Foundation's Mistress

19. The Anger of the Gods

'The Gods were not a crutch for our nascent epistemology. They were not Gods of the gaps, as it were, a supernatural panacea for all of the things we have not been able to explain. There can be little doubt that they lived long ago, that they created us, and that they are living still. These contentions are, I would say, the more pedestrian aspects of Saburran theology.

The fact of their existence is well beyond doubt. But as to what they think of us, we can only guess...'

- Excerpt: Lectures on the History of Saburra, Charon the Archivist, Priestess of the Line of the Eldest, 177 SSA

The shock wrapped Adya up in a distant and foggy shroud. In those moments after finding Jehu's body, she could only just recall having a halting, hazy conversation with Arryn, her mind reeling. She couldn't recall what she said.

She kept staring at the boy's face, her memory filled with the way he moved, his earnest smile, his willingness, his laughter.

Gods, Vashti...

She knew what she ought to be feeling, but she struggled to lay claim to those emotions. Her heart was numb.

It was only the tiniest whisper in the recesses of her mind, the only part that possessed sentience, that was brimming with supposition.

You couldn't do it, could you, Vashti? You couldn't live that way. Not with him.

At the same time, other, more creditable thoughts began to surface.

No. Surely not. Does she even know about this? Gods, she can't, can she? But where is she?

The part of her that wanted to believe in Vashti the acolyte's innocence began to wilt.

Conrad, she perceived, was collected enough to ask Arryn the critical questions. Had Jehu had any visitors in the previous days? When was the last time he had been seen outside of his rooms?

Finding himself unable to provide Conrad with the critical details, Arryn left them immediately, bustling out into the southern wing, knocking on doors, calling the other lodgers out, urgently pressing them for information.

Adya collected herself enough to stumble over to one of the chairs near the bed. She picked up one of Jehu's cloaks, then gently spread it over the consort's lifeless face.

Goodbye, sweet boy.

Even now, she so badly wanted to provide for him. Her heart still burned with the ambition to do so. It was like trying to exercise a limb that had already been severed from her body.

She hovered a trembling palm in the air above his concealed face, as if the gesture would invoke a miraculous sign of life, a flutter of his eyelids, a sigh, the barest of movements, the return of some kind of hope. It was the palm that bore her Focal. As she stared insensibly at the artefact, it occurred to her that this hand of hers was the most powerful hand in all of Saburra at that moment. The most powerful hand the city had ever known, perhaps. The most powerful hand Asperia had ever seen, yet there was nothing she could do.

Nothing.

'Gods,' Conrad whispered, his eyes wet with sorrow. 'He was only a boy.'

It was odd to see him cry, Adya reflected. He was the quintessence of manhood in her household, the one who was always so cool, calm and collected. Certainly, there were times when he lacked for wisdom - all men struggled in that regard, but never had she seen him like this. When he was a much younger man, back on that fateful day when Toby and Bridget had left the estate, Adya's heart had been broken. On that day, Conrad had lost his mentor in Toby. In Bridget, he had lost a lover, a woman he had ever sought to please, to satisfy. But on that day, his eyes had remained dry.