Those Who Would Not Be Gods

5. Apprentice: Cecile

It couldn't be true. It couldn't.

Cecile raced through the streets, breath catching in her throat, red hair streaming on the wind as she wove through the market and back towards Hugo's house. It sat up on a hill, separated a step or two from the rest of the village, and she could see it from here. Worse, she could see them from here. A man in steel armor stood guard outside the door. A few others in the green and silver stood around, keeping watch. The iron carriage—the prisoner's carriage—stood by the door, rear door open to accept its passenger. Her heart lurched. No.

Passerby in the street broke around her as she ran. A few called out to her in recognition, but she had no time to even wave. Her eyes were on the men in armor, on the iron carriage. How could they? He was innocent!

She'd raced up the hill a thousand times, plodded up it a thousand times more. In the heat of summer, sweat dripping down her neck. In the dead of winter, ice clawing at her chest. Yet she'd never felt her heart race faster than it did now as she mounted the hill and charged up it. Rage welled up in her—how could they?—chased by fear, then uncertainty, doubt, rage, fear, looping, rebounding as every footstep jarred her heart. The Shrineguards by the door looked up as she ran up. Two crossed their polearms across the door, automatically barring her entry.

Cecile ran straight at them, summoning her magic. She'd burn those spears if she had to! "Get out of my way!" she snapped. This was absurd. Arresting the King's Magi? Did they even have the right?

A metal-clad hand caught her short. "Calm yourself," Captain Davide said, voice deep and gravelly, tone meant to be reassuring.

She spun on him. Fire lit at her temples and ringed her head like a crown; he wasn't even sure she knew she'd done it. Magic had always come easily to Cecile. Even when she was a toddler, barely up to his knee, it had always had a way of flaring up around her when she got angry. "Calm myself! You're arresting Hugo for nothing! Surely you know this is a farce?" She glared up at him, bright blue eyes like the light in the very depths of a bonfire, hotter than fire.

Davide sighed. "There's eyewitnesses who caught him red-handed, Cecile," he said.

She gestured wildly. "And have you never heard of illusion spells? Liars? Why would he sell mage-grade soulstones? You know Hugo doesn't need the money! We live simply! The stipend—" His eyes were glazed over. He wasn't listening. She shook her head. Another line. Another tactic. "He doesn't believe in handing out magic to—to criminals! Davide, surely there's something you can do?"

The Captain shook his head. "Selling high quality soulstones is heresy, Cecile. The only ones who can pardon him of that are the King or the High Priests."

Cecile's eyes lit up at that, halo of fire burning brighter. "Fabio! Tell Fabio. He and Hugo are old friends, he'll understand—"

Davide bit his lip. No one had broken the news to her yet? "Cecile," he started, but she whipped around at that moment, distracted by commotion.

With a clatter of armor and a hefty thump of the door, Hugo was dragged out of his house. Usually he was a meticulous man, hair oiled back, robes carefully pressed and smooth. Now, his silver hair frizzed out around his head, and his robes were ruffled, twisted uncomfortably around him. His wrists were circled by heavy chains, replacing the leather strap that usually held his soulstone to his wrist. There was a dull look in his eye, almost resignation.

Cecile towards him, reaching out. "Hugo!" she shouted.

Davide caught her short, grabbing her other arm. She glared at him, and he felt her hand start to heat up in his, a sure sign she was about to cast. "Cecile, no," he said. "If you do any more—if you cast any magic, or touch him with that hand," –he nodded to her wrist, around which wound a strap identical to the one Hugo usually wore, soulstone a bright gold against her pale skin— "I'll have to arrest you, too. I don't want to arrest you, Cecile, please."

She struggled against him anyways, fighting against his grip, though he was relieved that she cast no magic. "Hugo!" she called again.

The man looked up. Dark blue eyes registered Cecile's presence, and he cringed, just slightly. "I didn't want you to see this," he murmured.

"It's not true, right? It isn't. It can't be," Cecile said, almost begging him.

He bowed his head, but remained silent. She stared at him, examining his face. It couldn't be. Not Hugo. He didn't need the money. He had no reason to do it. He couldn't have. No—these had to be false charges. Hugo had plenty of enemies. Plenty who thought he should take their child as his apprentice, instead of the lowborn Cecile. Plenty who thought they were better suited as Magi, with the king's favor and (more importantly) stipend. But who? Why now?

"Move along," one of the guards growled as he shoved Hugo toward the waiting iron carriage. Hugo stumbled, then obeyed, crawling closer.

Every step felt like an hour. Cecile's mind raced even faster than her heart pounded. Who? Why? What could she do? She had to—they were arresting an innocent man! She wouldn't let them kill him for something he hadn't done!

Because that was the only punishment for heresy: death.

Cecile turned back to Davide. "I need a horse," she said, eyes wild. The blue flames jumped in her irises, flickering with fear, anger, fear, anger. "Fabio, I need to talk to High Priest Fabio. They're old friends. He'll understand—it's all just a big misunderstanding. It has to be. Hugo would never—"

"Cecile—he's dead," Davide sighed.

She stared at him, uncomprehending. Her brows furrowed. Hugo? But he was standing right there, and he always wore his ambra...

"Fabio passed. No one told you? It was about a week ago," he continued.

"No," she breathed. She put her hand to her head and staggered back, as though the news was a physical blow. The halo blinked out. Cecile shook her head. Focus. She had to focus. "The... the new one. Who's the new High Priest?"

Davide sighed again. "Haven't chosen yet. It takes a month or so, and all. Have to gather all the best fire mages before they even hold the trials."

The light in Cecile's eyes found a new focus, and Davide's eyes narrowed. "Cecile—"

"I need a horse," Cecile growled, stomping off. Davide grabbed at her arm, but she wrenched it away. The slam of the iron carriage's door echoed in her heart, but she kept her eyes focused straight ahead. A new High Priest who didn't know Hugo? He'd be sentenced to death without a thought. No. She wouldn't let that happen.

She clenched her fist. If she couldn't trust the new High Priest, she'd become the High Priest.

After all, there was no better fire mage in the kingdom than she.