Chapter 14: Strategem

Stratagem

 

Callie rouses in a comfortable-yet-dark room. The walls are heavily decorated with a messy array of paintings, bookshelves, and gear; she sees a variety of shields and swords and pieces of armor, most appearing well-used and worn-in, primarily lit up by a singular window. She’s laying down on a slightly rugged, though incredibly comfortable sofa, tucked away in the corner of the small room. Still exhausted, she’d easily return to sleep if it wasn’t for the noise of two voices talking and the dread of being found out. 

“-bother asking you, Calvin,” Wellt is saying as Callie’s mind wakes up enough to listen. “I already know the answer: you weren’t thinking.” Wellt sounds disappointed and frustrated, though surprisingly not angry. She sits at a large wooden desk at the far wall of the room, fingers intertwined above her elbows which lean down onto the hardwood. 

Knight-Captain Wellt is a tall and muscular woman, somewhere around forty-five, though her strength gives her an air of youthful vigor. Her jaw is wide and squared, supporting a noble face with plain features and a few scattered scars. Her hair is deep brown, bordering on black, and is cropped into a short, soldierly cut; a stark difference from Calvin’s slightly longer, curlier hair. She’s slightly bigger than Calvin, with a flat, stocky chest accented by wide shoulders. She wears her armor like a second skin, and as Callie takes her in, it’s hard to believe the metal isn’t a natural part of her. 

“I should have known better, sir,” Calvin’s head drops low, staring into his lap in shame. It’s a rare expression on his face, and Callie is surprised at how particularly upset he is at the Knight-Captain’s disappointment. 

“Yes, you should have.” Wellt sighs. She frowns, furrowing her brow at his moping posture. “Sit up straight,” she commands half-heartedly, her voice low and graveled, “I don’t like talking with the top of your head.” 

“Yes, sir,” Calvin squares his shoulders, forcing himself to meet her stern expression. 

Wellt looks as though she has a dozen different things she wishes to say, but eventually she purses her lips and leans back in her chair, crossing an ankle over her knee and resting her head onto one of her fists. She takes a deep breath, shaking her head and softening her gaze. “Talk to me.”

“We…” He sighs, rubbing a palm against his jaw. “I care about her deeply, sir. The pressure’s been getting to us both.” 

“I can see that. How long’s this been going on?”

Calvin looks as though he wants to hold back, but he relents. “Since the beginning, sir.”

“Drop the ‘sir’,” Wellt sighs as well, “you know me better than that.”

“Understood.”

“Since the beginning, eh?” She mulls the answer over for a few moments, but when she speaks again, her voice is far softer. “Why didn’t you come talk to me, Calvin?”

He looks confused. “I…” His words fail him, and Callie sees his shoulders droop.

“This about your brother?” 

Calvin nods, refusing to meet her gaze. 

“You’re not Gellan,” she says simply. “Never have been, never will be.” 

“I’m a paladin in love with a Devotia,” he scowls, “how is it any different from him? You trusted me to be responsible-,” he cuts himself off. Callie can tell he’s getting worked up, frustrated with himself and embarrassed by the situation. He takes a breath and says, “I know what this looks like to people.” 

Callie shifts slightly in the sofa, trying to keep from falling back into the comfortable clutches of sleep. She can feel a deep weariness in her bones, as well as the empty feeling in her stomach of having exhausted her magical abilities. 

“Finally awake, hal Devotia?” Wellt calls over to her, noticing her stirring. She waves a hand, flicking her fingers to direct her to a chair next to Calvin. “Join us.” 

Callie obeys, slowly rising and walking the few steps to the desk as her guilt pulses inside her chest. As she passes Calvin to take her seat she carefully squeezes his shoulder, hoping to encourage him. To her surprise, he cautiously takes her hand as she sits, returning the gentle gesture before letting it go. 

“I’m going to be honest with you, hal Devotia,” Wellt begins, an air of casual authority filling the space around her, “I’m not pleased with this.” 

“I thought you’d be angry with us,” Callie says quietly, her voice slightly hoarse. 

“I am,” Wellt replies simply. She clears her throat, shifting in her seat and finding a more comfortable position. Despite her statement, her face looks calm and relaxed. “But that doesn’t really matter to me right now.” 

Wellt leans back in her chair even more, balancing it to rest on the back two legs and propping her boots up onto the side of the desk. She grabs a small cloth ball from a nearby shelf, tossing it between her hands as she thinks for a moment. 

“How much does she know?” Callie asks Calvin. 

“Enough,” he replies, shaking his head. “She saw all of it.” 

Callie exhales a tight breath, feeling her shame bristle inside. She tucks her hands into her lap, sitting back into the chair and awaiting the punishment she knew would be coming. While she’d broken a few rules back home in Rookwell, Callie knew well the feeling of invoking repercussions, and she decides it isn’t much worth fighting the Knight-Captain at this point. She had them dead-to-rights.

Wellt squeezes the ball into her fist, sighing again and saying, “Let me tell you how I see this. A sparkling new Devotia falls for her Knight-Commander, immediately after her predecessor is removed for doin’ basically the same thing. Now, here I am with proof of the whole thing, able to topple it all down.”

Callie holds her breath in her throat, feeling exposed at being found out. Once again, she’d let her jealousy overpower her into making a profound mistake, only to be caught and forced to suffer the consequences of it. She can’t believe she’d let herself be so foolish. 

“And I’ve got a duty and an obligation and yaddy-yadda,” Wellt grumbles, tilting her head to look at the ceiling for a moment. “But as I’m sittin’ here, staring at the two of you, I can’t find a good reason to rain on this parade.” 

Callie leans forward, unsure she correctly heard the Knight-Captain. She wasn’t going to punish them?

“What?” Calvin mutters, in a similar state of disbelief. 

“What good am I doing by removing you, hal Devotia?” Her hand rotates absently to accent her point. “It’d just force the whole city to undergo the selection process again, and we’d have to train your replacement and whatever.” 

“I broke the rules,” Callie’s brow furrows, incredulous. “I’m in a relationship.”

“And there’s already another Devotia,” Calvin agrees. 

“Do you two want to be punished?” Wellt’s eyebrows raise, daring them to contest her. Calvin and Callie shake their heads, pushing away their disbelief. “When I saw you both walk off at the banquet just now, I had my suspicions, so I followed you. I stepped away when things got more intimate,” she says frankly and Callie blushes, embarrassed, “but I made sure no one else saw.” 

“Why would you protect us?” Callie asks timidly. 

“Goodness of my heart or something like that,” Wellt snorts, quickly returning to her stern neutrality. She focuses her gaze on Calvin, sitting quietly beside Callie. “He’s got a good heart,” Wellt explains, “as much as he refuses to accept it. Call me sentimental, but part of me likes seeing him have something for himself, even if it’s something he shouldn’t.” 

Callie places a hand on Calvin’s arm, softly squeezing it to support him, though he remains motionless. 

“You don’t have the markings of a blessing, Calvin,” Wellt observes, though it seems like something she noticed a while ago and waited to bring it up. “Are you a bad lay, or did you figure something out? 

Calvin’s face turns pink. He shuffles in his chair, but manages to explain, “I encased her in a Shalani ward and blocked the blessing. I didn’t think it’d work… but it did.” 

“Good shit,” Wellt says proudly. She sets the small ball down, folding her arms over her chest. “Do you two have a cover story for being alone?”

“I received a vision from Suul,” Callie recounts, “She wants the Knighthood to take a day of prayer to think about widows and orphans.” 

“And he caught you as the goddess’ power overwhelmed you or something like that,” Wellt waves a hand, completing the lie. 

“Yeah,” Callie nods. 

“It’ll do,” Wellt says. She purses her lips, tilting her head and letting a thought develop. After a few breaths, she speaks, having come to a decision. “Alright, here’s what I’ve got. I’m willing to publicly vouch for your alibi, and confirm that nothing funny is happening between you two.” 

“You’d do that?” 

Wellt nods slowly. “I have conditions, however.”

Callie pushes away the excited feeling in her chest. She can hardly believe the Knight-Captain would be willing to help them; she was so sure that she would turn them in. 

“What are they?” 

“This,” she waves an open palm at the two of them, “stops happening in public. I’m only covering for you once. If this happens again I won’t be able to protect you, and I’m not sure I’d even be willing to. ” 

“Understood,” Callie exhales, and Calvin nods with her. 

“Next, you keep using that ward trick, or anything else that prevents blessings, I don’t care how.” Her shoulders wiggle slightly as she readjusts in her seat, pushing the chair back and enjoying the balancing weight of it. “Gods, it’s like telling you kids to use protection or something.”

Callie smiles lightly, feeling her face flush. But, as she recalls the feeling of the blessing bursting around her, engulfing her as the ward pushed it back in, she shivers. “I… I would appreciate it if you found a way to make it less intense,” she tells Calvin. 

“Sorry,” he gives her a weak smile, squeezing her hand again. “That should be possible, I wasn’t sure how strong the ward needed to be in the moment.” 

“Good,” Wellt grunts. She rubs a hand against her neck, massaging a small knot right above where it meets her shoulders. “Final condition: all future blessings for the Knighthood come through me.”

Callie lowers her head. Part of her had been expecting it, suspecting that Wellt would remove Calvin from the duty, but she didn’t always appreciate the way that she was so easily commissioned like this. She wonders if the Knight-Captains’ strong and calloused hands would be too much against her smaller body. A tiny part of her wonders if the Knight-Captain was looking forward to it.

“It ain’t like that princess,” Wellt scowls, reading her expression. “The whole problem with you having a relationship is that the blessings can be biased, right? If Calvin isn’t receiving them anymore, and I’m in charge of bringing them home to the Knights, that concern no longer applies.” 

Callie scratches her head, following the Knight-Captains’ logic. It made sense, and if it provided them some extra leeway… Callie wasn’t about to complain. 

“If I’m no longer allowed to be summoned,” Calvin asks, “how am I supposed to see her?” 

Wellt huffs, letting out a restrained breath. “I figured you were going to ask that. Look, I’m not going to tell you to break any more rules - you shouldn’t. What I will say is: what you do in the privacy of your apartment is your business, Knight-Commander.” 

Calvin and Callie exchange a look, weighing the option placed before them. It’d be risky, sneaking around to see each other. If they were caught by anyone else… no one would be able to shield them from the consequences. 

“Don’t tell me what you decide,” Wellt rumbles. The legs of her chair clank against the wood floors as she stops leaning back, returning her hands to rest on the desk in front of her. “Calvin, would you give me and princess here a moment?” 

“Of course,” Calvin nods. He stands, giving Callie a weak smile before shuffling out of the room. Callie hears the gentle click of the door locking behind her. 

“Do you burn incense much, hal Devotia?” Wellt asks her, pulling a small stick of incense out from a drawer and resting it into a delicate holder. She strikes a match, lighting the tip and inhaling the scent contentedly, falling back into her chair. 

Callie shakes her head as the smell of lightly burning pine wafts around the room. It makes her feel a little homesick, remembering the forests that bordered Rookwell all her life. As a kid, she’d love to try and weave tiny baskets out of the pine needles that’d cover the ground. 

“It’s good for the soul,” Wellt explains, closing her eyes and savoring the feeling. “My old man used to tell me that all the time growing up, and I always thought he was full of shit. Now that I’m older and have taken a few more hits to the head,” she raps her knuckles against her temple, smiling fondly, “I think I’m starting to get it.” 

“My mother would make a pine needle tea whenever we were sick growing up,” Callie recalls, her body teetering between grief and nostalgia. “This smells like when she’d accidently drop them onto the cooking stove.” 

Wellt smiles, her demeanor far less serious now that Calvin was out of the room. Callie glances back to the door, trying to remember all of the things he had told her about the Knight-Captain but coming up short. 

“You’ve got good taste,” the paladin mumbles, eyes following her gaze out of the room. “Did he tell you why I promoted him?” 

Callie smirks, remembering his first visit to her villa. “He said it was because he led a squad against a bandit ambush, and one of his knights knew you.” 

Wellt chuckles, and Callie notices tiny dimples emerge from the sides of her mouth. Her eyes glimmer fondly, and as a small nub of ashes fall from the stick of incense onto the ashtray, Callie notices the Knight-Captain’s presence continue to calm. Underneath her stern, authoritative attitude, Wellt seems relaxed and present. Each of her movements feels deliberate and restrained, and a well of perspective twinkles behind her eyes. 

“Good to know he took the wrong lesson from it,” Wellt snorts, her lips parting to flash her slightly crooked teeth. She takes another deep inhale of the incense. “It wasn’t anything to do with him being clever or brave or any of that shit,” Wellt explains, her voice washing with pride, “it was the way he comforted his folks afterwards. Gods, he visits every damned soldier who gets hurt under his command, trying to cheer ‘em up and boost their confidence. Sometimes he doesn’t leave ‘till the nurses kick him out.” 

Callie smiles, imagining Calvin being pushed away by an impatient but well-intentioned nurse. She thinks about his calming presence around her, so gentle and tender with his touch; always checking in to make sure he’s reading her emotions correctly. 

“What I’m trying to say is, I get it,” Wellt sighs. “Not enough people care about others the way he does. There’s too many knights who just want to bust heads.”

Callie nods, feeling more relaxed as Wellt’s authority softens. With Calvin, the Knight-Captain seems aware of her responsibility over him, carefully guiding and disciplining him to ensure he’s at the top of his form. With Callie, it’s clear she doesn’t share the same burden and is more able to treat her as an equal. 

“He was so good when I told him I was threaded,” she recalls. Wellt’s eyebrows raise slightly at Callie’s disclosure, but if she has any opinions about it she keeps them to herself. “I spent all my life thinking no one would ever love me… and then he was my first…” 

“I get it,” Wellt nods, but doesn’t elaborate. After a pause, she says, “That whole business with his brother fucked with his idea of himself. I don’t know how to get it into his head that he’s not like that.” 

Callie is quiet, thinking about the sadness in Calvin’s tone when he talks about Gellan. He saw it as a personal failure that he didn’t stop him, hardly able to accept any other explanation. 

A small voice emerges from inside Callie, and nervously, she ventures to ask, “Was it his fault?” 

“Fuck no,” Wellt snorts, shaking her head. But, in seeing the worried look behind Callie’s eyes, she exhales and adds, “His younger brother was… let’s say convincing. He could spin anything to go his way - talked himself out of plenty of punishments he probably deserved.”

“Why does Calvin take it so personally?” Callie rubs one of her fingers anxiously, absent-mindedly enjoying the sensation. “It feels like he wants it to be his fault.” 

“He’s got high standards for himself. Always has,” the Knight-Captain grunts. “It’s more than that, probably. I think he likes to believe everybody’s got good in them; that they only do bad things if bad things happened to them first.” 

“Did something bad happen to Gellan?” 

“Course not,” she shakes her head. “He was the adored younger brother of a comfortable family and everybody liked him. Some people just have a bad heart.”

Callie is quiet for a long moment. She’d never really thought about it, but had occasionally marveled at the way Calvin liked to treat people. He was hardly ever suspicious, always responding in good faith and a sometimes naive optimism. Callie sincerely believed that he would stop and help any person that asked it of him. He’d give the only cloak off his back to keep someone else warm. 

Rookwell hadn’t been like that at all… Callie’s friends, parents, neighbors, pastors, all believed that wickedness was inherent in everyone and everything. It was only through discipline and structure that people could work towards good things, and even then their desires to be constantly held in check. Growing up, she was scolded or punished for every small lie she told, every tiny act of disobedience, even some helpless mistakes.

“I have a favor to ask, hal Devotia,” Wellt says slowly. 

“What is it?” 

“Be a person who’s worthy of him,” she says, leaning back into her chair. 

 

– – – 

Callie feels like she spends the entire next day on another apology tour. She writes a quick letter to Cirene to explain the official story - she was about to receive a vision and went to Calvin for help because he was one of the few who had seen Callie endure one before. Despite being so short, the letter takes agonizingly long to write, and by the time she sends it Callie has a stack of failed drafts on her desk and ink on her hands. 

She stops Junivere in the hallways of the villa and blurts out a teary-eyed request for forgiveness. Despite maintaining a deep cynicism around Silas and jealousy at their possible exemption, she apologizes for not trusting her fellow Devotia to make her own decisions. Callie stops short of offering her support for the relationship, but Junivere at least seems to feel like things are resolved between them. 

And finally, while she doesn’t actually provide an apology to the Imperium when she’s summoned to stand before them again, Callie does feel as though it’s an act of penitence. It wasn’t easy to stand before the most powerful group of mages for the next hundred miles, and more than once she wondered if they’d turn her to ash for talking out of order. 

With summer in full swing, it’s warmer than is comfortable in the grand hall of the Imperium. Standing in the exposed beacon of sunlight is nearly unbearable, and within the first few minutes Callie is sweating heavily through her shortest linen dress. Most of the time, Callie and Junivere meet with the Imperium together, sharing the intense spotlight; though today, Callie faces it alone. She knows Junivere is probably awaiting her anxiously in the side hallway, eager to hear the results of the meeting. 

“-and provide additional relief against this heat wave for Riverside,” Callie is saying, though she only feels partially present. “Farmer Kiel informs me that without special attention, the keelt crop could fail before August.” 

Magister Hamada nods in agreement. Her long black hair is pulled tight into a long braid that falls to her waist, and Callie wonders how much worse the heat must be in the traditional robes of a Magister. “I would like to take the lead on this relief,” she says to the room, sitting forward in her throne, “are we in agreement this merits a redirection of hal Devotia’s time?” 

“Construction has yet to be completed on the Firefall canal,” Magister Benevier’s soft voice protests, though it remains respectful. “Speeding up its timeline could provide the water necessary to drown out this heat, and keep us prepared for future irrigation needs.” 

“The workers will need to eat something,” Magister Markin grunts to Hamada’s right. “Keelt is life.”

Keelt was a strange crop that Callie had hardly encountered outside of Solva. It was a short plant with a thin stalk and wide leaves, but its real importance was the rooted network of bean pods that grew under the soil. The beans were slightly sour, which surprised Callie greatly, but most often they were dried out and ground into an airy, delicious flour. It grew easily in most soil, almost year-round, and Callie knew it was one of the foundations of the Solvarian diet.

“Well I know that, Markin,” Benevier grins, a little annoyed. 

The chair of the council, Magister Krann, clears his throat politely. “What do you think is best, hal Devotia? You’ve been out in the fields to meet Farmer Kiel.” 

“I agree with Magister Hamada,” Callie replies, adding a second later, “and Magister Benevier. With two Devotia, we could split our focus onto both tasks.” She pushes away the light grumbling in her stomach - it would work, but it’d mean a busy next few weeks for the both of them. 

“We have an assignment for Devotia Junivere already,” Markin speaks again. 

“Which is?” Callie furrows her brow lightly. No one had told her what Junivere’s meeting with the Imperium just before her had concluded.

“Devotia Junivere’s assignment,” Velena answers calmly. 

Callie restrains her urge to roll her eyes. She pulls her hair up into a ponytail, wrapping a small band around it and hoping it’d cool her down at least a little. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of her head, eventually collecting in the crook of her neck. She sighs. 

“In which case, I believe we should focus on saving the crop for this summer and complete the canal in the fall,” she announces. 

“Very good, hal Devotia,” Krann inclines his head. “Magister Hamada, will you assist in ensuring the farmer gets what they need?”

“Of course, Lord Magister,” Hamada inclines her head gratefully. 

“And Magister Benevier, please direct the mages constructing the threadstone for the canal to redirect their efforts. Perhaps they could produce some larger canvas to shade the fields in key areas.” 

Benevier briefly pauses, but accepts. “An excellent idea, Lord Magister,”

“Is there anything more the Imperium requires of me,” Callie asks, trying to shield her voice from the wearniness she feels inside, “or shall I take my leave?” 

“Please stay, hal Devotia,” Krann requests, shifting in his seat and taking a moment to collect his words. “Knight-Captain Wellt informs us that Suul spoke to you with a message for the Knighthood.” 

“She did,” Callie confirms. A nervous tremble flickers inside her chest. She’d figured they would ask after her disappearance, and she’d spent most of the time before this meeting rehearsing her story. 

“Seems she’s speaking to you more now,” Magister Xamner croaks from the farthest throne to the left. Callie can hardly forget his constant skepticism of her abilities, rarely giving her the benefit of the doubt. 

“Since the Feast of St. Valvedor,” Callie recounts, “Lady Suul has blessed me with her voice more often than before.” 

It isn’t technically a lie. Before the holiday, Suul hadn’t spoken to Callie at all. Afterwards… there were a variety of moments that Callie wondered if she may have heard something, or felt a slight nudging inside, though she was never sure. 

“A day of prayer for the knights to venerate St. Gelmon, if I recall correctly,” Krann continues. “What do you believe is the significance of this word?” 

Callie takes a breath, hoping her explanation is clear but not too obviously rehearsed. “Lady Suul believes there should be more attention to the plights of widows and orphans in Solva. By granting the knights a dedicated time to reflect, away from their duties, the whole city will feel the impact of their devotion to this need and will be moved to support it.” 

Markin sits forward, heavy beard lifting from his chest and hanging in the space below his chin. “Without the knights, who is going to keep order in the city? We can’t simply have them stand down for the entire day.” 

“Knight-Captain Wellt informed me she believes that a small regiment of Paladins could take their day in a shift - one group praying while the other group patrols,” Callie explains, grateful again Wellt hadn’t turned her in. She briefly wonders how awkward her first blessing with the Knight-Captain was going to be.

“And that is in Suul’s will?” Xamner’s eyes narrow. 

“I believe so, yes,” Callie forces a polite smile onto her face. 

The Magisters exchange looks with each other, but if any of them have further thoughts about the arrangement they keep it to themselves. Velena speaks next, sitting forward and looking at Callie intently. 

“We are impressed to see you taking more initiative, hal Devotia,” as always, there’s something in her voice that Callie can’t read. “You’ve certainly stepped into your own in the last month or two.” 

“Thank you, Magister Velena.” Callie disguises the scowl she felt inside. Velena didn’t sound proud or impressed at all… it was almost as though she was disappointed. 

“Lord Magister, might I open the next discussion?” Velena directs her question at Krann. 

“Proceed, Magister Velena.” A dim concern pushes its way onto his face, and Callie can see the rest of the Magisters follow suit. 

“Hal Devotia, are you aware of the special request Devotia Junivere has made of the Imperium?” Velena presses the tips of her fingertips together, creating a confident bridge as she leans forward. 

Callie inhales nervously. She’d wondered if they would ask her opinion on the matter, and in many ways Callie wishes they wouldn’t. “Could you be more specific, Magister Velena?” 

“Regarding an exemption for her husband.” 

“I am familiar, Lord Magister.” 

Velena nods, a clear air of tension and concerned authority radiating from her throne. Despite the heat in the spotlight, it feels as though the temperature in the room cools suddenly. Callie wonders if the Magisters are powerful enough mages that magic could even emanate as a side-product of their emotions. 

“It is a very unusual request that she has made,” the Magister explains. “Are you aware of the context of their relationship?”

“The important details, yes,” Callie replies quietly. 

Whether or not those are the details Velena is referring to, Callie isn’t sure. She doubts that Junivere would regale them with the stories of Silas’ violent sides if she hoped to convince the Imperium to let them stay together. 

“An exile is not a divorce,” Velena continues, a tone of legal technicality punctuating her words. “I am not aware of a time that an already married individual has been appointed as a Devotia, nor is anyone else on the Imperium.” 

Velena pauses, letting the words settle across the tense room. “Their marriage was consummated by Suul, and yet she has also been anointed. It leaves us in a confusing and heretofore unexplored circumstance.”

Marriages in Solva were said to be blessed by Suul, and that often the goddess was involved in bringing couples together. Technically, Callie recalls that Suul’s lover, Yamm, was more responsible for it, but in the public knowledge it was treated as an interchangeable fact. Even Rookwell had believed similarly, though they attributed it to an aspect of cosmic order that was separate from the goddesses. 

Callie isn’t exactly sure where Velena is going with this, so she simply listens to the Magister, electing to remain silent. 

“We have already discussed for Junivere the complications this poses, and our concerns for the privileging of a specific individual with blessings over and against the rest of the city,” Velena asserts, her tone cool and direct. “And hal Devotia has proposed a compromise.” 

Velena doesn’t explain further, so Callie carefully asks, “What did she propose?” 

“A moratorium on blessings for her husband Silas,” Velena announces seriously. “He will not be allowed to receive any of Suul’s power, but he will be allowed to share Devotia Junivere’s time.” 

“So he will be allowed to spend the night, but not see her during the day” Callie completes.

“Correct, hal Devotia,” she confirms. “He will be expected to leave before dawn, and not arrive before dusk.” 

Callie nods, taking in the proposal. It was everything Junivere had hoped for: Silas, while imperfect, could be a desperately needed company for the night. She could be allowed to be intimate beyond just the quick and often emotionally unsatisfying encounters that her role requires. Junivere’s homesickness for Tulla had never really subsided, and Callie wonders if Silas might aid that, painful as his history with her may be.

Her mind feels split between two powerful forms of jealousy, both jostling to take priority in her mind. On the one hand, Callie’s gut tightens with the feeling of unfairness; that Junivere would be allowed something that Callie wouldn’t. As desperately as she wants Calvin, as necessary his company was to keep her feeling sane and secure, he would always be a careful secret she needed to hide. If she was to stay with him, Calvin was always going to be a scandal in her closet, waiting to be discovered and burst her happy bubble.

On the other… Callie can hardly deny that she cares for Junivere as more than just a friend. She never knew how to describe their connection. Despite being romantic and sexual and casual and serious, it didn’t feel the same as with Calvin. Callie is in no doubt that without Junivere’s company, being Devotia would quickly consume her. She has no idea if being with Silas would mean that Callie couldn’t see her anymore, but she strongly suspects it would. Callie doubts their bed would have room for a third… and if Callie was in her position, she’d want to spend most nights with Calvin. 

The Magisters look at her expectantly and Callie wonders how transparently her feelings are on display. As far as she knows, none of them knew exactly how close she was with Junivere, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t clear they spent a great deal of time together. And while only Velena knew about Callie’s feelings for Calvin, she doubts it would be hard for them to guess that she might want a similar exemption. 

“Is… is something expected of me, Lord Magisters?” Callie asks, staring back at their silent and waiting faces. 

“We would welcome your perspective,” Velena answers noncommittally. She stops short of implying Callie could decide for them, but it’s clear they want her opinion. 

Callie purses her lips. She could stop this from happening. Despite Junivere’s feelings, Callie has little trust in Silas’ supposed reformation; and she could easily prevent her fellow Devotia from falling into his path again. But Junivere would likely know that Callie had blocked them… and Callie doubts she’d ever forgive her. 

It was also possible that opening an exemption could help her with Calvin. She and him already have a tenuous supporter in the Knight-Captain, and Callie feels strongly that if he isn’t getting blessings, they couldn’t really fault her. Maybe opening the door for Silas could also help her. And while she’d lose most of her time with Junivere, she wouldn’t risk their entire friendship. 

But as Velena’s brow furrows lightly, bridged fingers perceptively pressed into her lips, Callie also wonders if this might be some form of test. What would the novice Devotia do when given this little ability to control her partner’s leash? Would she stick by traditions and rules, or would she let her own desperation for intimacy consume her? 

“I believe…” Callie begins, her voice and hands shaking slightly. The sweat in her palms adds itself to the moisture from the heat. She pauses again, unable to commit to her words. 

Would they even be expecting her to answer? Perhaps they want to see if she would actually deflect the issue to the domain of Suul’s wisdom. She could tell them it was beyond her understanding and that she would attempt to commune with the goddess instead. 

The presence of Junivere waiting in the hallway quiets the idea however. She would want to help Callie, she’s sure of it. As teasing and withholding of Callie’s pleasure as she could sometimes be, Junivere was a fierce and loyal friend. 

And Callie also feels Dynasa’s words enter into her processing as well. Devotia used to be able to marry and pursue the natural inclinations of their heart. It was messy, and occasionally problematic, but it allowed them to be real people. Callie was envious she couldn’t be a Devotia in that time instead, able to see Calvin without the permission of a council of conservative mages. 

“I support Devotia Junivere’s request,” Callie says at last. She exhales, feeling the inertia of decision take over and push her forward. “Provided that Silas is banned from receiving blessings, I believe that it will maintain the integrity of the position.” 

After a moment, Callie notices the Imperium’s tension remains. She adds, “I am personally willing to keep a watchful eye as well. If I believe that Silas has any agenda other than concern for his wife, I will report it to your judgment.” 

She shudders slightly, not liking the concession of becoming a judge over Junivere’s relationship, but she hopes it will at least move the Magisters to support them. 

“We thank you for your wisdom, hal Devotia,” Velena replies, keeping her voice locked in the coldness of neutrality. 

“Of course, Lord Magister.” 

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“And we appreciate your time, hal Devotia,” Magister Krann concludes. “That is the end of our business here today.”

As always, the end of the Imperium’s meetings are punctuated with a restoration of normal lighting in the room. Callie sighs in relief as the beacon of light pointing at her closes slowly, removing the awful extra heat. It’s still warm and stuffy in the room, but at least without the direct exposure it feels bearable to her. 

One by one, the Magisters step down from their thrones, bowing at Callie’s feet before making their way through the huge doors behind her. She’d learned they only did this if their work was concluded for the day - if they had further items of the agenda they would simply rise and bow in place, allowing her to stroll out at her leisure. 

Krann, then Benevier, then Markin all kneel, nodding respectfully as they take their leave. Hamada stops for a brief moment, her towering height temporarily negated by Callie standing on a raised platform. She smiles, inclining her head and softly saying, “Thank you for your support, hal Devotia. Our farmers will greatly appreciate the aid.” 

“Thank you for your guidance, Magister Hamada. I wouldn’t have made the visit if you didn’t encourage me to do so, and I welcome such direction.” 

Callie’s respect for Magister Hamada grows in every interaction she has with her. To everyone in the room, it’s always clear that Hamada has a deep concern for the needs of the city, and a strong sense of responsibility to help. She was occasionally known for her temper if she felt someone was insufficiently managing their own responsibility, but Callie understands that it comes from a good place. 

Hamada’s eyes twinkle, and she kneels again before whispering, “See you out there,” strolling away through the grand entrance. Callie was partially looking forward to working with the Magister even more in the coming weeks, curious to learn more about her. 

After Hamada disappears through the doors, there’s a sudden tension in the room as Xamner and Velena refuse to vacate their seats. Each exchanges a sharp glance with each other, both clearly wishing to be the last to leave the room. 

“After you, Magister Xamner,” Velena offers. 

Xamner grunts in protest. “I wish to conference with hal Devotia.” 

Callie’s skin crawls at the idea. Xamner was easily her harshest critic, and she was careful to keep a wide distance from him. It wasn’t unthinkable that he could be the primary person working to undermine her, and Callie grumbles at the thought of what he may want to say. 

Velena’s willpower typically was enough to overcome Xamner’s frustrating quirks, but today he holds fast, refusing to even shift in his seat. Velena scowls, eventually deciding the fight isn’t worth it. She storms up out of her seat, robes whipping quickly with the movement, and kneels before Callie with a look of scorn in her eyes. 

“I want to talk to you later,” she whispers harshly. 

Callie nods. As confusing as Velena could be with her, always having some agenda in the background and sometimes being a strong critic of hers, Callie knows Velena is another of the few reasons she’s surviving in the role. Nearly all of her basic skills in surviving as Devotia derive from things Velena and Junivere taught her, and Junivere wouldn’t even be around if it wasn’t for the Magister. 

Velena slams the doors shut behind her as she exits, careful to ensure Xamner was constantly aware of her frustrations with him. If it impacts the old Magister, he doesn’t show it. 

Xamner’s face softens slightly, though it still retains the distinct look of displeasure of an old man who has spent years perfecting his frown. His jowls keep his mouth locked into a disgruntled thin line, and his eyes always seem to have some complaint behind them. 

“I want to speak with you,” he says bluntly, remaining seated in his throne. Callie wonders if she is supposed to move to him, but decides to stay in place, keeping a wide distance from him. 

“How may I be of service, Lord Magister?” Callie asks. She doesn’t even attempt a fake smile or pleasant tone, leaving her affect clear she was unsettled. 

“You’re well aware that I am cynical of your tenure,” Xamner grumbles sharply, leaning his head onto his fist, propped up on the wide armrest of the throne. “It isn’t personal,” he continues, “Devotia seem to drop like flies these days, and I’m of no mind to grow attached to a fool with no sense of longevity.” 

Callie furrows her brow. In a subtle way, it almost sounds as though Xamner is complimenting her, though it's hardly recognizable through his tone and words. 

“But,” he sighs, voice low and booming, “I believe I am coming to accept that you may just survive past the first year. It’s time to properly get acquainted.” 

Callie frowns, revolted by the suggestion. If he’s implying the thing she’s worried he’s implying, Callie expects their relationship to grow significantly more sour than before. 

“Not that,” he huffs, waving a dismissive hand as he reads the thoughts on her face. “You young Devotia are nearly always like this. It’s been ages since we’ve had a celibate Devotia,” he grumbles. 

“Then what do you mean, Magister Xamner?” She asks, cocking an eyebrow and crossing her arms tightly. 

“I don’t like getting involved early on,” he wiggles in his seat, readjusting to get comfortable. “If a Devotia is going to make it, they need to be able to stand on their own two feet and know who’s on their side and who isn’t. If you can’t do that by yourself, I’m not wasting my time.” 

Callie’s scowl deepens even more. It sounds as though he thinks Callie has proven this quality in herself, but it can’t be true. Not only had Velena been coaching her from the start, she’d called in Junivere to mentor Callie further. She couldn’t possibly have been thought of as someone who did this herself. 

“I’m sure your time is quite valuable,” she quips back. “And I don’t intend to waste it. But I haven’t done any of this on my own.” 

Xamner clears his throat, coughing slightly as he waves away her words. A sudden fit of coughs overtakes him for a moment, and it takes a few seconds to steady himself. “I disagree,” he says hoarsely. “I hear that our Magewitch is stepping down.” 

Callie’s eyes widen. He thinks I had something to do with it. It was soon to be public knowledge that Professor Limens would be stepping down, but no one should have any reason to suspect that Callie might be responsible. She hadn’t even told Junivere that she was working towards that goal. 

“I’m sure you had nothing to do with that,” Xamner’s voice drops quieter. 

“You think correctly, Lord Magister. Professor Limens is taking his leave by

his own volition,” she replies cautiously. 

“Pah,” he guffaws, smiling lightly. “I’ve no stomach for this sort of act anymore. I believe we have a mutual friend.” 

Callie briefly wonders if he is somehow playing a convoluted joke on her. Perhaps Xamner was indeed working against her, and this was his way of letting her know that he was following her and keeping tabs on her behavior. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” he chuckles, a friendly air emerging from behind his deep scowl. “I believe we may have both misjudged each other. My niece Dynasa tells me she’s pleasantly surprised with how dedicated you are.” 

“Your… niece?” Callie stammers. 

“I shouldn’t say more,” he smiles. “My family likes to throw a little party when the summer heat gets too unbearable. Come visit my home by the river tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll talk.” 

Groaning, Xamner lifts himself up out of his chair and makes his way over to Callie. Rather than kneeling, he simply inclines his head and grins warmly. “To a well-played game, hal Devotia. May you take the next round as well.” 

He departs, leaving Callie alone in the grand hall with far more questions than answers and a deep sense of skepticism. 

 

– – – 

Callie isn’t sure what she was expecting the home of a Magister to look like, but Xamner’s is surprisingly tame. It’s a large, though simple looking cottage just a quarter mile past Solva’s towering stone walls. It has a carefully done thatched roof, red brick walls, and plenty of wood accents coating every side. Bushes and vines climb up the sides of the home, giving it a lovely, homely vibe. 

It sits just above the banks of the Firefall river, so named for the sparkling, shimmering reflections of the sunlight as it cascades down a magnificent waterfall far upstream. Down around Solva, it’s simply a lazy, curving, wide river that hugs up against the south wall. A porch on the side of the house eventually meanders down towards a path leading onto a shaded dock that rests on the banks of the river. Large trees spread their canopies over the area, cooling the whole area and providing much needed shade. 

Inside, the home is just as peaceful, affectionately decorated in such a way that it is obvious it’s well-lived in. Bookshelves line the walls, adorned with a variety of knicknacks, sculptures, vases, artworks, and candles. Wide sofas spread out in comfortable talking areas, with low tables for resting drinks in between. It has high ceilings that open up to the sloped roof above, with wooden cross beams filling the space. It’s so delightful, and feels so unlike the Magister she knew. It’s a far cry from the tiled roofs and marble columns she’s grown used to, and Callie appreciates the grounding change. 

“Hal Devotia!” An older woman’s voice greets Callie as she steps inside, feeling the temperature a few degrees cooler than the hot midday sun outside. “It is an honor to have you grace our doorstep.” 

“It is an honor to be here,” Callie inclines her head. Behind her, she can hear Gloriana salute the woman, armor rustling softly. Under the direction of both Magister Velena and Knight-Captain Wellt, Gloriana had been officially assigned as Callie’s primary bodyguard, and Callie appreciates her familiar company. 

“And Paladin Gloriana,” the woman smiles, taking Gloriana’s hand and shaking it warmly. “You must be burning up in that armor!” 

“It’s not so bad,” Gloriana returns a kind smile. “I’ve got a simple frost charm going underneath it, but I appreciate the concern.” 

“Of course, anything for you brave defenders.” 

Callie looks past the woman to see a tame party ongoing in the house. It’s no more than twenty or twenty-five people, and Callie appreciates the smaller crowd. It was so many fewer faces to have to remember, anecdotes to have to sit through. 

“I am Hirelle,” the woman bows again, gesturing for the two to properly step inside. “Xam mentioned you’d be dropping by, and it is so lovely of you to come.” 

“Xam?” 

“You’d know him as the Lord Magister,” she giggles, waving away Callie’s confusion, “but I’ll never call my husband that. He’s not nearly serious enough to be befitting of that formality. He’d hate it.” 

Callie and Gloriana exchange a look. It was hard to believe Xamner could be anything other than serious and grumpy… Hirelle seems to think he might actually be charming and jovial.

“I’ll let him know you’re here." Hirelle steps away, calling back, “Make yourselves at home.” 

Callie gazes around the room, relishing the fact that no one seems to be astonished she’s here. If anything, the pockets of conversations hardly disturb at all as she enters the main living room. A few warm greetings and casual smiles meet her charmed expression, but she’s given space to breathe. It’s surprisingly refreshing, not being the center of it all, and Callie almost regrets wearing her typical Devotia dress. Without it, she gets the impression no one would even flinch at her presence. Gloriana gets far more attention than Callie does, easily sucked into conversation with someone she recognizes, clearly deciding that no one here was a threat to Callie. 

“He’s down on the docks,” Hirelle returns, finding Callie timidly munching on a small platter of cheese set out on a table. She enjoys the sour taste, even noting hints of rosemary fermented into the soft spread. “Our niece is there too, I believe they’re waiting for you, dear.” 

“Thank you, Lady Hirelle,” Callie replies, finishing her bite and standing. 

“Just Hirelle, darling,” the woman grins sweetly, “No need for any of that formality here. It’s just friends and family here today.” 

Callie returns her smile, nodding at Gloriana before stepping over the lip of the door and walking down the soft, grassy incline to the docks below. It smells fresh and clear, and Callie savors the coolness of the breeze in the shade. She hadn’t really realized how long it had been since she’d just relaxed outside the city, only ever leaving it to make her way to the bustle of the agricultural communities. 

She hardly recognizes Xamner when she sees him, lounging on a solid wooden chair at the end of the dock, shaded by a thin roof above. He’s no longer wearing his Magister robes, dressed instead in a plain white tunic and brown trousers, barefoot and leaning back with a cool drink in his hands. Most surprisingly of all, he wears a warm smile on his face, laughing lightly as he chats with Dynasa seated beside him. She’s more formal, still wearing the robes of a College mage, but she also looks more relaxed than Callie has seen her before. 

“Hal Devotia,” Xamner greets her, voice bouncing contentedly above the quiet water. He extends a hand to the open seat to his right, and she sits down, a little confused but pleasantly surprised. 

“I think it’s just Callie here,” she jokes, reveling in the novelty of it all. 

“That it is,” Xamner grins. “Put your feet in the water if you like, it’s lovely.” 

“I think I will,” Callie returns his smile, bemused. She sits down onto the wooden planks, dropping her feet in the water and sighing at the cool sensation. 

“Nice to get out, isn’t it?” Dynasa asks, and Callie leaves her feet in the water but turns to face both of them, leaning back onto one of her hands. 

“I daresay a Devotia has never been treated with so little formality,” Callie smirks, splashing the water gently with her toes. “It’s a nice break.” 

“You’ve earned it,” Dynasa raises a glass, toasting to her. “Professor Limens just officially submitted his resignation. Selection for his replacement begins soon.” 

“You could’ve told me he’d fold immediately,” she replies. “I didn’t even pressure him or seduce him or anything. He was already quitting.” 

“Sometimes,” Xamner grunts, shifting in his chair, “work we do isn’t done in the moment. It can precede us, or proceed from us, but it’s work nonetheless. Take the victory, Callana.” 

“People keep telling me they think I’m changing things. I don’t understand why they think that.” She remembers Limens’ words, so sure that Suul was using Callie for something important.

“Care to take this one, Dyna?” Xamner’s head rolls, facing his niece. 

“As I’ve already told you, Callie,” Dynasa explains, “You’re an unusual pick for a Devotia. The last few have all been insiders: nobles, priestesses, even a paladin. They were broadly popular in their own ways, but all fairly similar.” 

“Not all were popular,” Callie mutters. “Ellava was removed.” 

Xamner chuckles, and Callie turns to face him, brow furrowing. “Is that what you think?” Callie nods slowly, but Xamner shakes his head. “Ellava was a tremendously popular Devotia up until the end. For many people, she still is.”

“No, she isn’t,” Callie rebuts. “Everytime I hear her referenced, it’s like someone’s mother died. People keep being afraid that I’ll be like her.” 

“And who do you spend your time with?” Dynasa directs. 

Callie takes in the words for a second. “So she’s popular with the everyday citizens?” 

“As are you,” Dynasa smiles, her tone nearly complimentary. 

“Me?” Callie pulls a leg out of the water, tucking it towards her chest and wrapping her arms around it, pulling it close. “I hardly interact with them.” 

“Yes, you do,” Xamner waves away her concern. “Don’t be so foolish.” 

Callie scowls, feeling a deep look of confusion fill her entire face. “I don’t think I’ve had more than a handful of conversations with everyday people since I was anointed.” 

“And yet you interact with them,” Dynasa responds cryptically. “Ponder how that may be.” 

Do you know how hard it is to meet a Devotia down there? Mykah’s words bounce around in her head as she thinks. She stands by her answer, hardly able to recall any interactions other than with servants or stray individuals in rare moments. Most of her time she’s meeting with the leader of something or an elite group. 

“It isn’t,” Callie declares. “I never get to spend time with them.” 

“Don’t be naive, Callie,” Dynasa snorts. “How much are the mages at the Mount Beacon monastery being paid now?” 

“More than before. I don’t see how that’s relevant.” 

“And where is your next assignment as a Devotia?” 

“Working with Farmer Kiel and Magister Hamada to save the keelt crop.” 

Dynasa folds her hands across her lap, inclining her head and raising her sharp eyebrows as though her point is proven. Callie shakes her head, about to sigh and give in when the understanding finally sets in. 

“They interact with the consequences of my actions,” Callie exhales. 

“Exactly,” Dynasa smiles, enjoying when the Devotia uses her intellect. “You are popular because the decisions you make have generally been benefiting everyday people. They believe you truly care about them.” 

“I do,” Callie says quietly. She sighs, looking back out at the water. “I hate that I don’t get to spend more than a few minutes with normal people each day.” 

“As a newcomer,” Xamner chirps up, “you have been surprisingly receptive to the needs of the city, often choosing to pursue its best interests.” 

“Isn’t that what everyone does?”

Xamner snorts loudly, taking a long sip from his drink. Dynasa restrains her own noise of disbelief, looking at her uncle happily before turning back to meet Callie’s eyes. 

“Most Devotia just serve the nobility and the elite.” 

Callie is quiet again. Her foot splashes against the water softly again, enjoying the little droplets that would rise up and land upon her leg as well. A few feet below her leg, she can see small round pebbles dot the floor of the river, with tiny little fishes darting in between them. 

“But,” Xamner coughs, sitting up higher in his chair, “we didn’t bring you here to stroke your ego, hal Devotia. We have a proposal to make of you.” 

“What is it?” Callie asks quietly, a little frustrated. There was always a turning point in conversations these days; hardly anyone didn’t want something from her, and she was slowly beginning to resent it. 

“Don’t look so sour,” Dynasa scolds, though her tone is still relatively peaceable. She gives Callie a moment to collect herself before continuing. “I told you I intend to be a part of steering change, and I believe you want that as well. We… if you don’t want in on this, please say so now and walk away.”

“Bold to assume I wouldn’t just turn on you,” Callie replies, mostly jokingly. 

“You wouldn’t last two more weeks as Devotia if you did,” Dynasa cuts back with a clear threat. Callie nods; with everything the mage already knows about her, Callie suspects it wouldn’t be hard to use against her. For better or for worse, she’s already thrown a great deal of her own fate into their hands.

“We have a plan years in the making,” Xamner says quietly, folding his hands into his lap and clenching them. 

“A plan to do what?” 

“Take a guess, Callie,” Dynasa coaches. “Think back to our conversations… what do I seem to want?” 

“You… you want…” Callie quiets as the words don’t come together. She has a vague idea but it's clear she’s missing something larger to connect it all. “You want to change things,” she gives up.

“You’re smarter than that,” Dynasa complains. 

“You want to make Solva better, you want to help people, I don’t know. Something like that, I guess.” 

“Gods,” Xamner mutters under his breath. He sighs, glancing at Dynasa and asking, “How much have you actually told her?” 

“Enough that she can use her head,” Dynasa instructs. 

“Just tell me,” Callie sighs, feeling her face slightly warm with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. As much as she appreciates Dynasa’s insights into the game, most often Callie just wishes she’d give a straight answer. 

Dynasa stares at her for a long moment, eventually taking pity and answering. “You’re close enough, I suppose. It isn’t just that we want to help people, we want to reshape society by reinventing the Devotia.” 

“Reinventing the Devotia?” Callie looks at the two of them, trying to read their minds but coming up short. “Like restore it the way it used to be?” 

“Why think so small?” Xamner grunts. 

“So a Devotia that only serves the poor? Is that what you want?” 

“What we want are Devotia without leashes,” Dynasa continues, “ones who are allowed to feel and be impacted by the world. Who aren’t bound to cities, who don’t just serve one group. But it’s bigger than that.” 

“Bigger… how?” 

Dynasa pauses, turning to face Xamner. “I’m not sure I should say.” 

“I’ll answer that,” Callie grumbles. “If you want my help, you’re going to tell me exactly what you’re doing. I’m not supporting you otherwise. How does being Magewitch factor into all of this?” 

“I… I have been attempting research that has been banned for some time,” Dynasa replies slowly, choosing each word carefully. “As Magewitch, I can pursue it.” Callie crosses her arms and scowls, staring down the mage until she finally completes her thought, “I believe it is possible to influence Suul…” 

Callie feels her spine crawl with the suggestion, quickly feeling the air around her grow stale and tense. “Influence her how?” 

“It’s hard to say what the boundaries would be,” Dynasa speaks with her arms, waving them to explain her thinking. Callie can almost see her imagining the scattered pages of notes in her workspace, trying to conjure up the complicated arcana. “But it could be anywhere from anointing new Devotia, nighttime blessings, blocking blessings entirely…” 

“How is it possible to influence Suul? She’s a goddess. She has a will of her own.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Dynasa quips, smirking at Xamner. 

“Yes… she does?” Callie’s brow furrows, incredulous at the suggestion. The worship of Suul was still new to her, but even Callie knows that Suul was famously active in the world. “How can you even suggest that?” 

“This would be easier if you were a mage…” Dynasa mumbles to herself. She gazes upwards, arms silently waving while she attempts to collect her thoughts. “So there’s the Standard Arcana, the dominant theory of magic. It understands magic as a force that flows from divinity into the world, and only from divinity.” 

“Horribly reductionist,” Xamner complains, disgruntled. 

“Then you explain it,” Dynasa shoots back, frowning at her uncle. He raises his hands defensively and gestures for her to continue. “But there’s also the Mirage Arcana…” 

“What the fuck is that?” Callie scowls. Even in proximity to mages like Velena and Junivere and Mykah, Callie has never heard anyone imply there was any other way to view magic. The idea that it flows from the gods is as obvious as saying a person needs air to breathe. 

“It’s not a popular idea,” the mage says, more quietly. “Essentially, the Mirage Arcana argues that magic emanates from the world around us and… gods, how to explain it? Magic sends out ripples…” She steps forward, leaning over the edge of the dock. She drops a small rock into the water, where it splashes quietly. “There, see?” 

“I see water moving,” Callie confirms, not following. 

“Look at the spaces between ripples, where the light flashes and moves.” 

“Okay?” 

Dynasa stares at her, as though it should be obvious what she means. When it’s clear Callie doesn’t follow, she points at the ripples again and says, “Those are the goddesses.” 

“What are you trying to say?” Callie sighs. 

“Did those reflections cause the pebble to fall, or did the pebble create the reflections?” 

“Obviously the reflections didn’t cause the pebble to fall.” 

“Exactly, but the Standard Arcana would disagree,” Dynasa lights up, tapping her fingers together excitedly. “The Mirage Arcana is the better explanation for natural phenomena.” 

Callie glances back towards Xamner with a confused expression. She’d never expected to turn to him for assistance with anything, but now her face begs him to explain in simpler terms. 

“What my niece is trying to say,” Xamner huffs, “is that some mages believe that the way we use magic changes how the effects of magic spread out in the world. As magic moves, it interacts in such a way that it creates reflections and ripples like a pebble does; but instead, magic’s impact is that it creates the goddesses. If we change how magic is used, we change how the goddess behaves.” 

“That’s… that’s insane,” Callie stands up, looking down at the water and crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Suul has literally possessed me before. That can’t just be the accidental by-product of magic.” 

“It isn’t accidental. We’re not saying Suul isn’t real, she is.” 

“But you said she’s just a reflection and that she doesn’t have a will.” Callie’s pulse quickens, frustrated and alarmed. 

“Maybe I misspoke then, Callie,” Dynasa replies quietly, holding out her hands to encourage Callie to sit and listen. 

Callie rejects the offer, leaning up against one of the support beams for the roof to get more space from the two of them. She increasingly wonders if she’s made a mistake trusting them, worried about what Velena might say to all of this. 

“Suul has a will,” Dynasa says. “What I mean is that it isn’t absolute. Just like I can change you and your decisions based upon what I do, the Mirage Arcana would argue we can do that to Suul.” 

Callie closes her eyes and thinks for a moment. She takes a few deep breaths, trying to sort through a variety of conflicting feelings. When she opens her eyes again, reading the concerned expressions on both of their faces, she forces herself to settle down slightly. “So… so if the river is the world, and magic is the pebble, and the goddess is the ripple…” 

Dynasa nods, encouraged to see Callie trying to work it out for herself. 

“What if I filled in the river, or made it more shallow? Then, when someone throws a rock in…” Callie scratches her head, feeling an understanding slowly form. “The reflection would look different - Suul would behave differently - because we changed the context of the rock… is that right?” 

“I think she’s getting it,” Xamner croaks, coughing into his elbow. 

Callie’s mind feels like it’s awakening, and another idea cautiously pushes forth. “Is… is that why Suul didn’t intervene to stop the changes you told me about?” She turns to Dynasa, remembering the history where Devotia could marry. “Enough people in the reactionary movement took charge that it changed Suul’s reflection… and made her support them?” 

“No…” Dynasa muses for a second, before changing her mind and exclaiming, “Yes! Not how I would’ve worded it, but the fundamentals are there.” 

“And the previous Magewitch was deliberately blocking all research into the Mirage Arcana,” Callie realizes. Limens’ warning about mages falling into danger for disobeying the rules of the Standard Arcana suddenly makes more sense. He wasn’t conservative in the ways that Rookwell was… he was conservative in a magical sense. 

“Exactly,” Dynasa nods. 

“So let me get this straight,” Callie holds her head in her hands, shaking it in disbelief. “You want to alter the personality of a goddess to alter the role of Devotia to alter society?” 

“That's a close enough understanding, yes.” 

“That’s… that’s insane!” Callie scoffs, pacing back and forth on the dock. “You don’t know what the impacts could be!” 

“Now you’re thinking too big,” Xamner perks up. He takes another drink, sighing contentedly. 

“No, I’m not,” she rebuts, glaring at him. “It’s one thing to suggest trying to get the Imperium to change its rules. That’s what I thought we were going to do. You’re talking about taking control of a goddess!” 

Dynasa sighs, frustrated. “Those are the same thing, Callie. That’s what we’re trying to say. The Standard Arcana tells us Suul changes the rules. The Mirage Arcana, what we’re trying to embrace, simply rebuts that and claims that the rules change Suul. If we’re correct, then people are doing this every day.” 

“It’s not just rules,” Xamner corrects. “The fundamental approach of our society changes her. If we were to only use magic for war, Suul will become more war-like as well. If we use it for art, Suul will be more of a poet.” 

“Fine,” Callie relents, “I get it.” 

“If we’re correct, and we are,” Dynasa quips, lowering herself down onto the dock and splashing her feet into the water, “Then our enemies, that reactionary movement I told you about, this is how they’ve created our system.” 

Callie paces back and forth for a while, trying to piece together everything she’s been told. “So… so say I believe you. What do you want me to do?” 

 

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