Page 70 of Legacy of the Heirs
“Mumma, look at the fishies!” Zarya tapped Larelle’s leg from her spot in front of her mother, sharing the same horse. Yes, Larelle could have taken a carriage, but as she was to part with Zarya when they journeyed to the Neutral City, she wished to keep her as close as possible in every moment until then. Larelle’s eyes followed Zarya’s tiny finger to where she pointed at the large fountain in the city square. They drew to a halt. “Can fish really squirt water from their mouths like that?” Alvan approached and lowered Zarya to the ground, allowing Larelle a moment to take in their surroundings.
Citizens filled the city square; some basked in the sun by the fountain’s edge, while others sought shade on the terraces outside the shops, but all revellers spotted their queen, whispering and pointing at her.
“It would appear those fishies can,” Alvan exclaimed, reaching for Zarya’s hand to prevent her from sprinting across the slippery stone surrounding the fountain. Larelle swung her leg over the horse, and in a flash, Alvan wrapped one arm around her waist to lift her, the other gripping Zarya’s hand. Larelle blushed as his hand lingered on her hip.
The church loomed over them but did not yet cast shadows over the square. Many would argue a church should bear beautiful and opulent engravings to match the city, while others knew a church did not need to be beautiful to welcome those of faith. Larelle believed the latter, though there was something uncomfortableabout the luxuriousness of the church; it had too many engravings and statues to keep track of. She imagined it would take scholars months to record everything in it. One stood out to Larelle: a statue of two large hands joining together, with water flowing from their palms and spilling over the sides like a fountain. Each realm across Novisia devoted its religion to celebrating their god or goddess. Here, they worshipped the Goddess Nerida.
Larelle often questioned whether religion created more division than harmony across the realms. The Neridians were pious people who believed their goddess was the most merciful and forgiving of them all. They followed daily practices, like washing the sins from their souls after confessing to them.
“Why have we never been here before?” asked Zarya when Larelle guided her to the other side of the fountain towards the looming entrance to the church. She glanced at the obnoxiously priced silk dress stores and over-priced dessert spots.
“Because we had everything we needed at The Bay,” Larelle said, and Zarya frowned like she did not quite believe her mother.
“But we need things from here now?” she asked, and Larelle nodded.
“Yes. We need some help from the church.” Alvan had sent word of their arrival the previous night once they had decided to visit.
“What do they do at a church?” Zarya asked.
Larelle glanced at the carved N engraved in the pillars at the entrance and felt guilty for not having taught her daughter much of Nerida’s religion. But neither Riyas, Olden, or her parents had been committed to religious ceremonies, thus it had not plagued her that Zarya should learn.
“We worship the Goddess,” spoke a serene voice from the side of the pillar. The young woman was so quiet and discreet in the shadows that Larelle had not noticed her. The stranger smiled and lowered the blue silk hood of her cloak, revealing golden hair secured in a tight updo. A simple metal diadem connected into a point on her forehead. An acolyte.
“How?” Zarya asked, unswayed by the stranger’s presence. Larelle tucked Zarya close to her side.
“I would be happy to show you, Princess Zarya.” The woman curtseyed low before repeating the gesture for Larelle.
“Forgive me, it has been so long since I have visited the church,” said Larelle politely. “I do not know with whom we talk.”
The young woman approached with her hands clasped before the blue rope wrapped around her robes.
“Sister Vivian, Your Majesty.” She bowed her head again. “I apologise, but Father Zoro is not available to meet at such short notice. I hope I will be enough to assist you for today.”
“It is surprising that a priest would not make himself available for his queen,” Alvan said, and the acolyte blushed, bowing her head again.
“Permission to speak freely, Your Majesty?” she asked. Larelle glanced at Alvan, wide-eyed. He shrugged.
“You do not need my permission to speak your mind, sister,” Larelle assured her. Vivian raised her head again before guiding them through the archway and into the church. It was as bright inside as the buildings outside. Pastel paintings adorned the walls, depicting lovers and lakes, tall cities surrounded by the sea, and flashes of scales amongst the waves. Larelle’s parents had never indulged in religious stories, yet looking at the paintings forming the church walls, Larelle could not deny her intrigue. The dark wooden pews contrasted the brightness of the interior as she walked down the aisle.
“It pains me to speak ill of someone of the church, Your Majesty, but Father Zoro has never been…” She paused and peered up at the domed glass ceiling. “He has never beenfondof the royal family.”
Larelle smiled at her careful choice of words as she walked beside her down the aisle.
“That does not surprise me. My parents were never ones to participate in religious ceremonies,” Larelle said. “It does make me wonder where the Goddess destined their boats to sail aftertheir funeral.” She stopped next to Vivian as they reached the altar, where carved waves held up a pillar with an old book placed upon it.
“The Goddess is known for her intuition; she will have ensured they ended in the correct resting place.” Vivian smiled. Larelle glanced at Zarya, who stood with her hand in Alvan’s a few steps behind. She was too distracted by the dome ceiling to listen to the fate of her grandparents. “What is it I can assist you with today, Your Majesty?” asked Vivian. Larelle wondered if she was always so polite.
“I was wondering if the church had any old texts in its possession. Either those originating from Ithyion or perhaps written by those who would have lived upon its lands.” Larelle kept her request vague, and Vivian frowned in thought.
“Well, of course. We have our holy texts and artefacts; those deemed sacred enough were brought with our fleeing ancestors. Are you wishing to build your knowledge of the kingdom we are founded upon?” she asked, and Larelle nodded.
“One would always like to know more of their history, particularly when those closest are no longer here.” Vivian’s frown turned to one of pity, assuming Larelle missed her parents or brother.
“This way.” Vivian guided Larelle to a locked door in the corner behind the altar, and Larelle beckoned for Alvan and Zarya to follow, the latter of which gaped at the surroundings. Larelle trailed her hand along the wall as they entered the corridor. “Apologies for the darkness,” Vivian called ahead. “We must preserve the conditions of the texts and tapestries.”
Larelle felt the ground incline into steps. Her legs ached as she followed Vivian and reached the top of the church. Vivian pulled a set of keys from under her robes while Larelle turned to check on Zarya, unsurprised to find her giggling on Alvan’s back.
“Please, wait here while I light the room,” Vivian told Larelle. The young woman’s movements were soft as she removed a lantern from the wall and lit the others around the vaulted room. Larellereached for the heavy curtain before her and peeked behind it, squinting as light greeted her directly at the edge of the domed glass ceiling. Peering down through the glass exterior, Larelle saw the altar they had been at moments ago, and when she looked up again, she saw the rooftops of Mera on the opposite side.
