Page 49 of The Oracle of Dusk

If She were present, why did She despise him so? He’d lavished the temples with all due respect and offerings. He’d constructed a statue of himself to be placed at Her feet, hands clasped, so that a part of him would always be here, praying for Her favour. And yet that bitch Orithyia blighted his lands in Her name.

“Some might consider a stare that hateful blasphemous, Your Majesty.”

“Head Priestess Dia.” Theron lifted the aged priestess’ hand, touching her obsidian ring to his forehead.

“How is my naughtiest student?” she asked, a gentle smile on her wrinkled face. So deceptive, her smile. He remembered all the times she’d rapped his knuckles with her cane as a boy when he’d dared mouth off.

“Vexed. I came for your counsel,” he answered.

“Follow me,” she said, leading the way to an inner courtyard. It was a spot of living colour in the middle of the endless black of the temple. She lowered herself into a seat in the shade with some difficulty. Theron placed himself across from her.

“If this continues, there will be war,” he began.

“There is no warring with bad luck, Your Majesty.”

“This blight is her doing, Dia. It began the moment the spire was constructed,” he insisted.

Dia sighed. She’d heard this argument from him many a time, refusing to place the blame where it so obviously belonged. Was it stubborn loyalty, or was he truly mistaken? Dia was a woman of tremendous intellect and wisdom. What was he missing that she saw?

“Now that the spire has fallen, I suppose you will discover the truth of your suspicions.”

“And if I’m vindicated, what then?”

“Why do you ask, when you already know the answer?”

“Because I would hear it from you, the priestess who taught me as well as any could, a woman I trust.”

“There are formal processes for deposing a high priestess. Processes, I hasten to add, that have only been used twice in the history of the temples.”

“She should have already been taken to task for interfering in matters of state. She whispers in the ear of the Viridian Queen.”

“As I whisper in yours, Your Majesty? As Myrina does?” Dia asked, a brow raised.

“That’s different.” He frowned.

“The temples have long provided counsel to monarchs when it is sought. There is no crime in that.”

“You are the most stubborn person to ever live.”

“I shall take that as a compliment, from the second most stubborn person to ever live.”

He scowled, slouching in his seat.

“What am I to do then, Dia? My people sicken and starvation will soon follow. I’ve made every sacrifice and appeasement possible to the spirits in these lands. I have prayed to the intangible gods in the temples, I have made offerings to the tangible deities of the mountain, lakes, rivers, fields, cattle, sun, sky, winds, clouds, rain, and even those of every crop. I have pleaded with the spirits of every corner of this realm. I have done everything within my power to end this thrice-damned blight and pleaded to the divinities for that which I cannot do myself. Why am I being punished? My power is unmatched. My piety is unimpeachable!”

“Perhaps it is your humility which could use a little work?” she suggested, a devilish glint in her dark eyes.

“Do not mock me,” he warned her, his anger rising.

“Your temper as well. You always were a hothead.”

His wild magic writhed inside him.

“You think this is funny?” he demanded, pounding his fist on the arm of his chair.

“Maybe your humour too.” She stared pointedly at his fist, unaffected by his outburst.

“You are lucky that drawing the blood of a priestess is punished by the goddess,” he fumed.

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