Chapter Text
~
King barked at the boat as it disappeared in the fog. Andrew ran a hand through King's fur, trailing the cowlick on his left shoulder.
"Unfortunately, we're going to have to get back on the boat," he told his fox. King looked at him and barked again, eyeing where they had last seen the boat that had brought them to the Isle of Strays.
"Unless you learn how to fly," Andrew offered. King didn't deem that suggestion worthy of a response, and after a few more seconds of staring at the thick fog, Andrew turned around.
In front of him was a street paved with glittery cobblestone. It would lead him to the temple, and not following it meant disrespecting the rules of the isle.
Andrew standing here, fox by his side, would be considered a violation of the rules of the isle by some of the more strict scholars, too. He wasn't a stray, wasn't without folk — he was here on behalf of his folk, sent by his Queen. He took a deep breath, tasting the air of the isle. There were many myths about what happened to anyone setting foot on the Isle of Strays illicitly. They only differed in the specifics of the death that would occur — some talked about vines growing from the spine through every part of the body, others talked about the sea grappling the offender and pulling them under.
Andrew feltfine. King looked fine, too, if disgruntled about the boat journey. The sea was indifferent, waves licking at King's paws without any intent to drag either of them down.
"Thanks for not killing me," Andrew said to the Goddess without looking up. Looking up had always seemed useless to him, she had never indicated that she lived in the sky. One of the more realistic scholars of faith he had spoken with was of the opinion that Fae Malia was so connected to Exy that she could hear everything, everywhere, all the time — if she wanted to. And her desire to hear was largely fuelled by the praying fae's intention, not by them talking to the sky. If anything, talking to the earth they were standing on would make more sense.
"Let's go." Andrew clucked his tongue, and King started down the road.
~
Andrew couldn't hear the sea anymore when he caught the first glimpse of the temple. It wasn't as large as Troy, but he still couldn't see where its grounds ended.
It had probably been smaller, once. Before so many folks had been killed, leaving so many strays behind.
King walked close to him, not even attempting to go after the noises in the surrounding forest. A few times, both of them turned on their heels, but they never saw whatever had caught their attention.
I'll strangle Wymack if this doesn't work out, Andrew thought. It was a precious lie. He just had to think about labored breaths and diamond breaking bones to travel across the sea as often as needed, and he knew King would never leave his side. Wymack had officially commanded him to come here, but there was no scenario in which Andrew wouldn't have gone anyway.
The closer they got to the temple, the more King tucked his tail between his legs, keeping close to Andrew, ears flattened. The scars around his muzzle always looked more pronounced when he was scared. Andrew kept his hand on his back, mumbling reassurance under his breath as they walked past about two dozen statues of animals, some more weathered than others. He fell silent when the doors to the temple opened.
"I'm Jeremy Knox, High Priest to the Isle of Stray," the priest introduced himself. He was wearing the traditional hairstyle of the Fae Malia priests: sides shaved, the black feathers parting his hair woven into intricate braids, the tips a bright copper.
Andrew had heard of him — or rather, about him. About how it confused the other priests that he willingly chose to live on this island instead of the divine capital. Collecting strays was considered an honorable duty, the necessary heritage of wars fought decades ago, but it was the kind of obligation that led to feet shuffling, awkward silences, and utter diffusion of responsibility. Nobody wanted to take care of the strays. Jeremy Knox had volunteered.
Andrew didn't trust him. He nodded.
"And you are?" Knox asked, unwavering smile firmly in place.
"Andrew Minyard, Prince of Palmetto and Soldier of the Paw."
"Nice to meet you, Andrew Minyard, Prince of Palmetto and Soldier of the Paw." Knox didn't let on how much he knew about Andrew, but he had to know how close Andrew had been to becoming a stray himself; Jeremy had lived in Troy long enough.
Andrew rubbed his thumb through King's fur, focusing on the warmth of his fox's body against his hip.
"Are you here to renounce your folk?" Knox asked after several seconds of silence.
In the past, Andrew had thought about it. He knew he would never fit in, not really — Wymack had made him Prince, but the title hadn't made him belong.
Kevin had changed all that.
"No," he said.
"What purpose brings you to the Isle of Strays, Prince?" Knox asked. The title didn't sound like mockery out of his mouth.
King's ears flicked forward, his entire attention on the priest.
"I need your help to find the ingredients for an antidote," Andrew said. It was, of course, the truth.
Knox gave him a slow once-over. "Do you wish to cause harm to my island or any fae protected by its purpose?"
"No," Andrew said again.
"Then follow me, Prince. We will help you save your friend."
Andrew had grown up in a world in which faith was a personal decision, not an eternal law of nature. Even though he had since stood eye to eye with the Goddess, he hadn't gotten used to Her daily interventions and the divine knowledge of her priests. Flesh crawling, he followed Knox into the temple, King by his side.
~
As was custom for the temples in Fay Malia, it was decorated with a seamless mix of Palmetto and Edgar Allan style. Drawings of ravens and foxes on the wall, paw prints next to feathers as accent pieces. It was eerie how flawlessly foxes and ravens could exist next to each other when they were painted in murals instead of facing each other in the real world.
"I assume time is of the essence?" Knox asked as they walked through a double-leaved door, admitting them to a hall resembling a throne room. It had the same set-up, but it was missing the centerpiece — instead of a throne, there was an intricately carved statue of one of the most common physical manifestations of Fae Malia.
Knox looked at the statue as they walked past, and Andrew looked away, focusing on King's tense body instead. When they had traveled through Fay Malia, he had been witness to the connection every priest had to the Goddess on Her land, and his own lack of natural devotion caused it to feel shameful, like he was intruding.
"In that case," Knox continued, taking Andrew's lack of an answer as confirmation, "I will not offer you a bed or a bath. Feel free to return here peacefully whenever you need to, but we are in agreement that you shouldn't waste time."
The room they were in now was a prayer room, soft pillows on the floors, the harsh contrast of orange and black softened by warm candle light. "How may I help you?" Knox asked, sinking to his knees.
Andrew stood with one foot inside of the room, the pure faith in the air making it hard to breathe. "Adamas Afa," he said.
Knox folded his hands in his lap, sorrow on his face causing him to look older than he was. "A cruel poison," he replied.
Cruel didn't even begin to cut it. Andrew blinked, focusing on the raven feathers grown on Knox's head to avoid thinking about Kevin's screams and the sound of intestines turning into diamond. When he had seen the diamond growing on Kevin's stomach, Andrew's first thought had been that it would be a mercy to be human. A human would die, their body unable to compensate for the growing cancer. Kevin could only scream, and beg, and fight, and hope against all odds.
King pushed his snout into Andrew's hand. Andrew blinked again. Knox was still kneeling, expression as blank and warm as ever.
"I need the cure for it," Andrew said.
"I can ask Her to point you in the right direction."
Andrew nodded curtly. He had expected as much — neither the priests nor the Goddess were inclined to offer direct, actionable help.
Knox closed his eyes. There was a hint of eyeshadow, orange fading to black. The feathers on his head rustled and the orange tips of his otherwise black hair lit up, immersing him in a soft, orange glow.
It didn't take longer than five heartbeats until he opened his eyes again.
Andrew had never been this close to a priest in active prayer, before. He was enraptured by Knox's eyes, which had the color of burning orange now, with black, perfectly round pupils.
"Are you a stranger to death?
Before you proceed, recall it's not breadth
That challenges the gatherer here on this isle.
It's the opposite factor that burdens your trial."
The difference in Knox's voice was subtle and glaringly unignorable at the same time — it was his voice, but more powerful, carried by polyphony.
"On the first you seek
The other does flourish.
Killing its mother
Her flesh gives it nourish."
Neither Knox nor Andrew blinked, staring at each other as the Goddess spoke to them.
"A fungal intrusion
These sky-way delights
Expressing it's mortum
From perilous heights.
While time provides a fickle fate
Where harder fortunes do await
Take faith in what you do not know
For whom without your journey's slow.
Time a friend, but enemy not?
What grievance does your mind besot?"
Knox shuddered, closed his eyes, and opened them again, eyes brown and faelike again. He tilted his head, smiling softly. "I wish you safe and enlightening travels, Andrew Minyard, Prince of Palmetto and Soldier of the Paw. May the Goddess and Her moon guide your steps."
Andrew stared at him. He had not expected instructions in the form of "Go find a tree with moss growing on the wrong side, harvest two handfuls of it, and return to Kevin," but this was... less than that.
What grievance does your mind besot?
Instead of trying to answer that question, he turned around on the spot to leave the kneeling priest and the temple behind as fast as he could.