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Authors: Victoria Hanley
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strength.
It seemed impossible. Perhaps he was mistaken. His powers of prophecy had been diminishing. But no, this vision was real. He felt the prickle of truth on his skin.
But how did she get there? Why did no one stop her?
He abandoned meditation. Clamping his jaw, he went to the door, opened it. Ilona, First Priestess, stood in the corridor beside a silent guard. She bowed instantly: First Priestess honoring the Master Priest. Renchald gave the return bow automatically.
“The Oracle is calling, sir,” she said. “But she has drawn her veil. I cannot perceive to whom she speaks.”
“The stonecutter's daughter sleeps in the alabaster chamber,” he said into her ear. “Fetch her to me.”
Seven
Bryn felt lost within a heavy chair. She gathered her thoughts, trying to comprehend that she was in the Master Priest's sanctum, led there by the First Priestess herself, who had woken her from sleeping on the golden couch.
Along the walls beside her chair ranged tapestries of the gods, each one framed by a border of thick red satin. She looked for Solz, God of Light, hoping for his shining countenance, but instead she saw Keldes, Lord of Death. And in the corner, standing on a tall white pedestal, a black marble statue of a hulking vulture, rendered in such detail that Bryn almost expected it to fly at her and begin tearing her throat.
From another chair the First Priestess gazed at Bryn with deep eyes. Up close, she seemed even more stately than she had looked standing at her place beside the Oracle's great altar; her dark braid wound about her head like a gleaming crown, her olive skin lustrous in the morning light streaming through windows, her high cheekbones and sculpted lipsremindful of the tapestry of Ellerth, Goddess of Earth.
The Master Priest faced them both, clenching his lean jaw. Bryn felt as if a belt squeezed her waist, but she wasn't wearing a belt; wasn't dressed yet, still in her plain cotton nightgown. When she tried to swallow, her mouth felt as dry as it had on the day she'd ridden through the desert. She wanted to ask for a drink, but what if they meant to deprive her of water again? For clearly, she had transgressed unknown rules.
“Tell us,” Renchald said, “how you came to be in the deep chamber of the Oracle.”
The arms of her chair were carved with designs. Bryn pressed her fingers into the grooves of the carving. “I followed—” But even as she spoke, she thought of how foolish she would sound.
Followed thistledown?
He would think her an imbecile.
“ You followed?”
Bryn swallowed. “I followed a light.” It was true, after all. She didn't need to say that the light came from thistledown. Besides, she realized then, she didn't want him to know about that. Ever.
“A light? Where did you see it?”
“In front of me, Your Honor. It led through the halls and down stairways.”
“And no one stopped you?” His tone was icy.
“I didn't see anyone, sir.”
“ You followed a light from the handmaids' hall to the alabaster chamber?”
So she'd been right. An alabaster room. “ Yes, sir. Iwas going to lie on the couch for only a few minutes. I didn't mean to sleep.”
“And did you dream?” At her nod, he said: “Tell us your dreams.”
The pressure Bryn felt around her waist worsened, and her mouth felt so parched she wondered if she could form any more words.
“Speak,” he ordered.
Bryn looked at the floor. “There was a man, full of darkness. A lord in Sliviia,” she said croakingly.
“His name?”
“Morlen. I believe he died, killed by a girl with a knife.”
“Only a knife? Nothing more?”
“Nothing more, Your Honor.”
“What else?” His voice sharpened.
She didn't want to tell him the rest. How to phrase for the Master Priest what she had seen?
I dreamed of the one whom you rode past in the desert, the one who cried out that Ellerth would bury you.
Her dream had been broken when the First Priestess shook her awake. There was more, she was
It seemed impossible. Perhaps he was mistaken. His powers of prophecy had been diminishing. But no, this vision was real. He felt the prickle of truth on his skin.
But how did she get there? Why did no one stop her?
He abandoned meditation. Clamping his jaw, he went to the door, opened it. Ilona, First Priestess, stood in the corridor beside a silent guard. She bowed instantly: First Priestess honoring the Master Priest. Renchald gave the return bow automatically.
“The Oracle is calling, sir,” she said. “But she has drawn her veil. I cannot perceive to whom she speaks.”
“The stonecutter's daughter sleeps in the alabaster chamber,” he said into her ear. “Fetch her to me.”
Seven
Bryn felt lost within a heavy chair. She gathered her thoughts, trying to comprehend that she was in the Master Priest's sanctum, led there by the First Priestess herself, who had woken her from sleeping on the golden couch.
Along the walls beside her chair ranged tapestries of the gods, each one framed by a border of thick red satin. She looked for Solz, God of Light, hoping for his shining countenance, but instead she saw Keldes, Lord of Death. And in the corner, standing on a tall white pedestal, a black marble statue of a hulking vulture, rendered in such detail that Bryn almost expected it to fly at her and begin tearing her throat.
From another chair the First Priestess gazed at Bryn with deep eyes. Up close, she seemed even more stately than she had looked standing at her place beside the Oracle's great altar; her dark braid wound about her head like a gleaming crown, her olive skin lustrous in the morning light streaming through windows, her high cheekbones and sculpted lipsremindful of the tapestry of Ellerth, Goddess of Earth.
The Master Priest faced them both, clenching his lean jaw. Bryn felt as if a belt squeezed her waist, but she wasn't wearing a belt; wasn't dressed yet, still in her plain cotton nightgown. When she tried to swallow, her mouth felt as dry as it had on the day she'd ridden through the desert. She wanted to ask for a drink, but what if they meant to deprive her of water again? For clearly, she had transgressed unknown rules.
“Tell us,” Renchald said, “how you came to be in the deep chamber of the Oracle.”
The arms of her chair were carved with designs. Bryn pressed her fingers into the grooves of the carving. “I followed—” But even as she spoke, she thought of how foolish she would sound.
Followed thistledown?
He would think her an imbecile.
“ You followed?”
Bryn swallowed. “I followed a light.” It was true, after all. She didn't need to say that the light came from thistledown. Besides, she realized then, she didn't want him to know about that. Ever.
“A light? Where did you see it?”
“In front of me, Your Honor. It led through the halls and down stairways.”
“And no one stopped you?” His tone was icy.
“I didn't see anyone, sir.”
“ You followed a light from the handmaids' hall to the alabaster chamber?”
So she'd been right. An alabaster room. “ Yes, sir. Iwas going to lie on the couch for only a few minutes. I didn't mean to sleep.”
“And did you dream?” At her nod, he said: “Tell us your dreams.”
The pressure Bryn felt around her waist worsened, and her mouth felt so parched she wondered if she could form any more words.
“Speak,” he ordered.
Bryn looked at the floor. “There was a man, full of darkness. A lord in Sliviia,” she said croakingly.
“His name?”
“Morlen. I believe he died, killed by a girl with a knife.”
“Only a knife? Nothing more?”
“Nothing more, Your Honor.”
“What else?” His voice sharpened.
She didn't want to tell him the rest. How to phrase for the Master Priest what she had seen?
I dreamed of the one whom you rode past in the desert, the one who cried out that Ellerth would bury you.
Her dream had been broken when the First Priestess shook her awake. There was more, she was
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