Aleena made her way to the Temple of Synodia, at the center of Tiovhan. By design, all of the village’s main paths led directly to the temple, making it easy to lose oneself in thought along the way. Aleena hadn’t thought her father’s demise would be so calm. She’d thoroughly expected him to expire in the whirlwind of his “mania,” as the Vechernese elder had deemed it. Instead, he’d perished sedately. Perhaps the effort of transfusing his power to Aleena, his progeny, was to blame. She had no idea what to do with it. However, neither the Vecherna, nor their sister sect, the Utrenna, would give her time to think of it.

Constructed from great slabs of stone in an open-air design, the temple was a shrine to light in all of its celestial forms. The Tiovanni considered it a divine coincidence—the will of the goddess Iris—that the sun and moon would both pass directly over the temple. Aleena entered the building absently. Years spent trekking in and out of it enabled her to navigate it without emerging from her preoccupation.

Aleena’s reverie evaporated as she approached the temple center. There, she observed Shinevra kneeling in prayer upon a slightly raised circular platform surrounded by a circular channel of water. Each day, when the sun reached its highest point in the sky, it created a brilliant shaft of light upon the platform. The water feature reflected the light in many directions, brightening the temple. 

Aleena thought Shinevra, illuminated by the full sun in a gesture of ultimate piety, resembled a goddess or a statue of one. The queen’s warm, umber complexion only served to magnify the effect. Upon hearing Aleena’s approach, Shinevra stood and turned to greet her—breaking the spell she unknowingly cast upon the younger adult.

“Aleena,” she said, “or, as would be appropriate to call you now, Envoy of the Moon. We offer our condolences for Higorov’s passing.” She punctuated this with a slight bow of her head.

Aleena genuflected before her queen as is customary when a clergy leader acknowledges one or one’s family members by name. Higorov had complained about the practice, among others, at length in one of his rages. Shinevra reminded Aleena of her father—what he might have been with appropriately bridled passions. She bore the same intensity as he had in his final moments, sans the urgency caused by his impending demise.

“Your Radiance,” Aleena said. “I am pleased to serve you in the capacity of the Envoy of the Moon. It is my duty to perform the rites of the moon and instruct Tiovhan in its ways and means.”

Shinevra gave a shallow nod. “Indeed. It is with bated breath that I anticipate the resumption of our ritual dances. The late Envoy has been inexplicably remiss in his failure to perform it. With your tutelage, the Vecherna shall not lose these art forms. It is regrettable that Higorov allowed his brilliance to overshadow his duties, as his capacity for theological insight could have enlightened the Vecherna for generations to come.”

Out of all the Tiovanni, Shinevra alone expressed a modicum of respect for the man. Aleena felt no need to agree with the positive aspects of the queen’s assessment, but it gave her some hope.

“I hope the Tiovanni are as generous in their assessment as you have been,” Aleena said. If Aleena’s luck should ever improve, their retrospective generosity would also extend to her.

Shinevra was no stranger to the late Envoy’s poor reputation, nor of Aleena’s inclusion in the judgment he received. “Having borne the responsibilities of the Envoy for as long as you have, the Tiovanni already have good reason to trust you. Be steadfast, and let time do its work,” she said.

Aleena almost scoffed openly. She’d be forgiven only on her deathbed—if at all—for her father’s transgressions, not to mention those of Artemios, the previous king. “The people have grown to mistrust the Vecherna, your Radiance. The next Exchange of Synodia will not be welcomed by the people.” In homage to the relationship of the sun and the moon, the Utrenna and the Vecherna exchanged control of Tiovhan with the passing of each leader. Yet, some elders suspected a less-than-peaceful transfer of power upon Shinevra’s descent from power.

Shinevra stepped off the platform carefully, subtly hiking up her robes lest they be drenched in the channel. She gently laid her hands on Aleena’s shoulders. 

“Nay, my child. The sun shall set upon Tiovhan as always and give its light to the moon, as it has for generations. You are well-regarded among the people for your piety, extensive familiarity with the lore, and lively oration.”

Aleena bowed her head in supplication. “Thank you, my queen,” she said. 

Shinevra smiled. “You are the future of Tiovhan—when the time arrives, we shall follow you.”

Aleena bowed in full this time. She left the temple, feeling Shinevra’s eyes upon her every step of the way.

Outside, Aleena hurried down the steps. She had no lessons to give until the late afternoon, so she had nowhere to go but back to her house. It wasn’t as if she had a habit of making conversation with the villagers. Shinevra’s final words bothered her, anyway. Innocuous as they were to a bystander— 

“Aleena!”

The Envoy almost twisted her ankle when she turned at hearing her name suddenly called. Such exclamations were common in the fields at either end of the valley, but unheard of near the temple. After gathering her composure, she looked to either side. Seeing nothing, she turned around. The village structure made for strange acoustics. The hymns were easier to hear at a distance, but echolocation was impossible. Behind her, the owner of the voice clip-clopped down the stairs. A man, dressed in the white tunic of a Vechernese acolyte, skidded to a halt in front of her.

“Aleena,” he said, “I’m sorry to hear about—”

Aleena felt her face harden.

“…right,” he continued. “Are you well?”

Aleena thought about it for a moment. “I’m about the same as usual, actually.” Flatly, she said, “And you, Phoebus?”

Phoebus flinched, presumably at the brusque response. Aleena couldn’t bring herself to feel poorly about it. She’d assumed—wrongly, it seemed—that the Tiovanni would be more than happy to pretend that Higorov had never existed. It remained to be seen whether they would pair their unwanted condolences with commendation or judgment. Shinevra had chosen both.

Phoebus heaved a great sigh. “I would speak with you, Envoy,” he said.

“Very well,” Aleena said. She started walking toward her—Higorov’s—house.

Phoebus caught up in a few long steps. “Forgive me, Aleena.”

Aleena held in her sigh.

Phoebus’ voice rose in pitch. “Higorov would have killed me! You know I stayed with you until…”

Aleena tuned out the man’s hysterics. She did recall her father yelling at the acolytes incoherently at some point. As far as she knew, he’d not laid hands on anyone except for her—even that had been minor, ultimately. It was a poor excuse for to Phoebus to abandon her. She’d already gotten the apology she wanted, so she didn’t need to hear the rest. Aleena stopped walking—causing Phoebus’ jaw to snap shut. She didn’t wait for him to open it again.

“It can hardly be helped that you value the approval of others as much or more than you do our friendship. You did the best you could at the time. Consider yourself forgiven.” Ignoring his dumbfounded expression, she continued. “Let me rest, please. I have lessons to give later.” She walked away. 

Even though she had been rather pointed in her assessment, she was pleased that Phoebus had returned to her side. Perhaps it would encourage the others to do the same. In return, she would see to it that she did not repeat the previous mistakes of Higorov, or his predecessor, King Artemios. The Vecherna would glow in the enlightenment she rendered as queen.

Photo by Jonatan Pie on Unsplash