19- Conviction

If Callie had not spent her entire evening out in the city, bringing the gift of Yala’s blessing as far and wide as she could bestow it, she would have brought Calvin into the villa and slept in his arms. She’d already kissed him in front of dozens of people, the rumors would surely be out and flying around. She’d already broken more rules and customs than she could count by being out and giving blessings at night. Why not take something for herself? 

So, as she sits on the balcony with Junivere, overlooking the city as the first washes of sunlight peek out over the eastern mountains, she tries to envision being between his arms, up against his chest, feeling his breath breaking against her face and inhaling the soothing scent of him. She wonders briefly if she’d ever convince Junivere to join the two of them, then marvels that it would probably make Calvin the first person to ever lay with two Devotias at once.

The news of a Devotia of Yala spreads quickly through the city. Callie is nowhere close to the only person who stayed up all night. There were dances and celebrations, songs bursting out over the streets. And as the dawn breaks, it may as well be a holiday in Solva - an impromptu one, but one nonetheless. If she survives the coming days, perhaps it’ll become an established one. The Feast of Yala’s Anointing. 

The crook of Junivere’s neck remains a place like home for Callie, and she rests her head there as they sit and watch the city below. Her fellow Devotia’s arm is around her back, palm resting on her waist and tracing across her dress absent-mindedly. She allows herself to relax, if only for a moment. 

“By the goddesses,” Junivere sighs, her legs dangling off the edge in a way that should scare them both, but doesn’t. “You really are something, Callie.” 

On the far side of the city, somewhere in the Rust district, a tiny, golden firework explodes and a cheer of delight calls out to it. 

“I sure hope so. Otherwise I’m about to be run out of this city.” 

She gazes up at the sky, rising from orange to yellow to blue on the horizon. A little higher up, the full moon retains its hold on the day - one of those delightful mornings where sun and moon could coexist, unseparated by the partition of day and night. Time for Suul and Yala to be together. 

She squeezes tighter against Junivere. Time for the two of them to be together. 

“There’s always Tulla,” Junivere smirks. Callie tips her toes around, hooking her foot around Junivere’s ankle and bringing it to her. “It’ll work. I’ve got a good feeling about this.” 

Callie’s arms bring herself closer still. It’s difficult to ever feel close enough to Junivere - she always wishes to be deeper and deeper into her soft body. Callie smiles, and with a hushed elation, says, “Suul and Yala. Junivere and Callie.” 

Junivere’s hand compresses against her hip, warm and sweet. “I can’t even begin to fathom how much will change if both get Devotias going forward. The consequences will be far reaching.” 

“Hopefully in a good way.” 

Callie feels her neck and shoulders shift as Junivere looks down at her. She can feel her adoring look without even needing to see it. “I think it will be,” she decides. 

Consequences will be coming. Callie is under no pretense that this moment cannot last forever and ever like she wishes it could. But still, she’s resolved to enjoy it for every second that time will allot for her. 

“I love you. You know that, right?” 

“I do,” Callie replies, appreciative. 

“I haven’t known how to describe it,” Junivere shrugs, bringing Callie’s head up and down with her shoulder. “It feels different than you and Calvin - different from how I’ve ever felt before.” 

“Same. But I like it,” Callie agrees. “I’ve never had a sister, but I suppose this is like that.” 

Junivere’s snorting cackle could surely be heard across the city, as far as Callie is concerned. She squeezes Callie tight, grabbing hold of her face to make her stare into her eyes and see how ridiculous that statement was. “You don’t fuck your sisters,” her breath sputters as a gorgeous grin consumes her. “I’ve no clue what goes on in Rookwell, but that’s gross.” 

And Callie laughs with her. “Maybe I am tired.” 

“Goofy,” Junivere accuses. “No, no I don’t love you like a sister, idiot.” A pause to consider. “I love you like you’re my closest friend, and more.” 

“Bless the goddess for the ‘and more.’” 

Then, Junivere’s hand is on her jaw, guiding Callie’s mouth up into hers. It’s so easy to sigh into it, to accept the Devotia’s touch with a lightness in her chest and a warmth in her body. Junivere’s tongue flirts with the space between her teeth, slipping back and forth, until Callie’s is meeting it in her mouth instead. 

And there was Junivere. The woman Callie loves more than any other woman she knows, a woman she could never have imagined loving - much less that it would be reciprocated. Theirs was a love that would always defy convention, would always defy her expectations, yet it would always be a place Callie could rejoice in. 

She loves the glitter in Junivere’s eyes as she pulls away. 

“Now,” the other Devotia throws her legs around the balcony and prepares to march inside. “They should have had plenty of time to start the meeting and get themselves all worked up. Let’s go find out if you’re excommunicated.” 

 

– – – 

 

They’d shown up late, deliberately. It was something Callie debated, even as she walks inside and accepts that the decision has already been made. It was supposed to connote power, supposed to affirm that she was claiming an authority above even the Imperium. 

She’d taken a heavy breath before entering. 

Junivere was barred from entering with her, so Callie stands alone in the beam of morning sunlight, pouring from the gap in the roof to illuminate her place in the center of their throned semi-circle. Not for the first time, Callie shudders at the knowledge that this is the most powerful group of mages on the continent. 

Velena, who had halted her monologue to allow Callie to take her place of scrutiny, continues. Callie’s never seen her so angry. 

“-constitutes a clear violation of the rites and customs of her station,” the youngest Magister is explaining. Her voice remains poised and measured, but Callie can feel the fury underneath, and can taste the sharpness of her tone. “This is a dereliction of duty unlike anything in the history of the Devotia, such that I contend this to be the gravest scandal one has ever produced. 

“In addition to public and private displays of a romantic entanglement, which compromises her judgment, I must further, and most egregiously, charge Devotia Callana with the reckless endangerment of the populace, for the practice of unsanctioned, untested magic.” 

Callie knows she’s not supposed to speak, but she takes a small delight in pointing out, “But you have been testing it.” 

And the Head Magister, Krann, grumbles. “Devotia Callana, I ask that you do not speak out of turn. Magister Velena?” 

Velena is standing before her throne, pacing upon the tall dias that lifts it up from the floor below. “It has not been lost upon this council that the tenure of Devotia Callana has been an unprecedented one. A newcomer to the city. The first threaded Devotia. She proclaimed the anointing of a second Devotia over Solva. And, she claims a new Arcana bestowed by Yala.” 

Xamner makes a displeased noise. “Claims? She’s clearly demonstrated it.” And Callie appreciates his comment, sparing her from the need to make the very same point. 

Velena gives him a look that could kill, which Xamner ignores. Callie tries to meet his eyes, knowing that if she was to survive this, he is her only hope. To be removed it must be unanimous. She hopes she didn’t push Dynasa too far. If she and Xamner turn on Callie, call her bluff and decide she’s too dangerous… 

“After such a desolate array of circumstances, the gravest of her crimes committed last night,” Velena concludes, her voice whipping up the frustrations of the other Magisters, “after a rising tide of disrespecting and destabilizing tradition, I believe it is in the best interests of Solva, and luminant Suul, to excommunicate Devotia Callana and separate her ties to the Arcana.” 

“Seconded,” Magister Markin adds quickly. 

And, not to be upstaged, Beleveir joins him. “Thirded.” 

A hostile breath passes between them all as Magister Krann shuffles in his seat. He’d kept hold of his position as the head of the council for his moderation and level-headedness; though, Callie wasn’t particularly counting on his support. She flicks her eyes to Xamner once more. 

“Am I to take these motions as your votes? Three in favor of removal?” Krann asks the council, head on a swivel to confirm. Once confirmed, he rests back into his throne, one arm on either rest beside him. He releases a tired breath. “Out of respect for a Devotia, and the divine wisdom of both goddesses who have anointed her, I offer Devotia Callana an opportunity to speak in her defense.” 

Callie nods. Pauses. 

Velena’s power had come from her ability to speak and hold the room by her words - to take hold of the moment and decide how it would play out. Not dissimilar, she realizes, to how she’d gained influence over Callie in the first place. Before Callie could articulate anything, Velena already had answers for her. 

So she’d wield a different attempt for power. 

“I serve the goddesses,” Callie says simply. She narrows her gaze, staring deeply into the eyes of each Magister. “Do you?” 

Another long pause. 

Krann watches her, thoughtfully, and apologetically declares, “I vote in favor. My apologies, Devotia Callana, but I do not believe this course of radicalism can be allowed to persist at the expense of our necessary institutions.” He shakes his head. “Magisters Xamner, Hamada, how do you vote?” 

Xamner finally meets Callie’s stare. He considers her thoughtfully, and she thinks about all of his past talk about wanting a Devotia to stand on their own two feet. He’d told her that even when she felt all she was had been taught to her by Velena - and now, here she was, standing upon her feet and staring down the greatest magical council that exists. If that wasn’t an independent Devotia, what was?

And she thinks of their talk of helping the city, of freeing the Devotia to return the balance to society. That is what they both wanted - last night was the first time Callie truly felt like a Devotia, the first time she truly felt whole. To be allowed to love, and to pour out that love for others, that is what she wants. That is all she desires. 

She may not have taken the expected route, the meticulously crafted one that Xamner and Dynasa have spent years devising, the one that would occur at the expense of her. She would not be a candle, burned at both ends to be used up for a future she would not survive to see. If there were to be changes for Devotia, a brighter light at the end of the tunnel, she resolves to be alive and thriving to enjoy them. 

So, she stares at Xamner, the old, thoughtful, critical man, hoping he shares her vision. Hoping he understands the risk she’s taken, and can see the will of a goddess behind her, crying out for freedom. Damn the Standard Arcana, damn the Mirage Arcana. What matters to her is the active will of moving, the inertia of asserting change with all she can muster. 

He moves in his seat. Folds his robes carefully as he considers. 

“Remove her.” 

And suddenly Callie understands how Ellava felt. 

He looks scornfully at her, frowning as though he could not stand the sight of her any longer. Xamner turns his face away, and a part of Callie wonders if he had made the same expression while condemning her predecessor. 

The realization sinks in. She is going to be excommunicated. 

Callie told herself she was ready for this, convinced herself that she would survive whatever might come, but the reality of being asked to give everything up, leave everything behind… Junivere, Cirene, the priestesses… 

And Calvin might have told her last night he would go with her, but would he? Was he, too, armored and bolstered by the feelings of the moment? 

“Magister Hamada,” Kranna marches on to the final vote left. “What say you?” 

Hamada was a stern, principled woman. Callie had grown to learn of her commitment to the people of Solva this summer, as the two of them worked tirelessly to save the keelt crop from the heatwaves that tore through the fields, but she was not known for her flexibility. She had values and stuck to them, was willing to argue and fight for them against any contestation. 

Her sharp face considers Callie, much like one would consider which pear to pick from a cart. Are the features right? Round enough? Colorful enough? Will this be sweet and light, or sour and unripe? Her head tilts thoughtfully. 

“Nay,” Hamada replies, bringing her focus back to the Head Magister. “I do not condemn her.” 

And just as Xamner’s rejection tore through her, so too does Hamada’s protection wrench her open. She takes a step back, forgetting not to show her confusion upon her face for a moment, then shoves it back behind a highly controlled front. 

What was she doing? 

Velena leaps out of her seat, an accusing finger wagging at Hamada across the aisle. “Ridiculous! Have you no thought for the consequences?” 

Markin has left his seat as well, his burly chest squaring in his robes. “This is a coup!” 

Krann shows more poise, but not much. He glares at her from his center seat. “Magister Hamada, reconsider,” he insists, nearly a threat. “She has broken probation, violated traditions, taken a public lover, engaged in reckless endangerment, and now amassed a band of followers loyal only to her.” 

Beleveir sits forward, his suave and pretentious voice biting at her as well, “What of your principles, eh? You’re incessant in your scolding of the rest of us to consider principle, to consider moral longevity. You’d sacrifice your own values for her? For whatever power you think you may-,”

“First,” Hamada says sharply, silencing him without leaving her seat. “Magister Beleveir, I’ll not tolerate insults to my character, nor accusations against my principles. I’d advise restraint in your future speech, lest I remind you exactly why I succeeded in my challenge for this seat.” 

Beleveir grumbles, folding his arm over his chest. 

“Second,” Hamada continues, now turning her focus to the rest of the council. “What of the people?” 

“What of them?” Markin growls. 

Her hand points at the door, towards the city waiting for the results of this meeting, locked away and unable to be party to its deliberation. “They’ve now met at Devotia of a goddess who does not have a Devotia. What are they to think? Hmm?” She leans forward, her dark eyes piercing through the room. “Power is unstable when it is regressive. They cannot unsee this moment.” 

Velena sighs audibly. “She has broken countless laws and traditions to do this! This is a violation of the state.” 

“A violation she has committed in service of the people, not the state,” Hamada says as though agreeing. Then, returning to her cool poise, cuttingly asks, “You’d remove a Devotia who has just personally blessed a significant portion of the city? What will they think of you, then?” 

This time, it is Magister Krann who speaks up. “They will defer to the wisdom of this government,” he says, a twinge of optimism in his tone. 

Hamada does not relent. “Magister Krann did not save the keelt crop. Their Devotia did.” She turns to her side. “Magister Markin did not renegotiate salaries at the monastic reconstruction and prevent a strike, their Devotia did.” And, most aggressively, “Magister Velena did not bring the proclamation of Yala’s blessing - their Devotia did.” 

A hush falls into the space. Tense. Anticipatory. 

“The coup is already staged,” Hamada concludes. “She has, wittingly or not, outplayed you.” 

And the Magisters consider her. Their eyes scowl at her, pick apart Callie, stare worriedly at the grand doors to the Hall of the Imperium. A long moment passes between them, curious to see who will break the tension, and in what way it will break. 

It is the moderate Krann who accepts the task. With a heaviness in his tone, and a frustration hidden underneath, he says, “Forgive me, but as head of this body, and head of this state, I cannot accept this result. This is a clear and present threat to this institution, and to the stability of our city. Magister Hamada…” He sucks in a breath, holding his words mournfully, “I ask that you abdicate.” 

She does not hesitate to reply, “I will not.” 

Velena cuts in. “Then I challenge you for your seat.” 

Xamner releases a loud groan. “Is one throne not enough for you, witch?” 

The young Magister, Callie’s former mentor, stares down the council, daring them to deny her this chance to solve the problem directly. 

It is Krann who speaks next. His voice is measured and careful. “Magister Velena, I believe it goes without saying that you cannot occupy two seats at once.” 

“I don’t wish to,” she says, annoyed at the assumption and shooting a murderous look at Xamner. “Should I prevail, in lieu of ascending to her seat, I will nominate a proper replacement.” And, to convince the apprehensive others, adds, “Someone who will judge this moment properly.” 

“Seconded,” Markin coughs. He bangs a fist on his armrest. “If you don’t challenge her, I will.” 

“I accept both,” Hamada says cooly. 

“Magister Hamada-,” Krann attempts. 

“I will not accept insults to my honor, nor to my judgment,” Hamada declares, and for a moment Callie is terrified of her. She’d heard rumors at what Hamada’s temper could look like, and worn now on her face, Callie would never be brave enough to want to stand against her in a duel. “I will face Markin first, then Velena. I will accept the glad tidings of a goddess, even if the rest of this council will not.” 

Krann releases a low breath. “Magisters Velena, Markin, as the challengers it is your right to name the time and location.” 

Markin sits forth. “I would happily go here and now-,”

“In an hour,” Velena answers for him. “The central plaza.” 

“I accept,” Hamada stands before anyone else can chime in. Then her fierce gaze is locking onto Callie, and she declares, “Devotia Callana, I wish to speak with you.” 

Callie swallows back the activating fear her look instills, putting on as neutral of an expression as she can muster. “You may accompany me to the garden of the villa.” 

She escapes out the hallway towards the marble home, shooting a confused look at Junivere and the priestesses as they anxiously await the news. Willow is just about to ask a question when the icy fury of Magister Hamada marching behind Callie silences her. 

They arrive in the exterior courtyard, where Callie turns and attempts a polite greeting, a word of gratitude -

“I would like to make myself clear,” Hamada begins, absent of any warmth. Her terrifying gaze grabs hold of Callie, freezing her in place with her heart pounding against her chest. “If you are attempting to seize control of this government, I will not hesitate to personally end that threat.” 

“I have no intention of-,”

“And if I sense, at any moment,” she whispers harshly, “that you have anything but good intentions for the people of this city, I will remove you. Goddesses’ will or not.” 

Callie inhales. 

Hamada steps forward, towering over her. “Do you understand the norms you have destabilized today?” 

“Yes,” she replies quietly.

“Do you?” The Magister growls at her, and Callie would almost rather accept the easy ending of a duel compared to this lecture. “Never before has a Devotia committed such violations and not faced consequences. This is a dangerous space we are entering - one in which anything might come of this.” 

Callie forces herself to take control of her breathing. She holds her hands tightly at her navel, squeezing them to stabilize herself. “Magister Hamada, I do not wish to be a Devotia under lock and key, blessing only leaders and nobles.” A beat. “I care about the rest of this city - the ones who have never, ever, met a Devotia. I care for my heart, and for my own need to be whole.” 

Hamada reflects on that, tries to read the sincerity of her words. She steps back, nodding resolutely, seemingly pleased with the answer. 

“Why are you doing this?” Callie attempts.

Hamada purses her lips. “Irreverent as you are… you have earned a portion of my respect, one which few Devotia ever do. I saw you out in the fields in the heat, saw the way you interacted with the farmers like they mattered. It has been some time since I’ve seen a Devotia care like that. 

“And…” She hesitates. She whips her forearms out of her billowing sleeves, crossing them over her chest. “Say you knock a flower pot off of a shelf and shatter it. You are faced with a choice: allow nature to run its course and let the plant decay, or, attempt to repot it.” She takes a low breath. “We cannot unbreak this pot - you’ve pushed it off the shelf. I fear what may happen if we allow politics to run its course,” she shrugs her head back towards the Imperium. Then she steps forward, once again allowing a mild threat to enter her speech. “If I survive these challenges, you and I are going to have a long conversation about repotting this godsforsaken government.” 

And, feeling a little frightened of doing so, Callie extends a hand out to her. Hamada’s brow raises, but after a moment she accepts it, shaking her hand. 

“Now, I am going to prepare. They are two of the strongest mages alive, mind you,” the Magister tells her, gazing up at the arriving morning. Callie enjoys the continued presence of the full moon in the blue sky, holding on to the memory of its gift. 

With a whip of her cloak, Hamada turns and marches off. 

 

– – -

 

The news of the twin duels between Magisters spreads through the city just as quickly as the news of Yala’s new Devotia does. A massive crowd turns out to the main plaza, numbering at least a thousand, scattered in the avenues, on rooftops, hanging off of balconies. 

Callie watches from her own terrace, set into the front face of the central cathedral to Suul, the very same one she waited in just before proclaiming Junivere as a Devotia of Solva. Gloriana keeps watch just outside the entrance to it, resolute in ensuring Callie might have peace from unwelcome interruptions, which she appreciates dearly. She could hardly handle her own nerves, much less anyone else's. Goddess forbid she have to act calm and collected - at least up on the balcony she is visible enough that people feel her presence but far enough that she doesn’t have to police her expression. 

A circular, threadstone plaza. A large fountain, with the blazing symbol of Suul spitting out water from its sharp rays. Avenues descending out from it like spokes of a wheel. She’d hoped her agony of whether or not she’d need to flee would end in the Imperium, but now, it seems, this is where it will be decided. 

A noise behind her, and she turns to find Calvin stepping onto the balcony. 

Before she can even react, he’s scooped her up into his arms. His hand is in her hair, his arm around her back. His breath is on her neck, and it’s so painfully easy to bury herself into his grasp. 

“Calvin!” She squeaks, squeezing him back just as tightly. 

“You’re not exiled,” he replies. Gleeful. Relieved. And Callie realizes how worried he had been without showing it - that he had been acting confident but was truly afraid for her. His relief brings her in deeper, and he’s grabbing hold of her with a grounding satisfaction - as though all would be right, now that she could stay. 

“Not yet,” she whispers. She releases a long breath into his shoulder, then inhales his comforting scent. He’s in his usual armor, and from his body language he’s thrilled about that fact. “Is it… well… you’re holding me in front of the whole city.”

“What can they do, excommunicate you twice?” He chuckles, and she allows herself to relax into his embrace even further. 

In front of everyone. He’s holding me in front of everyone. 

And she brings her lips to his neck, kissing him gently and then simply leaving her mouth pressed against his skin, allowing the knowledge to settle within her. He isn’t a secret anymore. He isn’t a scandal waiting to happen. He isn’t leaving. 

Sure, he’s a scandal in progress, but at least she can enjoy it for now. 

“I thought you’d be busy,” she tells him as he finally sets her down. 

Calvin steps forward, leaning his hip into the bannister and gazing out over the whole city before them. “I thought I would be. But, it seems Knight-Captain Wellt has decided to preside over the duels instead. She’s personally arranging security.” He winces just a little. “For some reason, she worried I might not be the best face of the Knighthood at the moment.” And she giggles with him. “She also asked me to tell you that this is not what she had in mind when she said she’d keep our secret.” 

“Well…” Callie sighs and shrugs. Rolling her eyes, she steps forward and takes his hand. “If it’s any comfort to her, I could never have predicted this, either.” She brings his wrist to her lips, then looks down at her city below. Her city. Her home. A patter of worry enters her, knowing she might lose it all in just a few moments. “Do you think Hamada can win?” 

“Against one? Sure,” Calvin nods. “Back-to-back will be a tough bout unless she ends them quickly.” His hand wraps around her waist as the two of them now face the city - and for a moment, standing beside him and knowing that surely hundreds of people were watching them, whispering about them, she feels like a princess with her prince. 

“What happens after?” Calvin asks quietly. 

“Win? We try to follow the goddesses’ will.” She closes her eyes. “Lose? Well, I never got used to a life of comfort and luxury anyway.” She brings her hips closer to touch against his. “But, we’ll be together.” 

“Together,” he affirms, and Callie thinks about how much more trouble it would be to kiss him again. And what if we did more than kiss? She shudders, more excited than she ought to admit at the idea. 

The background buzz of the crowd dims as two figures enter into the courtyard - Magister Krann, and Knight-Captain Wellt. They stand before the massive fountain, and with a simple spell to amplify their voices, they begin in earnest. 

“At the discretion of Head Magister Krann,” Wellt announces authoritatively, “I shall be officiating these duels. This is done in compliance with agreement from both parties-,”

Another noise behind Callie, and suddenly Junivere is at her side. 

“Hey, Cal,” she places a hand on her back. 

“June,” she beams. Junivere tips her chin up to meet her lips quickly, and Callie has to take a long breath to regain control of herself. 

“Calvin,” her fellow Devotia leans forward to greet him. 

They’ve both kissed me in front of everyone. Both of them-

“Hal Devotia,” he replies warmly. 

Everyone saw and now both of their arms are on me and- 

She chokes back the feeling, resolving to do something about that later. She shakes her head abruptly, and a knowing look from Junivere says she’s less subtle about her excitement than she thought. Neither of them shy away from their touch upon her, settling into a shared embrace of her. 

And Callie really does not want to have to leave this city. With one hand offered to each, she grabs hold of both of their palms and squeezes them. 

“There shall be two rounds, provided the outcome of the first,” the Knight-Captain continues. “Magister Markin will face Magister Hamada first, followed by Magister Velena’s challenge if Hamada prevails.”

“Betting pools favor Hamada over Markin,” Junivere relates. 

Calvin snorts in agreement. “I’m pretty sure Mykah could defeat Markin.” 

“He’s a Magister,” Callie says, not sharing their confidence. “It’ll be close.” 

Wellt continues her announcement. “Fights conclude upon surrender or death. Surrender may be forced if the defeated party is incapacitated.” 

At this, the Head Magister speaks up as well. “Victor of each round is entitled to nomination of a successor to the defeated party’s seat. This nominee must then face any challenges before acceptance into the Imperium.” 

“No weapons allowed - duels are to be magic only,” Wellt adds. “No outside intervention. Violations result in forfeit, and prosecution.” 

And at that, Magister Hamada enters the courtyard. She wears heavy green robes, dropping all the way down to the floor, with billowing sleeves and a heavy hood. It’s two hours until noon, and yet the summer day is already hot enough to bring sweat to Callie’s skin, even in her lightest dress. She can’t imagine how unbearable the heat would be in full sunlight in those robes. 

“The challengers have set the time and location,” Wellt declares.

Markin enters next, having completely disregarded his formal robes. He wears a light tank top and trousers, a comfortable linen that wouldn’t inhibit his movement in any way. It shows off his heavy and hairy chest, his mountainous form. He might be shorter than Hamada by an inch or two, but only because she is extraordinarily tall. Her slender form seems far smaller compared to his burly muscles. 

Unsure of what to say, Callie turns to Junivere and asks, “What do the betting pools say about Hamada versus Velena?” 

Junivere squeezes her hand and speaks with a quiet voice. “Velena’s the youngest on the council - one of the youngest ever to sit on the Imperium. She’s a prodigy. Her challenge against Favan lasted six seconds.” 

“So, Velena,” Callie summarizes grimly. 

“Yeah.” 

“Spells must be contained to the courtyard, and may not exit its bounds,” the Knight-Captain continues. “Duelists may not leave the chosen arena. Retreat from this space constitutes a forfeit.” She takes an efficient breath, then says curtly, “The duel commences at the chiming of the bell.” 

And then it’s just Hamada and Markin in the courtyard, standing across its length while the city falls eerily silent. Callie is sure she’s never heard Solva so quiet before, except at night. 

“Gods,” she muses, looking down at Hamada’s still form. “It must be hot in those robes. Is she holding a frost charm?” 

“It’d be a waste of energy,” Calvin puffs. 

“Heatstroke is worse,” Junivere rebuts, and Calvin bobs his head in agreement. 

And the bell chimes. 

Callie hardly follows what comes next. 

Markin moves first, his fingertips grabbing hold of the very air and condensing it into energy, tearing it apart as though the light itself is fabric, and he claps his hands together. It sends a furious blast of fiery, golden energy booming through the courtyard to Hamada, racing nearly so quickly that most of what Callie could see is blinded by the flash of light. 

And Hamada throws off her robes, which lift into the air with a magic like Callie has never seen before. It expands out, melting away into what she can only assume is a frost charm from the flash of cold that whips through the air around them. But the charm melts into a inky black ward, storming through Hamada like a sudden thunderstorm, condensing into a towering shield in front of her. It sucks the light out of the air around Hamada, absorbing the energy like some sort of abyss. 

It forms into a convex ward before her, consuming the blast from Markin and flash freezing it, shattering the frantic beams of energy into shards. With a wave of her outstretched arms, those shards race back at him. 

With a horrendous shattering crash, Markin is impaled a thousand times over. 

He dies in less than ten seconds. 

“That was…” 

Junivere makes a noise, somewhere between amazed and horrified, and Callie feels the same. She’s locked in place, her mind still racing to comprehend how quickly the space before them was torn apart at the will of the mages. She’s seen a wide variety of spells by this point - but Callie realizes she’s never seen them used in combat before. 

It’s furious, it's frightening, and it's awe-inspiring. 

And as she sees Hamada’s calm form watch him die like it was no surprise, Callie realizes why exactly she holds her seat on the Imperium. It wasn’t just her sheer power - Markin’s blast was every bit as impressive as hers - she was a strategist, cunning, piercing, incisive. She’d predicted his move exactly and built her entire defense around it. The battle was over before either of them had even entered the courtyard - Markin was just the last to know it. 

And watching the terror of their battle, Callie understands for the first time just how much power each member of that council holds at their fingertips. Perhaps she should have been more frightened around them than she was. 

“Markin was a fool,” Calvin is saying to Junivere. “Now Hamada gets to nominate someone, who will undoubtedly protect Callie as well. He should have swallowed his pride.” 

Callie exhales, getting a hold of herself. “Velena could just challenge that Magister as well.” 

At that, Junivere tenses. “That… that could become a very dangerous precedent very quickly…” 

And Callie understands deeper the danger she’s accidentally unleashed, the instability of Solva’s government she’d never seen before. All that was holding the Imperium in tact was a mutual respect not to simply kill each other - that it was better for everyone if there were more seats at the table than just one. 

But she’d given them a real reason to fight. 

Now, it was the survival of the fittest for the council. A sitting Magister had never dueled another Magister before, and with Markin’s death, that now exists as an option. A precedent that could quickly unravel them all. 

Hamada’s warning about destabilizing norms solidifies within her. The pot was already shattered. There is no option to undo this standard now. The Magisters have gained access to a tool that can lead to their mutual destruction, or worse - one could decide to accept the danger and challenge all of them. 

Velena had killed her predecessor in six seconds. 

All Callie can wonder is if she’s made a horrible mistake. 

The Knight-Captain enters the courtyard once more, directing a few knights to remove the dead Magister. The blood stains the threastones underfoot, and Wellt looks at it with a stoic fortitude. 

“A clear winner,” she announces to the city, then turns to the victor. “Magister Hamada, who do you nominate to fill his seat?”

“My apprentice, Baris.” 

She nods. “She shall face challengers at the conclusion of your duel with Magister Velena.” 

Callie steps away to catch her breath. She leaves the balcony, entering the cool, stony cathedral, muttering a greeting to Gloriana as she goes. A brief word about who won, and then Callie is leaning over the railing that stares down into the sanctuary, considering her path out of this. Considering all the options at her table. 

“Hal Devotia?” A voice calls from her side, and soon Civa is approaching to lay against the railing with her. 

“Civa, what’s wrong?” 

The priestess looks concerned. “Salome has disappeared.” 

Callie restrains her reaction. So she’s doing it, after all. “When?” 

“I’m not sure, I haven’t seen her since last night. She’s been missing all morning.” 

She better hurry. 

Callie places a hand on her shoulder. Gentle. Encouraging. “If you can, keep searching. I hope she’s alright.” 

You won’t find her. 

Civa nods, departing just as quickly as she had come. Callie takes another moment to herself, then rejoins Calvin and Junivere, preparing herself for resolution to her anxieties - for ill or for better. 

“They’re just about to start,” her fellow Devotia tells her, once again accepting her hand. “I’ve never seen Velena as angry as she looks now. It’s terrifying.” 

Calvin takes her other hand. “Hamada can win. She has to.” 

Looking at the fury in Velena’s eyes, the raw power of her form, Callie isn’t sure. With the chime of a bell, peeling out across the city around them, they begin.

The fight would later be described as one of the most terrifying displays of magic in the history of the city. It would be recorded in the annals of history, the famous duel that would surely never be matched ever again. Both would become legends for this very fight. 

Two Magisters at the highest caliber, battling over the fate of a Devotia’s excommunication. The central plaza of Solva. A crowd of a thousand people. One Magister dead upon the ground. A full moon leftover from the night before that has refused to yield to the daylight just yet. 

Hamada strikes first this time. Now liberated from her heavy cloak, she wears a simple sleeveless shirt, which displays arms with winding golden tattoos. Callie has never seen anything like them before, but they wrap around her arms like vines of sunlight. She throws her hands forward and sends a barrage of threadbeams into the space between them, whipping through the air with a crackling chime. 

Velena raises an arm and swings it into a circle, wrapping a beam perpendicular across the incoming attacks and tying the threads into a single strand, and then she freezes them. Hamada seems to have predicted this very response, pulling the ends of the rope to shatter it across its length, filling the arena with the cascading sound of broken glass. Just as with Markin, she sends those shards careening towards Velena. 

Velena hardly flinches. A ward bursts into existence before her, appearing without any discernible somatics, manifesting through sheer force of will. The shards dissolve harmlessly into a floating sand that fades into glittering light, posing no threat to the younger Magister. 

Each response is measured and automatic, as though neither Magister required any effort or time to strategize their counterattacks or defenses. It occurs to Callie that they must have practiced dueling long before this time, likely long before their first challenges to become Magisters. There were probably established traditions of dueling, expected ideal strategies and identified best responses. 

They weren’t just testing each other’s power. They were testing their knowledge. It was a battle of wits and memory just as much as it was a contest of strength. 

Callie can’t fathom if Velena’s next attack is an established move or not, but from her palms explodes a ball of fire whose diameter is larger than a person. She sends it rocketing towards Hamada, and with a quick slice of her hands she uses a ward to propel it away from her, sending it flying towards the crowd and out of bounds. 

But Velena is prepared for that possibility. Her outstretched arm wraps a threadbeam around the fireball, halting its momentum and allowing her to rip its trajectory back towards Hamada, who has to dive to avoid its force. It explodes into the threadstone underneath their feet, screaming into the air with a thunderous roar. 

Velena whips the impromptu flail around and around, swinging it at every place where Hamada finds her bearing. It shatters stones, breaks off an arm of the fountain, and nearly engulfs Hamada on multiple occasions. 

Hamada waits for her moment, sending a flat burst of light slicing through the thread and sending the ball flying directly upwards. She seems ready to send a blast of energy forward, but Velena’s faster, using another thread on the fireball to send it rocketing towards Hamada. It explodes into her, towering flames licking the air and raising the nearby temperature considerably. 

It’s only after the flames subside that Callie sees Hamada in a wide squatting posture, her arms outstretched on either side of her, a bubbling shield protecting the space around her. 

Hamada is panting, and looks as though she’s wincing. Some of her clothes have scorch marks, and some of her hair has been singed. She adjusts her posture, giving herself a moment to catch her breath while Velena paces at a distance, unhurried, studying her to plan her next attack. 

The older Magister collapses the ward and Velena attacks immediately, shooting forth a flat disk of energy that Hamada dodges. Hamada races forward, sprinting at Velena - seemingly deciding she’d have more success at close range. And as Hamada approaches, a ward shielding her charge, Velena does something Callie did not believe was possible.

She unravels the threadstones underfoot. 

The magic of threadstone was not dissimilar to the magic that had let Callie be remade into a woman. With the weaving of beams of light into her, she was able to take on a new form, new features, and be completely remade the way she’d always wanted. It’s a nearly impossible process to reverse, as Mykah had explained to her - it becomes so intricately connected to the body that it would be like skinning a person alive to remove it. Threadstone was the same, using that process and a high-temperature kiln to give the stones a durability and flexibility far beyond most materials. Only the mage who’d cast it could hope to accurately unwind it, if needed. 

Only the mage who’d made it, or an extraordinarily powerful Magister. 

The ground under Hamada’s charge crumbles, bursting the stones apart and giving Velena an armada of golden tendrils to pull against Hamada’s legs, tripping her. It takes a quick response from Hamada not to be swallowed whole, but the time it takes for her to respond gives Velena the upper hand. 

She whips forth a barrage of powerful blasts at Hamada, who only narrowly blocks them, letting one after another explode against her shield in one hand, while her other hand frees her from the sinking terrain underneath her. She stumbles forward, continuing her charge valiantly, only for her ward to shatter at Velena’s next blast. 

So Hamada plays her wildcard. She sinks her fingers into her forearms, ripping the golden tattoos out of her skin. 

“Did she just… what?” Callie exclaims. 

Junivere can’t believe it either. “Her tattoos… are threaded?” 

“That’s insane! That would be… wow.” 

Hamada wields the former tattoo vines like whips, cracking them into the air and sending Velena on the defensive for the first time. One of them catches the younger Magister’s arm, causing her to cry out in pain, and if not for her expert footwork Velena would surely be brought down to the ground. 

Hamada presses the attack, spinning the whips in a constant wheel of blows, one after another after another, each one crackling and sizzling  loudly like a firework, dripping fountains of sparks like a waterfall. She lashes them at Velena’s feet, forcing her to maintain a bottom-heavy ward which keeps her off balance. Hamada sends the occasional strike upwards, bashing against the upper shield to prevent Velena from focusing her efforts, and for a moment, it seems like Hamada might win. 

But Velena wasn’t on her backfoot, she was carefully biding her time, repositioning the two of them for her next move. She waits for a brief gap between strikes, then suddenly drops her ward entirely, dodging the next slash of a whip and throwing her hands out in front of her. 

She encases Hamada in a ward. 

Wards are difficult to maintain at a distance - they become fundamentally weaker. But all Velena needs is a moment of reprieve, forcing Hamada to spend effort bursting the ward open - and by the time she succeeds, Velena sends a blast of force shooting her back into the fountain. 

Hamada crashes into the plinth of the sculpture and collapses into the water. She stumbles back up to her feet, suddenly having to deflect a cascading series of blasts from Velena. She looks exhausted, and trapped in water up to her waist, her movements become sluggish and weary. If Velena is tired at all, it doesn’t show. 

“She’s not going to make it,” Callie breathes out gravely. 

“She’s clever,” Calvin attempts. “She can pull it off.” 

“No, she’s cornered. She’s out of options.” 

Callie watches frightfully as Velena presses the attack, blasting her over and over again. She’d continue until Hamada’s exhaustion finally tore through her, and then she’d finish her off. It was over. 

Panicking, Callie gazes around, trying to think of something, find some way to turn the tide. Her knuckles turn white gripping Calvin’s and Junivere’s hands. She was not willing to give this life up. She was not willing to be cast out, to send running away once more. 

All of her life is here. Her loves are here, her needs are here. Everything about who she is has become intricately tied to Solva. It’s a home she desperately needed, a destiny she never believed she could be possible of. 

She can’t lose. 

I can’t run again. 

Not again. 

Her eyes flick up to the sky. 

The full moon. 

And she takes a breath. 

Knows that the idea in her mind is impossible. 

Yala. Please. 

Please. 

And shutting her eyes, grabbing hold of Calvin and Junivere like everything could be brought into her will by sheer desperation, Callie feels the cool tug of the goddess’ magic within her. 

The water around Hamada shatters into mirror drops as she bursts into a glorious spectacle of light. A cascading beam of silver joins the golden blasts of Velena’s power, and she halts suddenly, struggling to comprehend the scene around her. 

Hamada reacts faster, accepting the blessing without question. She brings the mirror drops into the air around her, draining the water of the pool and sending a spiraling mandala of glowing glass into a wave in front of her. Its silver light is nearly blinding as it reflects the morning sun. 

Velena increases the force of her attacks, sending sizzling balls of fire to smash through the ward taking shape in front of Hamada. Unlike the wards of Suul’s magic, which are hard and solid, the ward in front of Hamada has give to it, allowing each fireball to stretch its boundaries before it swallows them whole and extinguishes them. 

The mirror drops bend and evaporate against each attack, and Velena screams in fury as she steps up her barrage. Hamada finds her footing but can’t escape the fountain, devoting all of her strength to absorbing each blast to keep herself standing, keep herself thinking. 

And Callie realizes that despite the blessing, Velena is still stronger. Each fireball burns hotter and destroys more and more of the ward. Hamada is going to lose. 

Velena presses the attack as Callie succumbs to the defeat, her hands growing limp in her lovers’ palms. She steps forward with each attack, vaporizing more and more of the mirror drops with each moment. 

One of the fireballs breaks through the ward. 

It misses Hamada. 

It soars past the fountain and instead of striking high on the ward, it goes clean through. 

Velena tosses a threadbeam to recover it, prepared to once again wield the blast like a flail as she had done before, but Hamada’s ward rises to block the beam. She abandons protecting herself for long enough to stop the attack, forcing the fireball to soar helplessly beyond her control. She hardly flinches as Velena stabs a spear of light through her abdomen, hoping to kill her. 

But she’s too late, the fireball explodes against the side of the cathedral, shattering one of the archways nearby Callie’s balcony and sending stones plummeting down towards the crowd below. Quick action from the mages at the gates lift enough wards to save them from any harm. 

With a glowing spear impaling Hamada through her abdomen, Velena pauses. 

Hamada is laughing and coughing up blood as Knight-Captain Wellt marches out to meet them, and Velena punches her across the face. 

Wellt leaps forward and grabs Velena’s hand, restraining her from another attack. Their voices amplify mid-argument. 

“-outside the boundaries of the arena constitutes a forfeiture,” Wellt is exclaiming. “The duel goes to-,”

“She received a blessing!” Velena screams back, ripping her hand from the Knight-Captain as Hamada carefully extricates the spear from her stomach, holding a glowing palm to her wound to stabilize the bleeding. “That is outside intervention, which is also a violation!” 

Hamada spits a bloody wad out of her mouth. “Blessings cannot be performed at this range, Magister Velena. And both of our Devotia are tucked far enough away that your misfire nearly killed them.” She takes a rattling breath, sucking air into her lungs greedily. “It seems the goddess saw fit to favor me.” 

Junivere’s grip on Callie’s palm hardens. In a quiet voice, she pleads, “Tell me that wasn’t you.”

Callie swallows. “As she said… blessings cannot be performed from range.” 

I guess I’ve also done the impossible today. 

Knight-Captain Wellt separates Velena and Hamada, then paces between them, considering. The Magisters deamplify their voices, and Callie can see them shouting at them as Wellt tries to make sense of it all. Her form is rigid, soldierly, and she seems torn. 

She gazes up at the balcony, directly towards Callie, and Callie realizes something. Wellt might not have known blessings were a proximity affair if she’d not stepped in for Calvin to accept the blessings for the knighthood. Sure, she might have known about it, but she wouldn’t have personally experienced it if she hadn’t spent multiple afternoons with her hands upon Callie, tucked away in the villa. 

Callie smiles. Can hardly contain herself. 

It’s over. 

Wellt turns back, once again sending the three of their voices booming out to the assembled crowd. Before the amassed city, at the steps of the cathedral, in sight of two Devotia, Wellt proclaims, “Based upon the understanding that a Devotia’s blessing cannot be performed at such a distance, I rule the intervention to be the actions of a goddess.” She pauses, pursing her lips. “I shall not dictate what a goddesses' will might be, nor shall I impede the wife of Holy Suul from interventions as she sees fit - it is within their divine wisdom.” 

A pause. 

“I rule Magister Hamada as the victor.” 

Callie has never heard a scream of frustration as the sound Velena makes as she storms off. The crowd parts for her, not daring to be caught within her path as she marches away, the air crackling with energy as she goes. 

“Magister Hamada, who do you nominate to her seat?” 

Hamada closes her eyes and sighs. Callie had expected her to be excited, relieved, but she only looks worried. With a heavy voice, exhausted and distraught, Hamada mutters, “My other apprentice. Jassien.” 

 

– – – 

 

Baris succeeds in the challenges to acquire Markin’s seat, much to Callie’s delight. She’d now have two supporters in the Imperium. 

It isn’t until Jassien is facing duels that Callie understands Hamada’s sorrow. She’d condemned him to die. It hadn’t occurred to Callie that someone could re-challenge for their seat. 

Velena kills Jassien in five seconds.