here seemed eminently reasonable.
“Who else knows?” she asked eventually.
“Lord Jenga, obviously. Garet Warner. And Davydd Tailorson.”
“You stopped short of announcing it on the parade ground to the entire Defender Corps, then?”
He shook his head at her question. “And you accuse me of not taking things seriously enough.”
“Well, what do you expect me to say, Tarja? You drag me in here and calmly announce that I’m not who I think I am. You tell me Joyhinia and the Lord Defender have lied all these years about my birth and that Joyhinia had my real family and an entire village murdered. I don’t know what to say, Tarja. I don’t even know what to feel!”
“I warned you this wouldn’t be easy, R’shiel, but it’s not the worst of it, I fear.”
“You mean there’s more? Founders! If this is the good news, I can’t wait to hear the bad!”
Tarja sighed, as if he understood her anger. “She’s done a deal with Lord Pieter. She’s sending you back to Karien with the Envoy. She traded you for the First Sister’s mantle.”
R’shiel could feel the blood drain from her face.
“You must be mistaken.” It was more a hopeful question than a statement of fact. She knew Joyhinia’s ambition had no limit. “Why would the Kariens want me? It can’t be true!”
Just then, Davydd Tailorson appeared at the cavern entrance with Garet Warner at his side, coughing politely to alert them to his presence.
“I hate to break this up, children,” Garet said, his laconic tone easing the tension a little. “But Lord Pieter has just entered the Great Hall to address the Gathering. I suggest we get a move on, or we’ll miss all the excitement.”
R’shiel looked sharply at Tarja. “You can’t attend the Gathering! They won’t let you in. You know it’s restricted to the Blue Sisters.”
“And the Lord Defender,” Garet reminded her. “And whatever aides he deems suitable to the occasion. Now, if you will excuse us, R’shiel, we are rather pressed for time.”
Garet stood back and waited for Tarja, who spared her nothing more than a sympathetic look. R’shiel watched the three men leave. The torches hissed loudly in the sudden silence, leaving her alone with her anger. Impulsively, she ran after them.
“Wait! I’m coming too!”
“They won’t let you in, R’shiel,” Tarja warned her.
She looked at him defiantly. “Care to wager on that?”
“Come on, then,” Garet ordered, obviously annoyed but knowing there was little he could do to stop her. Davydd hurried after the Commandant, but Tarja caught her arm and held her back. She struggled against his hold but could not break free.
“R’shiel!” he said sharply, surprising her into stillness with his tone. “Look, whatever you may think of Joyhinia, whatever happens after tonight, you still have Lord Pieter to deal with.”
“That’s simple. If he tries to lay a hand on me I’ll slit his lecherous throat!”
“Which won’t achieve anything, except you being hanged for murder,” he pointed out with infuriating logic. “Anyway, the Envoy isn’t your problem. It’s his priest, Elfron, you need to watch for. He claims he had a vision or something from his god. He’s the one who wants to take you back to Karien.”
“Tarja!” Garet and Davydd had reached the end of the tunnel and were waiting impatiently for him.
“I have to go. Be careful, R’shiel.” Without another word Tarja strode off toward the entrance.
R’shiel had to run to catch up.
chapter 14
When R’shiel and the Defenders reached the Great Hall, Tarja and Garet continued up the steps to the massive bronze-sheathed doors. The two Defenders on guard saluted the officers sharply and stood back to let them enter. They were attending the Gathering as the Lord Defender’s aides and had a valid reason to gain admittance. R’shiel had no such excuse. She glanced at Davydd Tailorson questioningly.
“Now what?” she whispered, afraid her voice would carry in the deserted street. Everyone was still at the amphitheater. A soft rain had begun to fall, and the cobblestone street was slick and glistening in the moonlight.
“There’s no way they’ll let you in, R’shiel.”
She looked at him, her eyes glinting. “Oh, yes there is.”
R’shiel glanced up and down the deserted street then ran across to the alley between the Great Hall and the slightly less impressive Administration Hall next door, from where Francil ruled the Citadel. Davydd followed her down the alley to a shoulder-high brick wall that blocked the end of the lane. She grabbed the top of the wall and pulled herself up, turning to help Davydd. Balanced on the top of the narrow wall, Davydd looked up.
“You’ve got to be joking!”
“I hope you’ve a head for heights,” she said.
She pointed to the window ledge above them, which was out of reach by a few hand spans. With a shake of his head at his own folly, he cupped his hands and gave her a boost up to the ledge. As soon as she was safely up, she turned carefully, and lying flat on her stomach on the cold, wet ledge, she reached down to him. Davydd grabbed her outstretched arm and used it to anchor himself as he climbed up. Once he was beside her on the narrow ledge he helped her stand, and they carefully edged their way along the building toward the rear. The tall, stained-glass windows shed dull light from the torchlit interior, but it was impossible to see through them. Muted voices drifted up occasionally, as if the Gathering was voting on something. Once, she heard a male voice, accented and clipped, that she was certain must be Lord Pieter, although she could not make out the words. With a shudder, she forced her concentration back to what she was doing. She might not be afraid of heights, but that would not make falling from the slick ledge to the pavement below any less fatal.
They finally reached a small protruding balcony as the rain began to fall a little harder. Distant lightning flickered to the north, illuminating their way sporadically with flashes of whiteness. Davydd hauled himself up over the balustrade and reached down to help R’shiel up. As soon as she had clambered up beside him, shivering in her damp dress, he turned to the lock on the diamond-paned doors that led onto the balcony. The lock snicked open in a surprisingly short time. Hugging herself against the chill, R’shiel looked at the young man curiously.
“How did you do that?”
The lieutenant placed a finger on his lips, warning her to silence, then eased open the door. They slipped inside, and he pulled the door shut behind them, wincing as the wet hinges squealed in protest. Fortunately, a loud shout suddenly rose from the gathered Sisters below, masking the sound. Dropping into a crouch Davydd moved quickly and silently along the gallery. R’shiel picked up her dripping skirts and followed him, bent double to keep her head below the marble balustrade that circled the upper level of the Great Hall. About halfway down the gallery, Davydd stopped and motioned her forward. He dropped onto his belly, wiggling forward until he could see the floor below. R’shiel silently followed suit.
He had chosen an excellent vantage point. From here she could see the raised marble steps where the Quorum stood in their stark white dresses amidst a sea of blue skirts and capes. The only other splash of color was the bright red jackets of the Lord Defender and his two aides, Tarja and Garet, who stood silently behind their commander, and the huge symbol of the Sisterhood on the wall behind the podium. The Great Hall was filled with Blue Sisters who had traveled from all over Medalon for the Gathering.
Wondering how much she had missed, R’shiel looked down curiously at the podium. Mahina stood stiffly in the center, and even from this distance, she appeared angry. Standing in front of her, below the steps, in a small clearing in front of the podium, Lord Pieter and a slender, tonsured man confronted the First Sister. R’shiel looked at the priest who wanted to take her back to Karien in response to a vision. He must be insane, she reasoned. She could not see his face, but he was dressed in a magnificent cape. A five-pointed star intersected by a lightning bolt was embroidered in gold thread across the back. In his right hand he held a tall staff, topped by the same gilded
