The Lady Penitent

XII. Audience

Holland felt it the moment they entered the palace in Tamaris. It was a prickling at the base of her skull, a tingling across her skin, which quickly became something more. The world rapidly became muffled and distant. She vaguely felt hands suddenly grab her, trying to steady her as her body crumpled to the floor. Everything went black for a moment before the vision started to play in her mind.

She was looking upon a familiar, expressionless face. It was beautiful, perfect, and made entirely of gleaming metal. It was also giant, much larger than a human face. The rest of the body was lost in dark robes and a hood, but she saw the gleam of the golden diadem it wore, set with a flawless fire opal of incredible size. The only word for the feeling it inspired in her was awe, something between the deepest dread and an almost unconditional adoration that wiped away the bitterness in an instant. She had hated this figure for so long now, but was it really hate if it could just be erased in a moment?

My Invicta, you yet live. The voice was musical and inhuman, almost a series of fluting notes rather than speech. It lent every word an ethereal nature, while leaving them basically emotionless. The lips did not move to shape the speech. It simply came out from behind the mask. The silvery eyes did not blink or waver in the searching gaze that always felt like it was looking directly into her soul.

"Yes, Divine Prince," Holland said. She didn't pick herself up, kneeling in front of the massive figure. She could feel a love that made her chest ache almost as much as what she felt for Seva did. Being in his presence again, feeling the hum of his power through her bones, made her want to weep. Maybe it was only a vision, but it was one that stirred the embers of her old life back into a fire. Still, through it she felt a faint current of anger. "In the east. The east that you want to destroy."

Not destroy, Saraqael corrected in that familiar, perfect voice. He was not like the Deciever. He did not speak in honeyed tones that might have passed for human. He had never tried to conceal his identity, though his thoughts were still perfectly inscrutable to her. Remake. You, of all my servants, should know this. Do you hate those in the east so much that you would deny them salvation?

"Your war will kill everything here that I care about," Holland said.

I offer a world without war. I offer world without races, without nations, without famine, without pestilence. You have seen the evils that the peoples of this world work upon each other with unveiled eyes. Yes, many will die. Yes, I will strip the kings and princes of their rainments and crowns. Generations from now, mortals will weep with gratitude for what we do now. Change does not come easily or painlessly, but that does not mean it must be for the worst.

"Deus—"

Deus no longer matters. The seven have come to an agreement. Those perfect eyes were still boring into her soul. Are you so selfish that you would deny the east the order, the stability, the perfection that we bring? They could know a life devoid of suffering.

"And what about the freedom to choose, Divine Prince?" Despite the appellation, Holland knew that Saraqael was not a prince the way Fionn was—Saraqael was a god, given physical form. It was one of the things she had struggled the most with in the east, changing from a god who had created her and spoke to her and was present in her life to the remote figures of the eastern pantheon. One was not better than the other: they were merely different.

Are they free to choose now? No. They are shackled by their places in the dirt, by their kings and their lords. They are shackled by ignorance and poverty. Their lives are wretched, bitter things. Do you truly think the serfs of the east are happier than our people merely because they cling to the illusion of choice?