‘Exalted’ is?” she said, again fluttering her hands at the seemingly magical word.
“The highest of all nobility, save the Kings themselves.” explained Isley. “They’re like Kings, but they do not command entire kingdoms. And just like Kings, anything they say must be obeyed or carried out. All Exalteds have at least one Saint as a bodyguard and enforcer.”
Celacia waved a dismissive hand. “Oh please. You Saints and your new duties these days. It’s pathetic, really. And Admael is ok with all this? Really?”
“Celacia?” Erygion stood with his hands out, a look of concern on his face.
“Oh Erygion,” said Celacia shaking her head. “You’re always far too grave.”
“We had a deal.” he persisted.
“Oh, ok,” conceded Celacia. “You did your job anyway. Go sneak back to Sanctuary. You sure you want to miss the demonstration?”
Erygion huffed a little laugh and looked up at the titanic skull. “I think I have a good enough understanding,” he said.
“You still owe me one more thing,” chirped Celacia.
Erygion grinned and looked at Isley and Nuriel and gave a little wink. At his side he had a small leather bag. He tore it from his waist and tossed it to Celacia. He turned to Isley and Nuriel, saying each of their names with a departing finality.
“Farewell, Erygion the Standard Bearer.” said Isley.
Nuriel tried to conceal her scowl but failed. She found nothing amusing in the irony that Sanctuary’s standard bearer—the one whose duty it was to protect and honor the symbol of Sanctuary—was the very one betraying it. She turned her head and wiped at her nose and sniffled.
“Chin up, Nuriel,” said Erygion. He gave her another of those wicked little smiles. “Aeoria’s Guard only serve Aeoria. Remember that.” He gave her a wink and turned and walked away, his star-metal boots clanking loudly in the cave as he went.
“So, these are those newfangled leashes Admael keeps you Saints on?” As Celacia spoke, the leather sack crumbled to dust in her hand, leaving behind a handful of small, glassy-red orbs, each the size of a large marble.
Isley gasped and Nuriel looked up, starting from the shock of the sight. She couldn’t believe it, and she started to feel a little sick to her stomach. In Celacia’s hand were six small, crystalline orbs filled with crimson blood. Each one was etched with a unique stellaglyph. Nuriel instantly knew they were Sanguinastrums and she could almost sense which one in particular was hers.
Nuriel’s hand immediately went to the back of her neck and she rubbed at the silver tattoo of her stellaglyph, her fingers tracing over the scarred, raised tissue. It was the mark left from when she was made a Saints Caliber; from when the Oracles drew her star in molten silver upon her neck and chanted their spell, binding her to her star-metal breastplate. Nuriel could vividly remember the pain as the silver burned into her flesh, absorbed into her very skin, while drawing out the few drops of blood that the Sin Eaters collected into that tiny crystalline orb etched with her stellaglyph.
Celacia giggled and held one of the orbs up to her eye. “You two should see the looks on your faces,” she said. She looked at Isley. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t let these crumble in my hands. I hope.” She took up a different orb to her eye. She went to another and then said, “Ah, here it is. I think this one is Isley’s. And this one is Nuriel’s.” Celacia looked up at Isley and Nuriel and giggled again. “I told you that you were both working for me now.”
“Are those really our Sanguinastrums?” asked Isley. Nuriel could hear the awe in his voice. He obviously found this to be something quite exhilarating, but Nuriel couldn’t help but feel ever more alone and ever more removed from the Sanctuary she had known and loved all her life.
“You Saints sure have funny names for dog collars, you know that?” chirped Celacia. “But to answer your
“The highest of all nobility, save the Kings themselves.” explained Isley. “They’re like Kings, but they do not command entire kingdoms. And just like Kings, anything they say must be obeyed or carried out. All Exalteds have at least one Saint as a bodyguard and enforcer.”
Celacia waved a dismissive hand. “Oh please. You Saints and your new duties these days. It’s pathetic, really. And Admael is ok with all this? Really?”
“Celacia?” Erygion stood with his hands out, a look of concern on his face.
“Oh Erygion,” said Celacia shaking her head. “You’re always far too grave.”
“We had a deal.” he persisted.
“Oh, ok,” conceded Celacia. “You did your job anyway. Go sneak back to Sanctuary. You sure you want to miss the demonstration?”
Erygion huffed a little laugh and looked up at the titanic skull. “I think I have a good enough understanding,” he said.
“You still owe me one more thing,” chirped Celacia.
Erygion grinned and looked at Isley and Nuriel and gave a little wink. At his side he had a small leather bag. He tore it from his waist and tossed it to Celacia. He turned to Isley and Nuriel, saying each of their names with a departing finality.
“Farewell, Erygion the Standard Bearer.” said Isley.
Nuriel tried to conceal her scowl but failed. She found nothing amusing in the irony that Sanctuary’s standard bearer—the one whose duty it was to protect and honor the symbol of Sanctuary—was the very one betraying it. She turned her head and wiped at her nose and sniffled.
“Chin up, Nuriel,” said Erygion. He gave her another of those wicked little smiles. “Aeoria’s Guard only serve Aeoria. Remember that.” He gave her a wink and turned and walked away, his star-metal boots clanking loudly in the cave as he went.
“So, these are those newfangled leashes Admael keeps you Saints on?” As Celacia spoke, the leather sack crumbled to dust in her hand, leaving behind a handful of small, glassy-red orbs, each the size of a large marble.
Isley gasped and Nuriel looked up, starting from the shock of the sight. She couldn’t believe it, and she started to feel a little sick to her stomach. In Celacia’s hand were six small, crystalline orbs filled with crimson blood. Each one was etched with a unique stellaglyph. Nuriel instantly knew they were Sanguinastrums and she could almost sense which one in particular was hers.
Nuriel’s hand immediately went to the back of her neck and she rubbed at the silver tattoo of her stellaglyph, her fingers tracing over the scarred, raised tissue. It was the mark left from when she was made a Saints Caliber; from when the Oracles drew her star in molten silver upon her neck and chanted their spell, binding her to her star-metal breastplate. Nuriel could vividly remember the pain as the silver burned into her flesh, absorbed into her very skin, while drawing out the few drops of blood that the Sin Eaters collected into that tiny crystalline orb etched with her stellaglyph.
Celacia giggled and held one of the orbs up to her eye. “You two should see the looks on your faces,” she said. She looked at Isley. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t let these crumble in my hands. I hope.” She took up a different orb to her eye. She went to another and then said, “Ah, here it is. I think this one is Isley’s. And this one is Nuriel’s.” Celacia looked up at Isley and Nuriel and giggled again. “I told you that you were both working for me now.”
“Are those really our Sanguinastrums?” asked Isley. Nuriel could hear the awe in his voice. He obviously found this to be something quite exhilarating, but Nuriel couldn’t help but feel ever more alone and ever more removed from the Sanctuary she had known and loved all her life.
“You Saints sure have funny names for dog collars, you know that?” chirped Celacia. “But to answer your
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