After Auryn the Crazed’s violent departure, faith in the Lightblessed faded, and their position in the Illuminari dwindled as they were ultimately driven away. Their Holy Burden became a whisper, lost to rumor and shadow. The Regency ascended with a blood oath to replace the Burden with a higher Purpose.

Chapter 35

Trynneia sat abandoned in a room, its alabaster walls immaculately cleaned to remove all evidence of dirt or decay that would otherwise mar the delicate filigree that pulsed with light to her eyes. Highly polished clear-coat covered and protected the intricate mosaic floor depicting the twin suns rising over the city of Praxoenn, with a priest or priestess raising their hands to the sky. Only a chair and a low couch furnished the room, both covered with soft suede held in place by brass button-nails. Cross-hatched embroidery covered the armrests of both, and upon the chair, she perched.

She traced her fingers along the grooved lines, watching as the daylight very slowly made its way across the room, drumming her fingers to a thrum only she could hear. It pulsed through her chest, merging with her heartbeat and breathing with a rhythm that coaxed her mind into a low trance, even as she strove to maintain her alertness.

Lord Elanreu, Igol, and the servant had left her here, an antechamber off a larger office to which they had withdrawn. She heard no voices from within, but contented herself as well as she could by observing the flecks of color that paraded before her, peeled from the substances they once adhered to. Almost she could believe they danced to the same feeling she had within her. Each object around her remained a gray tone, but the colors presented themselves near enough that the subtle overlay clashed in a strange juxtaposition between colored and colorless.

Half-lidded, Trynneia tilted her head back, losing herself in color and music and the deep vibration that touched her body throughout, massaging her weakened limbs and calming her nerves and mind. Content, she forgot how hungry she felt, how exhausted her muscles were, almost hearing…

The door to the antechamber creaked open, its intricate wood carvings of Light and worship waxed to a gleam carried ponderously by massive hinges spoke of the opulence of the Illuminari, and the wealth that must have been spent to bring such a solid piece of wood here to this purpose. Igol stepped through, his head bowed to the ground.

“Your Grace, apologies for keeping you waiting,” he fumbled, gripping at the waist of his robes and twisting the cloth nervously. “Please, please, come inside.” Igol bowed so low his head remained below his knees, and she wondered how he kept his balance.

Again with “Your Grace”, she noted. Her concentration broken, she looked at the older man, unsure how to feel at the deference he bestowed upon her. “Igol, was it?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he muttered at his feet.

“Could you please help me up? I’m feeling quite weak,” she explained. Igol looked up with a jerk and mopped his brow with the cuff of his robe sleeve.

“Of course, Your Grace. Apologies, your Grace,” he muttered as he rushed over and clasped his hands around her shoulder to help her stand. Whites and yellows flitted away from him as he moved, shimmering in the sunlight as he passed through, and his clasp felt warm and comforting.

“What’s going on?” she asked, partly to herself.

“We did not, ah, we did not expect Your Grace,” he offered weakly as he led her slowly to the large office where Lord Elanreu sat across from a woman wearing a richly tailored suit who stood behind a large wooden desk just as beautifully carved as the door. Trynneia tried to make sense of the miasma of colors about this new woman, reds and maroon overtones bleeding into that same gray, but laced with yellows, blues, and greens throughout the coat she wore that fell just below her waist.

The woman bowed her head slightly, a thin metal circlet shone through her hair, carrying a white hue about it, and Trynneia almost wept to see such a thing. Smiling, the woman stretched her hand out while Lord Elanreu glowered at the floor. Trynneia grasped the proffered gesture, more warm even than Igol’s. The woman kissed the back of her hand, hints of white and red lifting away.

“Your Grace, I am Regent Shingto. Lord Elanreu seems to have left a few things out of his tale,” she said, her voice rich but commanding as she looked the younger woman over. Trynneia heard the implication through the sharp undertone that clashed dissonantly with the woman’s manner. “You may leave us, Elanreu.”

“Regent,” he acknowledged curtly. His look at Trynneia filled her with dread. The disgust in his voice as he said “Your Grace” only reinforced the feeling as the thrum in her chest shifted, causing her heartbeat to speed up. She almost felt relief when the door closed behind him. Almost.

Igol helped her into a seat, and Shingto herself leaned against the side of her desk, appraising Trynneia silently for several moments.

“I’m not sure of the protocol here,” she ventured, feeling Igol’s presence behind her as she tried to figure out what she’d gotten into. Shingto slapped the edge of the desk and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t know what to do with that man, Your Grace. The nerve!” Her voice trembled with anger and sadness. “May I take a look at your injuries, Your Grace?”

“Please stop calling me that. My name’s Trynneia Light-”

“Your Grace.” Shingto interrupted, bowing. “You asked about protocol. I can call you only ‘Your Grace.’ Your Grace,” she explained. Trynneia gestured for her to approach. Shingto carefully unwrapped the bandages on the girl’s face and arms, but she winced to see the crevasses of her runes, and the infections that had begun to set in. ”By the Light, Your Grace, tell me everything.”

Regent Shingto waved Igol away and he departed as well, leaving the two women alone. Trynneia observed how he backed out, never taking his eyes from the floor or facing away from them until the door was shut. Everything felt backwards. She’d journeyed all this way expecting punishment, yet they treated her like royalty.

“I don’t even know where to begin, Regent.” A warm thrum built in her chest, and she stood, attempting to ease her discomfort. She blushed, but shrugged her robe off and dropped it to the floor. “When I started my journey, I was stripped of the Light,” she began, kneeling on her discarded clothing. “I have come to receive the Light’s Judgment for the mur-” She paused, trembling. “For the many sins of which I am guilty. I have also come in hope of becoming a priestess of the Light,” she finished, her voice fading. Saying words she no longer meant rang hollow to her ears.

Trynneia kept her eyes trained on Shingto’s face, searching for modesty where the older woman’s eyes widened. There it is, the fear, she thought. Acutely aware of the oozing blood and pus leaking from the witches mark across her chest, Trynneia stared back, steeling herself for any response. She watched as Regent Shingto grew more pale as she took in the details of the sight before her. Tears glistened down her cheeks as she stooped to help the girl up, gathering her clothes from the floor with her free hand.

“Please, Your Grace, none of that,” she said, assisting Trynneia with dressing again. The thrum changed, more chaotic and strange than it had been. Trynneia cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve been remiss in my duties, please let me get you a drink.” Shingto poured a cup of liquid into a glass and gave it to the girl, the glass chittering on the saucer she presented it on as she shook.

“Thank you, Regent.” She stared into the muted reds and greens that swirled amidst the gray liquid, sipping slowly at it. “This is good, what is it?”

“Simple caff, Your Grace. I find it keeps my mind on matters.” Shingto drummed her fingers slowly on the desk as she leaned back against it once more, facing the girl. “Sometimes I take it with sugar, but mostly drink it as is.” The silence that fell between them felt palpable.

Trynneia sipped more, her calm slipping as each appraised the other, and she grew more unsure as time passed. Shingto’s staccato beat repeated in time with the thrum only she heard as if Shingto meant to do it. But the older woman kept looking away and then back at her, running her fingers through her hair with one hand and drumming with the other. Waiting for something, Trynneia thought.

Cold slammed into her chest and she lurched forward, dropping the glass and saucer to shatter upon the ground. Her arms and hands curled up like a praying mantis to her chest and she began shaking as millions of colors scintillated into view with a rainbow shimmer that draped itself around her, settling in and scrubbing away the gray. For several moments she tried to breathe deeply, gasping to catch her breath. Shingto made no move as the thrum around her diminished to nothing. Everything spun, and then settled.

“Your Grace, are you alright?” Trynneia heard Shingto’s voice from seemingly far away, layered upon itself with an undulating echo. Hands tilted her face up from either side of her jaw, and the woman’s brown hair fell down around her cheeks as the woman kissed her forehead. As the Regent drew back, Trynneia saw the woman’s lips tinged with blood.

Warmth and complete relaxation replaced the cold, placing her body at ease while her mind shifted to high alert. Powerless to resist, Trynneia felt her hands pushed down into her lap as she was repositioned in the chair by the Regent. More colors swam before her, mixing with the growing auras around the Regent and a rapidly approaching Lord Elanreu.

“It’s worse than I realized, Elanreu. She should have been brought here straightaway,” Trynneia heard Shingto say.

“Realization is just one aspect of the journey,” she felt Driver saying, as if in a memory. “Until you’ve traveled some of the distance, will you truly know what it is you need to realize?” Trynneia could almost see him as the colors and auras coalesced before her. “This is the precipice.”

“She was unexpected, Regent. My men found the two shaman, as requested. The first unfortunately perished, and-”

“But the message was delivered?” Shingto interrupted.

“In full. But the girl-”

“Blood magic, Elanreu? The first Lightblessed we’ve seen in over a century and this is how we find her? How did she receive the mark?” Trynneia tried to follow the conversation as she faded in and out of consciousness. “It was meant only for the shaman, or was I not clear enough in my orders?”

“Modius received your orders exactly as you gave them to me. Damned fool got himself lost in the desert and things got out of hand. I was lucky to find them when I did,” Elanreu defended himself, aggravation plain in his voice.

“Out of hand,” scoffed Shingto. “You realize the position this places the Regency in,” she stated.

“I do. I apologize for what you’ll have to do, that’s why I meant to keep her from here until such time-”

“You thought in error, Lord. That girl’s return to the Illuminari is the reason the Regency exists, and she comes to us defiled! An abomination.” Trynneia felt ice in her veins that mirrored the chill in Shingto’s voice.

“Any Lightblessed would do, Regent. This one means nothing. Not anymore.”

“And whose fault is that, Lord Elanreu?”

“Look, she wasn’t even my job or responsibility, but I took it upon myself to bring her here. I rescued…her…and this is the welcome I receive? I should have fucking slit her throat when I found her, but no. Fucking Lightblessed. I had no choice. No choice but to bring her-”

“And what is it you aren’t telling me, Elanreu? That you deserve some reward, yes? You sent Modius of all people.” Trynneia heard the Regent sight. “It’s no wonder this happened to the girl. Leave us. Now.”

“I don’t need a fucking reward. The look on your face was priceless,” he growled. Trynneia heard him stalk away, slamming the door behind him even as the Regent gathered her into her arms and held her close.

Uncertain what had just happened, she wept, and the Regent wept with her.