"Don't you look away, Gris," Limp said.

The tremble behind Limp's strong voice did not help the fear clinging to his soul. He gripped his friend's bare arm already sweating with anxiety.

They had only a half hour before the King sent one of his knights to the Slave Quarters for Limp's punishment. After Gris' failed attempt to change the knight's mind and return to the King with a plea, his guards strung Limp to a beam close to the center of the slave's Mess Hall. Slaves stood around, young and old alike, watching and shouting their disapprovals.

Nothing and no one were going to stop a King's decree, yet Eron was able to take Hasana for another punishment. A punishment Gris only knew was worse for a female slave. He restrained his tears, but not his fears. Especially hearing this strange demand.

"I can't watch this Limp," he said. "This isn't fair."

Limps eyes hardened into an icy glare. He said low enough for only him to hear.

"A king never looks away," he said.

He appreciated his friend's initiative to remind him of said future title and role, but right now, he didn't want to think about that. Right now, he wanted to be a human. A normal person with feelings who didn't want to see a good man punished for something he didn't do. Why did his father hate Rasheem so much to do this to him? He had heard stories from Limp about how close they once were. This was cruel to do to such a loyal servant.

"May the gods keep you," he mouthed.

"Back away," the knight bellowed unraveling his horseskin whip.

He felt Mira grab hold onto him with gentle, encouraging hands. It was only then he realized he had to submit but stand strong for his friend. He backed away, standing to Limp's side. Even from this angle, he could see faint pink scars of former lashes along Limp's back. This was not his first time facing a whip.

Crying, Mira clung onto Gris' arm, and he clenched his hands at his sides.

The Fair knight gave Gris a slight grin. Of course, the fool was going to enjoy this. Then he unleashed the first lash. Limp's body recoiled but his firm face muscles only flinched. He kept this stance for the first five lashes as fresh red streaks appeared across his back. Then the sixth one came down hard and quick and Gris heard a painful gasp leave Limp's mouth. After that, his gasps turned to yelps and his yelps turned to screams. Blood dripped and splattered everywhere.

Everyone fell silent.

Gris wanted to look away, but he forced his eyes to watch. It was not often slaves under his care were punished this way. Usually, he would find a way to punish them without shedding blood or inflicting pain. No one deserved this.

When seventeen lashes were fulfilled, Limp dangled against the pillar weeping. The knight dropped the bloody whip on the floor, grabbed Limp's shirt to wipe the blood off his hands then left with his comrades laughing. Someone untied Limp, he didn't know who. He helped lay his friend on the floor as women came with sheets and ointments.

"I'm so sorry Limp," Gris said, only then realizing Limp fainted.

We need to take him to the infirmary, Mira hand-signed eyes red from crying.

"Can I get some men to take him to the infirmary?" Gris said.

Instantly, he had more than ten volunteers, but only five were needed. Once Limp's back was bandaged to stop the excessive bleeding, they wrapped him and carried him to the infirmary. He bled so much.

He will be fine Gris, Mira said getting his full attention. You need to focus on the Ceremony.

"Your Highness?" someone shouted from across the room.

Gris stared at the knight approaching. Dressed in green and gold armor with embedded emeralds, the flamed sigil of the Priesthood was carved across his breastplate, and a short cape made of a material that shimmered against the firelights. His jaw dropped at the marvelous knight and suddenly felt embarrassed and shocked.

"Ser Conner. What brings the Knight of the Priesthood to this part of the palace?" He said raising his chin.

"I'm here seeking you," he said with a grim frown. His eyes stared at the pools of blood on the floor. "I'm sorry about Rasheem."

"Um... He will be fine," he said feeling his ears ache with the echoes of Limp's screams.

"He will be. I've seen him go through worse," the knight said.

Gris recalled Ser Conner Esleaf's story of being pronounced Strange at the age of ten. A boating accident left him partially paralyzed and bruised from the waist down. He found peace with the gods and was adopted into the Priesthood by Hercones at twelve. With the help of Limp and therapy, he regained feeling into his body and was endorsed into the Knighthood. And when he received his knight's oath, he was known as the first Strange to make it into a high rank in Ardania. Now, no one wouldn't have a clue he used to be paralyzed, but the Cleared Circle around his Strange mark did say enough.

"Why is it do you seek me?" Gris said.

"Lord Hercones seeks an audience with you as soon as possible," he said.

"I thought he had left for Hamino's Temple?"

"No, but he will be leaving soon," the knight said.

"Okay. I can go now," he said only to feel Mira grab his arm.

"I think you should change first," the knight said his eyes and brow indicating his clothing.

A nasty tremble withered through him. His clothing was drenched in Limp's blood. His hands and arms were too. A knot formed in his throat, and he could only bop his head.

~*~*~*~*~

"Do you think she is, who you say she is?" Ser Conner said as they made their way across the royal grounds to the temple on the east wing.

"I believe so," Gris said.

Ser Conner didn't respond. He stared straight ahead in a thoughtful state. He had worked under the honorable knight many times. The tall brown headed knight was a man of little words and huge action. Every time they were in sword combat, Gris always expected to and always ended up on the ground. The knight would do one move only to switch so quick into another it was hard to see rather than keep up.

Plus, it was known how he applied for the Commander position and fought hard for it in the tournaments. He bested Eron in every way and even won the Emerald Cloak now draped over his shoulders. But because of his past affiliation of being Strange, the Crown didn't want to take any chances of giving any Strange falser hopes. Then there was the known favoritism towards Eron and how his sooth could make people fear the Crown.

They entered the open doors of the royal temple where visitors and servants were exiting. No one bowed to him, even the temple servants who were not under his authority. But as they crossed the short foyer to another pair of open doors, they were greeted by a Ferry Priest who did stand and bow.

"Your Highness, Prince Grisonce," the middle-aged man said.

He wore the entire garb of the Ferry Priest with gold ferryboat designs along the hems. Even the hat on his head was almost in the shape of a boat. His goatee was shaved into a thin line down and under his chin and his eyes were a striking black.

"Lord Maurice," he said with a nod. "Will you be joining Lord Hercones to the great temple or staying for the parade?"

"I will be leaving with the High Priest," he said.

"Well, have a good ride," Gris said.

"We will be taking a ferry," he said with a closed smile.

"Oh, sounds even better," Gris said.

"Lord Hercones waits for you in the sanctuary," Maurice said glancing up at Ser Conner.

Ser Conner grunted and led the way. Gris gave the priest a nod before following through the massive doors. Spiced candles and incense slithered up his nostrils, strong and direct as if trying to sedate or trance him. He brushed a finger under his nose for a second only to remove it as he fully entered the Hall of Sinthani or also known as the Guardians, Messengers, and Servants of the Gods. They were ten massive statues of mighty creatures with wings, carved individually from the six precious gemstones given to the realm providing magic and wealth. Their many eyes stared down at him as if peering into his soul, his very being to make sure he was holy enough to enter the holy space.

His chest constricted and the muscles in his arms and legs felt to cramp and stiffen. A hint of worry slithered awake in the back of his head. He glanced back to the entrance and lost his breath for a second. The Ferry Priest was watching him, but his kind smile was gone, replaced with a dark look in his eyes.

Gris clenched his teeth together and quickened his pace to exit the Hall of Sinthani. Finally, they entered the sanctuary itself, half the size of Hamino's Temple. Six small alters sat before tall statues of the Divine Six with one larger one in the center. Cushioned benches sat in a circular motion around the alter for a human or animal sacrifice. Individuals sat or strolled about the sanctuary with two balconies towering overhead.

He soaked in the Divine Six sitting on their high thrones with shrines surrounding their feet. Each represented one of the ancient gemstones. Rasaal, the god of knowledge was carved out of pure gold and was considered as the highest and most beloved god in Ardania along with the goddess Danala. She was the goddess of Nature and Animals, carved in the kingdom's signature gem and color, emerald and green. Then there was Sakon, the god of power, strength, and weakness, carved in sapphire; and Mesori, the goddess of weather and fortune, carved in crystal; and Naphri, the goddess of health and emotions, carved in silver; and the god of death, life, and judgment, Dawnis, carved in the fiery red of ruby.

Each god held their purpose and was known in history to have spoken directly to the inhabitants of Valeera. But something had happened. Something had changed when the last Fairest, Tiivon Seviine, vanished. And now no one knew if the gods were even alive in the Serene or whether the gods were pleased or displeased with the realm. A shiver went up his spine realizing the eyes of the six mighty gods were staring down at him or they just looked as so.

"Your Highness," Lord Hercones shouted sitting on a bench closest to the main alter.

Ser Conner stepped aside, and Gris went to greet the High Priest of Ardania. Lord Hercones Baashkon was an Elder for sure with many wrinkles and watery eyes that made his once lustrous green pupils paled. He had a good posture though, smooth hands, and a confident raised chin. Tatted on the left of his neck was an Elder's Mark which was the mark for people who were blessed to reach the designated old age of 70. Not only was this man given permission to age gracefully with all Strange defects ignored, he was also seen as a favorite of the gods who allowed him to reach such an age without disowning him like so many others.

"Lord Hercones, how are you?" Gris said.

He patted the bench. "I'm doing quite well. Please come sit."

He did so and didn't want to be the first to mention his worries concerning the King's sudden change of plans.

"You've been busy, Grisonce," he said.

"Yeah... I apologize for the inconvenience," he said cheeks heating with embarrassment despite his gut telling him he was right to standing up for Mageia.

"Well... I did have a dream that indicated the gods wanted innocent blood last night," the Elder grunted. Gris glanced at his shriveled nose and realized they were in this predicament because the Crown gave Mageia the reason to do a rescue in the first place. Gris had nothing to say.

"But who knows exactly what the gods want these days," Lord Hercones said.

"May I speak boldly, my Lord?" Gris said.

"When did you ever stop doing so?" Lord Hercones said passing him a humored smiled.

Gris returned the smile and spoke his thoughts. "Mageia Unknown doesn't deserve to die."

Lord Hercones shifted and fumbled with the three rings on his fingers. "I've known Dimitri almost his entire life. Hearing how he sentenced the girl to death out of anger really shocked me."

"Why? How?" Gris said not wanting to talk about his father. He didn't feel as important right now.

"Dimitri isn't like other men. He thinks things through. Logically and can care less about how others despise his keenness. To do this so rashly prompted me to seek an audience with him. I was refused, of course."

"He acted because I provoked him..." he said staring at the marble floor.

"No. He had to save face I presume, something he never do often."

"He does it all the time when he shuns me," Gris scolded.

"Perhaps he's shunning you for good reason."

"What?" Gris scrunched his nose and glared at the old man. Perhaps he needed to retire as High Priest because now he's begun to speak nonsense. "What are you saying?"

"You have the bold spirit of your mother," Lord Hercones said.

Gris clenched his hands feeling his blood boil with indignation. "I'd rather not talk about that woman."

"That woman gave you life," Lord Hercones said caring less about how this turn of conversation was making him uncomfortable.

"Yeah, and then she left me to face this cruel world alone."

"Being alone, Grisonce, can make one see the world as it is then how people create it to be," the High Priest said. "Have you ever thought your father thinks this way? That he wants you to learn from his mistakes and become the king this kingdom deserves?"

Gris didn't know what to say. Hercones made sense, but he couldn't picture his father having this reason for shunning him all these years.

He slowly shook his head, though uncertainty stiffened his neck. "I don't know Lord Hercones. Did he tell you this himself?"

The old man held a faint smirk on his lips as he watched visitors stroll across the sanctuary.

"I suggest you two need time to talk."

Gris frowned at the idea of seeing let alone speak to his father after what he did to Limp. He combed a hand through his curls and sat straight on the bench.

"I think we've strayed from the more important topic at hand," Gris said. "Is it possible you can refuse the King's order to replace a Sacred?"

"The Priesthood cannot refuse the King on matters such as these," he said. "However, the other lords and I heard about your theory on this girl. We discussed it."

"You did," he said head snapping to look at him.

He gave a slight nod staring up at the statue of Dawnis. "We've done too much reading and studying to deny the authenticity of your theory."

"So, you believe me?" he said trying to restrain the excitement spewing alive in his heart, but the pain crawling across the old man's face blew it out. "What's wrong?"

"We had to follow proper protocol, especially with the Judges' and their crows watching us," Lord Hercones said with a scowl. "We sought an answer from the gods in a Sanction Prayer over a sacrifice of three doves. Apparently, they accepted the replacing of a Sacred."

Gris closed his eyes and shook his head. Every time he felt he was doing something right, something terrible always punched him in the gut.

"Are you sure the gods are pleased with this?"

"We did it three times and every time we pulled our answer from the jar of ashes," he frowned. "Yes. Yes. Yes. Hmm..."

"Perhaps you should do it again."

"It is getting pretty late, Your Highness," Lord Hercones said. "Maybe I will suggest another Sanction Prayer once we've returned to Hamino's Temple. But I cannot make any promises. We must do according to ritual and protocol. Then we must seek the gods for who the young lady will replace. And that will take a couple more hours."

"If Mageia is the Fairest, killing her could cause another century or more without a High Seer for the realm, Lord Hercones."

"I know..." he muttered staring at a couple walking arm in arm across the sanctuary.

"We have to do something," Gris said standing to his feet.

The old man didn't budge but he did appear to shrink a bit. "The gods have spoken."

"No. We don't know that for sure. It has been centuries since anyone spoke or seen a god. The gods don't seek to help us physically anymore. How do we know if they even care about us?"

"We must have faith, Your Highness," he said eyes shifting up to his face. They changed from sad to strength in that quick second. "Sometimes the only way to find out the truth is to allow certain things to happen."

"No. She cannot die. She has to find her magic and her power," he said.

"There's nothing we can do, Grisonce."

"I don't want to talk to my father, but I can. I can have him change his mind."

"Once a Sanction Prayer has been made that is it, do you understand?"

"That is ridiculous," Gris said almost shouting.

Lord Hercones stared at him with dark thoughtful eyes which made him feel stupid. Who was he to speak against a holy decision? Whether the gods cared or not, Sanction Prayers have been done even before the time of the Vanished King. They were always considered as the last and final words and decisions of the gods. Gris combed a frustrated hand through his curls and waited impatiently for the priest to speak.

"Like I said, Grisonce," he said in a fatherly tone. "We can do another Sanction Prayer, but we cannot go beyond four. Seeking the gods on matters such as these must be taken with caution and humility. We priests cannot go before them with our own grudges, biases, and opinions. I don't know what that girl is or if we are right or not, but one thing I do know is that sudden changes like this do not occur often and when they do, terrible things happen."

"What do you mean?"

Gris waited as the old man stood to his feet, fixed his robes about his body as if he was cold, and stared hesitantly up at Dawnis.

"It takes weeks of rituals, prayers, meetings, and Sanction Prayers to acquire the final selection of the Sacred Seven," he said voice edging onto the ends of his breath. "The last time something like this happened one of the Sacreds committed suicide at the last minute and someone had to be chosen at random to take his place. A terrible thing happened afterwards."

Gris held his breath as the old man's voice dropped very low and his skin paled as he continued to stare at Dawnis.

"Lord Hercones, what happened?"

"Hours after the sacrifice, Ardania was invaded and attacked. The throne usurped for three years, and everyone was made into slaves, both old and young, Fair and Strange. So many people died and were lost in the beginning of the Pirate Siege. Almost fifty years ago."

Gris exhaled in a tremble remembering reading and studying that dark time in the realm of Valeera's history while at the Academy.

"Nothing like that will happen again," Gris whispered realizing he was afraid to speak it loud enough for the gods to hear.

He finally caught eyes with Gris and the boy's back straightened with tension.

"You best pray so, Your Highness," Lord Hercones said. "I may have survived one judgement, but who knows if I will survive another."