“I do know you? And you know me?” Rexei repeated. He nodded, and a strange but utterly welcome sense of relief flooded her. “Good. Good . . . because I really thought I was stripping some gears here, thinking either it was, uh, me going crazy or . . . you know . . .”
“Love at first sight?” he asked, giving her a shy smile. His hand reached out and clasped hers, the one not holding on to the scroll. “More like you were a combination of highly wary and a bit belligerent that very first time, out of what you thought was a need for self-defense. I wish I knew how to reverse the oathbinding, but . . .”
An indelicate snort interrupted their conversation. Both glanced at Orana, whose bulk of armor had somehow vanished from beneath her robe without her actually needing to disrobe. “It’s an oathbinding. Just have her swear an oath to remember again. If she does it of her own free will, without coercion, then she’ll re-remember everything—you people seriously need some training,” the Darkhanan woman added. “I can spare a couple months to teach you the basics of magic, but as soon as spring has thawed its way up toward the northern coast, Niel and I really need to get back to our home.”
Rexei knew that Niel was the unseen soul of Orana’s Host, residing somewhere inside the blonde woman’s body via the holy powers of Darkhanan Witch-craft. As much as she wanted to ask questions about the woman, about her life, about what had happened at the Convocation of Gods and Man—Rexei could not remember how she knew anything about a resumed Convocation of Gods and Man.
Guildra . . . will you help me with my oath? she asked silently. A pulse of something warm rose up from within, a sense of love, support, and acceptance. Nodding to herself, Rexei carefully phrased what she wanted to say in her thoughts. She was no apprentice in the Law-Sayers Guild, but she knew what an oathbinding was.
“I, Rexei, bind unto my powers the following vow: I will remember everything I have forgotten at the end of this vow, including any memories purged from my mind by oathbinding, and I will remember all these things with calm clarity. So swear I, Rexei . . . High Priestess of Guildra, and Guild Master of the Guildaran Holy Guild.”
A bright, bubbly tingling feeling swept down over her body from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes in her winter boots. It felt far cleaner than any of the other magics she had been touched by in the last hour—at least until the last few minutes or so—and in its wake . . . she remembered. Remembered why her bottom was sore and what it felt like to sleep trustingly next to the man with the green lenses, Alonnen Tallnose, head of the carefully hidden Mages Guild. She remembered how he had teased her, shared with her, and believed in her. Remembered every warm, welcoming, friendly touch, and remembered their first kiss.
More than that, she remembered other things. It was a good thing she had asserted that she would remember them with calm clarity, because she remembered forgotten horrors of being groped and cursed, bullied and badgered. Remembered all the good things that had happened to her, too. And she remembered . . . Frowning softly, Rexei quirked her brows. “I even remember how to make pickled beets? I didn’t realize I even knew how, let alone that I’d forgotten that . . . I couldn’t have been more than three when Mum made pickled beets . . .”
Watching the expressions play across her face, in her eyes, Alonnen was caught off-guard by that non sequitur. Chuckling, he dared to lean forward and wrap his arms around her. To his everlasting relief, she immediately snuggled close, hugging him right back. “I’m sorry everyone knows what your gender is now, with Orana calling you priestess and all that.”
Rexei snorted. “I revealed it myself to the ex-priests in order to get that Aian fellow, Torven, to call a halt to the summoning ritual. He offered me as a male sacrifice . . . and I dropped my trousers and mooned him to get him to stop.”
“You . . . what?” Alonnen asked her, brows raising in shock. “I, ah . . .”
Orana shrugged. “A bold, yet unconventional choice. Your mistaken gender identity would have invalidated the binding, allowing the demon to cross the barrier with impunity, had you been fully handed over for sacrifice.”
Recovering from his shock, Alonnen realized Captain Torhammer and his brother were approaching. Alonnen switched to hugging his love with just one arm. “Definitely unconventional, but undoubtedly the best proof possible. We should be very grateful that this Torven Shel Von fellow is such a stickler for getting the demonic bindings perfectly right.”
“Master Tall. We need your people to help us track down the escaped mages,” the captain said once he was within polite conversation distance. Polite, but assertive.
“Actually, no, we don’t,” Alonnen corrected.
His brother frowned at him. “This isn’t your call to make, Master Tall. Nor is it hers.”
“Neither is it yours,” Orana returned calmly. “Prophecy is involved . . . and prophecy has already let us know where they’ll be confronted next. Torven was ejected from the Tower’s vicinity in Aiar. High Priestess Saleria and her ‘servant’—a fellow Darkhanan Witch—have saved the Sacred Grove of Katan . . . and now the Gearman’s Strength which Master Rexei just displayed is going to help the Guilds’ defender cast them out. Master Tall, I’m afraid that Pelai is having . . . difficulties . . . adjusting to the way your, ah, guardianship is managed. She’ll need you to return immediately and perform the aetheric spells yourself.”
“Aetheric?” Rexei asked, wondering what she had missed.
“We’re going to disrupt the aether for the next two years,” Alonnen told her, “and do it in such a way that the Netherhells will not be accessible. Not here and not in any other land we can reach and cover. Captain Torhammer, my guild will want to get our hands on any books left behind by the ex-priests. The rest of the wealth confiscated should be split into quarters, shared between the Holy Guild, the Militia, the Mages Guild, and the new government. Orana, if you would assist them in looking for any magical ‘surprises’ that might have been left behind . . . ?”
Rexei liked how he had divided the wealth; Alonnen had more years of experience as a Guild Master than she, and this was yet another good idea she had seen from him. She nodded when Captain Torhammer and Leftenant Tallnose each flicked a querying glance her way.
Orana bowed, acquiescing. “With the local land well sealed against demonic energies by Her Holiness, the rest should be mere nuisances to me, for all they might be dangerous to you.”
“Let’s just hope we don’t have to do that again,” Rexei said. She offered the scroll to Orana, who shook her head.
“Keep it. All priesthoods should have a copy of how to bless away demon taint and reseal the land . . . and I fear many more lands will need their own copies.”
Nodding, Rexei nudged Alonnen into moving toward the exit. His brother followed them, muttering as soon as they reached the rounded corridor. “I can’t believe you’re just letting them flee.”
Alonnen rolled his eyes. “Stuff it, Rogen. The next place they’re going is Mendhi. Prophecy says as much, and that means it’ll be up to the priests and the Painted Warriors of that land to manage what happens next. We have a lot of work to do if we’re going to have any hope of stabilizing ex-Mekhana into a new nation and figuring out where we want this new Guildara to go.”
“Alonnen,” Rogen warned him.