say something that might alert the not-guards that she's onto them.
She's been silent too long. The boy looks confused and concerned, eyebrows crinkling, and a tad late it occurs to her that she has magic.
The guards. She wills it, and her words travel silently with a tingle of her fingertips and the faint smell of popped corn kernels. She hopes it isn't too obvious. Something's wrong. Suspicious. Get help.
His eyes widen and dart nearly up to her own, freezing somewhere around her chin and then moving over her shoulder to the figures in question. Before she can warn him not to stare, he bows again, mumbles something she doesn't catch, and turns back the same way. She hears shifting behind her, a sigh, and a curse whispered under someone's breath.
She catches the faint smell of salt, like the air that blows in from over the sea, and a heartbeat later everything goes dark.