Free Six Heirs by Pierre Grimbert

position...
    Something hit him on the back of the head and everything went black.

    “Maz Lana? Are you well?”
    The priestess lifted her head. It was Rimon, the young novice, who had kindly come to comfort her. He had always been her best student as well as a loyal friend, and Lana knew she would pass on her title of Maz to him one day or another, if Eurydis allowed it.
    “Yes, yes. Thank you.”
    “Is there anything I can do for you?”
    “No, thank you. Not right now. I just need to be alone for a moment. To reflect.”
    “All right. I’ll be outside your door. Don’t hesitate to call for me if you need anything.”
    At the doorway, he added: “The Temple has sent a few officers. They’re placing a guard around the building. You are safe.”
    “Very well, you can go now.”
    Rimon obeyed her meekly, with one last pitying look at his teacher. Sometimes Lana asked herself if she saw more than respect, more than friendship in the eyes of the young novice. But they both knew things would never go any further.
    She stood and paced across the little cell that served as her home. Even though it was austere, modestly decorated, and only functionally furnished, her bedroom had always felt very comfortable. Its main appeal was the magnificent view from the window. The midday sun shimmered off the Alt’s flowing waters, glistening on the Holy City’s myriad domes and temples, warming the foothills before the high mountains of the Curtain range. It was such a beautiful city. Peaceful, pacifist, spared from the barbarism of the rest of the known world.
    Lana closed her eyes to say a silent prayer. Wise Eurydis, why this new hardship? Hadn’t she suffered enough from these recent struggles?
    The morning’s events invaded her memory despite her efforts to forget. She had just begun leading her disciples in a reflection on the vanity of wealth, a subject that she held particularly dear; such corruption is difficult to resist even for the wisest of the wise. They convened, as was their habit, in the gardens at the foot of Mount Fleuri, and peacefully debated the numerous references to vanity found in religious literature.
    This type of teaching was open to anyone; it wasn’t uncommon to see strangers sit in the circle with the order’s members, out of intellectual interest or mere curiosity. So no one made any objection when a young man without a mask and wearing the common robe of a novice joined them.
    The stranger kept silent, but avidly listened to each of the speakers, particularly the women. This hadn’t escaped Lana who, having merely been intrigued at the time, understood perfectly well now.
    When the stranger was sure he knew who was leading the class, he jumped to his feet like a cat and leaped, brandishing a dagger.
    Toward her.
    Lana didn’t make any movement to defend herself, and would never understand why. She saw the assassin approach her, very clearly, as if time had slowed down. And she simply told herself her earthly life was about to end.
    Fortunately, or rather, unfortunately, some of her disciples reacted quickly enough to save her.
    Finally, she allowed the tears to come, feeling them run down her cheeks. No one, no one, deserved such a sacrifice.
    Four were killed, simply grazed by that horrible dagger. Four young people who had always condemned violence. Four children who only aspired to serve Eurydis their whole lives.
    Lopan, Vascal, Durenn.
    Orphaëlle...
    Lana let the pain overwhelm her. Poor Orphaëlle. So young, so innocent.
    Tragically, the assassin realized his failure an instant after stabbing the young novice who had jumped in his path.
    Halted, seized by several pairs of hands, he stabbed the terrifying weapon, which they were trying to wrest from him, straight into his own heart.
    Lana had woken up in her cell, Rimon at her side. She didn’t even remember fainting. He had told her the few things he knew: the Temple’s officers had dispersed the curious crowd and then escorted those