The High Temple looked more like a sculpted mountain than stacked stones to Mydea. With a shy, new moon in the sky and Aelisium’s own luminance dimmed in deference to Ygeia’s holy night, there was little light to see where one block ended and the other began. The column of stoneborn snaked down the Street of Sacrifice, and bearing witness were the stars on silk and sky.

Whatever Lord Eminent Pleonexia’s current feelings for her house, Mydea had been invited to be part of his brother Pythos’ retinue for the night. There had never been an excess of Deeplanders in the Imperial City to begin with, and even the inclusion of the marriage candidates did little to change that calculus.

What she had not expected was to be riding on Snowscorn a pace behind Lord Pythos.

Certainly she’d drawn steel in defense of their good name, and winning always made one popular ... but never had she thought that the sum of those things would be enough to ride at his right hand.

“How well do you know your history?” Pythos asked without looking her way.

“I would not claim to be a master of the subject, but I am familiar with my family’s at the very least,” Mydea said. “What is it you wish to know, Your Excellency?”

“The beginning,” Pythos said. “What was House Kolchis before becoming stoneborn?”

That he’d kept his address ambiguous told her two things. First, whether Kolchis was a house nominal or external would not be settled this night. Second, that this was not rapprochement, but neither was it reconciliation. Closer to truce than trust if it had to be called anything.

“Our line truly began with Noeh the Knowing then. He was a pegasi herdsman,” she said without a speck of shame. It was a past many centuries old now, and even the Divine Syngian had been strawborn at birth. Only a house so young, so insecure of their status would go to great lengths denying their own story and fail to learn old lessons freely offered.

“Small wonder then that House Kolchis breeds some of the finest pegasi in the Empire,” Pythos said. “The knowledge he passed down has served your family well.”

“It has,” Mydea said, dipping her head slightly. Winged horses could not be raised just anywhere by anyone, nevermind breeds best for battling in the air above. “A house does not keep their castle by good fortune alone.”

“Yet Kolchis has no spell secrets,” Pythos said.

Not yet at least. With any luck, she might help her father’s work come to fruition. “We have never needed one to thrive and survive,” Mydea said. “There is and always will be a need for more pegasi, to maintain supremacy over the skies. Only two types of people can ignore such things—the long dead, and those who long for death.”

At last, Prince-Consort Pythos looked her way with his eyes dark as the depths of any mine. He was tall too, and the heels he wore made him tower over her. Some whispered the Pleonexias were anointed by the gods, for each was born with a crown of golden silk. Not even the House Imperial could take that from them, and the shards of shattered crowns within Aelisium were countless.

“My family was not always the House Eminent of the Deeplands,” Pythos said. “Did you know that?”

“You used to call yourselves kings instead,” Mydea said politely.

“I speak of a time before Pleonexians were even lords, when the charred corpse of Old Ilyos was still within living memory. We were not always stoneborn either, but hirelings of a foreign people to fight in their feuds.”

“I do not believe any of the ancients survived the Ashen Autumn,” Mydea said.

“House Eminent Luxuria is closest, but even they were but a branch of a branch of a branch,” Pythos said. “No honest hystor would have called them a power in the years of yore.”

Mydea nodded. This was all well-known, though not uttered beyond private speech lest offense was given. “They’ve risen high.”

He scoffed. “It is easy to rise high when all others have died or drowned. They did not seize power like we did when we made the Deeplands ours with steel and sorcery.”

“They held onto power for all these years nevertheless.”

“There is no great secret to that,” Pythos said. “The words of my house are as much a warning to me and my kin as it is to others. All that lies in my hands is whom I wish to settle with: the debtors or death, but one will always collect.”

She tilted her head. It was strange to hear a Pleonexia speak of dues in such a way. Is he saying whatever his house might owe mine is settled with this? Mydea thought. She’d won this conversation with a cut, and in doing so might have severed any friendship between Kolchis and the Marcherkin. “I shall keep that in mind, Your Excellency.”

“See that you do,” Pythos said. “Word has reached me that you’ve made the acquaintance of Prince Jaeson’s valet. You work quickly.”

It was no surprise he’d heard of that by now after she’d shown up with Tomas before the whole Seraglio. Was he worried that Kolchis had designs on the prince’s hand? It was not as if such a match would commit Lord Pleonexia in any way, but best to nip his doubts in the bud. “Our paths crossed perchance. I saw no harm in cultivating a relationship, though I doubt he shall have time for me much longer once the prince arrives.”

“You enjoy his company then?” Pythos asked with a raised brow.

“It is more that I dread the silence,” Mydea said. “I cannot know how long my stay in Aelisium will be, so it is best to have someone to speak with.”

“I would ask something of you then.”

“House Kolchis is sworn to House Pleonexia, Your Excellency,” Mydea said, dipping her head. “I am at your command.”

Pythos nodded. “There are few enough Deeplanders here at the Empress’ invitation, and I would put an end to any whispers about our worth.”

“What would you have me do?” They arrived at the courtyard where attendants rushed forward to hold their horses while the stoneborn dismounted.

“Arrange a gathering of your own, whatever activity suits your fancy,” Pythos said.

This was to be an introduction then, but did he truly wish to secure Prince Jaeson’s hand? Mydea frowned. Did House Pleonexia wish to commit themselves to a faction so early, considering what had happened to their youngest brother during the last succession struggle? “Is this prudent?” she asked.

“Do you have reservations?” Pythos asked.

“There are many things in this city beyond my understanding,” Mydea said, “but of what little I know, I cannot counsel this course of action.”

“These are not words a lord would find pleasant.”

“What is best is not always what is pleasant, but I am sworn to offer it all the same,” Mydea said.

Pythos smiled and in lieu of an answer, said, “There will be oaths sworn tonight. I extend to you an invitation to witness those sworn to Pleonexia.”

“It would be an honor, Your Excellency,” Mydea said as they passed into the temple’s threshold. It had not the marble columns or the rectangular layout that defined those of Old Ilyos. Instead, the High Temple was six-sided and shaped entirely of blackened rock. On any other night, its many openings would have allowed heavenly light to suffuse the room. Instead, it was the Starlight Crown upon the Empress’ brow which provided light on this holy night.

A bell resounded, deep and distant, as twilight arrived. A dozen perfect white goats, each no older than a year, were slaughtered and burned by the hystors, while their juniors collected the blood and coated the stone altar. Her Highness stood in the center of the room, uttering praise and prayers to the harsh, wintry visage which dominated the north: Ygeia, god of life and death and pestilence.

Men and women from the eight great regions of the Empire began piling offerings at her feet: a small mountain of gold, a dozen bright Imperial Stars which outshined the silver statues; bronze swords too, enough to arm a host; glittering gems and soft silks beyond counting, and the scent of potent vintages mixing with smoke. There were libations of milk and honey; a sweet smelling water in ornate jars and clear water for purity, and concentrated Ambrosia that would have burned any throat but those divine.

Yet though the entirety of the Imperial Court was present, the confines of the temple could never truly be filled.

At a signal from Vivyan, Mydea stepped forward with her. “Ygeia, bear witness to our oaths made of our own free will and in good faith,” they said in unison. Neither of them could claim now that the oath was invalid due to a defect in will or contract.

“I, Vivyan of House Black, make this oath with Mydea of House Kolchis,” Vivyan said. “For her introduction to Prince Jaeson’s valet, Tomas, I shall give to Mydea one use of my shadow, provided there is little risk of its entrapment. By the Great Gods Above and the Divine Syngian, may this oath bind me until our words come to pass, or may my nails be torn if I should forswear.”

“I, Mydea of House Kolchis, let this oath bind me as well,” Mydea said, after finding no flaw in her wording. “Let it be so.”

“Let it be so,” Vivyan finished. They clasped their arms together, and bargain was struck.