Winter in Crystal Valley.
The beginning of the year and a season of holy days, some somber and some joyously raucous and many mixed, depending on the company one keeps. A busy time for any bishop; a busier time for Sasarai.
There's been snow in the capitol lasting later than most years. On Holy Father's Day it is still muddying his boots and staining the white-washed walls of the temple complex. "A nuisance," Dios says, "But my children are enjoying it."
"I can't say I'm not either," Sasarai admits. "Come see what I made," he urges his chief of staff along the curving corridor and out along the rounded porch until they face across the snow-dusted gardens with their naked trees and stick-wrapped trellises toward Sasarai's personal quarters. There are two lopsided snowmen facing them. The shorter one wears a bishop's hat and a striped nalen scarf around its shoulders. The taller one wears a more generic blue scarf and a black military cap cocked to the side. Even were it not for their location, certainly no one but a bishop would be so bold as to use a bishop's hat this way.
"And this when you're supposedly too busy."
Spring in Crystal Valley.
The garden is filled with blossoms. The chief priest emerges from his most hidden libraries and laboratories, the ones kept underground, to sit in his quarters and stare out the window at the wisteria. What he thinks of as he stagnates such, Sasarai can imagine no way to tell. He hasn't spoken for days now, as far as Sasarai can tell. ...And, anyway, when he does, he's an unfortunately enigmatic man. Too often this proves problematic. He speaks and others must interpret.
There are, of course, as many interpretations as there are agendas present. This proves uncomfortable in the Counsel chamber.
Armies can cross the country easily in this season. The more poetic hawks speak of them as if they were part of some particularly militaristic idyll, eying the flowers as they march. Maybe on the Dunan border, but most places the troops are mobilized too hardly sport many flowers, now or any other time.
"Father," Sasarai speaks to him (he says "Father" only within the privacy of just the two of them), "Are you well?"
The chief priest doesn't answer. He doesn't even turn to look.
Sasarai brings flowers. He put them in a vase.
Summer in Crystal Valley.
The heat is stifling. Lucas Orsini arrives for a meeting without wearing his official robes. "I figured I could forgo them this once," he sniffs, "As I'm only here to assist anyhow. It would be different if I were an actual member of the Counsel..."
Sasarai smiles at the not-so-subtle hint. As much as he enjoys Lucas' company, whether he would actually vote for him were he up for a seat is a different story.
Bishop T'Rainfellour fans himself with a sheaf of papers. Bishop Sakurazaki's long locks look sweaty and wilted. If they envy Orsini his bold move toward coolness, Bishop Kaeyani's shooting him typically icy looks is no reason to envy him less (though Sasarai would pass on the fearful shuddering they'd give him- Lucas is mellower; less affected).
When the meeting breaks, they go their separate ways.
A breeze comes out of the north. "Paquin sends its regards," Lucas salutes it, raising his glass of iced tea. Though the invitation for Sasarai to return and visit again always stands, and at this time of year might be worthwhile relief, the cold is harder on him still. In any case, he is duty-bound here.
Autumn in Crystal Valley.
The leaves change, but the gardeners are diligent and the grounds remain neat and trim. There are not enough trees in the capitol for the detritus of leaves to block the streets. The places that they rise- around homes, in the Fountain District- are neatly groomed with a standard of care intended to rival that of the Temple.
There is the usual arrival of seasonal fare from the fields across the country. Crystal Valley reaps the entire nation's harvest. Dios arrives with apples. "Kina would have baked them," he regards one, red and shining against the white of his glove, thinking of his wife. Sasarai has no practical experience with which to judge romantic relationships. He cannot say whether or not he sees the gulf as insurmountable. Whether or not Dios sees it worth bridging is almost as hard to determine.
"I could do that too, you know," a longtime handmaid protests.
For all that Dios likes Nika he cannot help but give a look that scoffs "I've never seen you do it before," because she's no baker, but Sasarai is more encouraging. "I'd enjoy that very much, I think. Your take on them. Please do."
Winter again in Crystal Valley.
There is recourse to an unseasonable mobilization. Sasarai does not oversee it, but Lucas Orsini and his area lie within its purview, which makes him cast a keener eye toward its details than he might under other circumstances.
Nika brings out the extra blankets. Her bishop reads reports on into the night, sitting up in the middle of his large, canopied bed. He is warm, until the words cause him to shiver.
Snow falls fickle over the capitol. It lands. It melts. It floats down again several nights later. The general mood in the city is equally testy. "Illicitly printed, of course," Darren shows a pamphlet to his father. "Don't ask me how I got it."
What is bad for the bishops is bad for Dios. He will speak of the matter with Sasarai, but cannot bear to show him the screeds in question, nor the caricatures.
Ice blocks the northern ports. There are shortages around White Crest.
To be spread thin in winter is always harder on morale.
Sasarai visits his father. Despite an uptick of life from him in fall, with the winter he has returned to his dreaming.
Thusly, the year turns.