Sasha

stared back, eyes blazing. And the lieutenant, for the briefest moment, appeared to battle against some powerful emotion.

'Go,' he said then to Sasha. 'The king's daughter has privileges much unused. Make it brief.'

'But sir!' gasped a soldier. The lieutenant gave him a sharp glare and rose. Sasha fancied that his eyes were a little moist.

'Brief, I say,' he snapped. Sasha grabbed Daryd's hand and edged quickly past. The priest approaching down the aisle changed directions as she marched by, hurrying to keep up.

'M'Lady Sashandra,' he said, cool yet urgent at her right shoulder, 'the king is in private chambers. His meditations are deep, he is not to be disturbed.'

'So stop me,' Sasha retorted, striding fast, little Daryd half-running to keep up.

'M'Lady,' said the priest in worried exasperation. His robes were black and plain, and the top of his head was shaved bald, where the rest of his hair was short and straight. A large golden star bounced from a chain about his neck as he strode. He refrained from touching her. Priests and women, Sasha thought sourly. In her particular case, the dislike was mutual.

The temple aisle was long. Many wooden pews crossed the floor beneath an impossibly high ceiling. Coloured windows rowed the walls high above, the morning sun spearing low, angled rays across the stone. The light indeed seemed heavenly, and the temple air hushed and serene. Sasha had not chosen the ways of the Verenthanes, yet even she could feel the awed magnificence in every silent step across the floor. At her side, Daryd stared upward and about in silent incredulity. He made the spirit sign repeatedly. Sasha hoped the priest did not see.

Ahead, an altar rose on a broad stone platform with carved railings. Above were draped two vast curtains of crimson with gold trim upon which there was embroidered the great wooden staff of Saint Ambellion that he had used to walk from Torovan to Lenayin more than three centuries before, and then across all of Lenayin, preaching to those who would listen. Few indeed, it would have been back then, in pagan, Cherrovan-ruled Lenayin.

It was only then that she caught sight of a dark figure kneeling upon the raised space behind the altar, hidden from the central aisle by a lectern. He knelt on a cushion before a pedestal, upon which hung a Verenthane star on a gold chain. Across the wall behind was a huge wooden star, inlaid with gold and silver, and set into the very stone of the wall.

Sasha stopped as the priest scurried about the steps and whispered reverently in the kneeling figure's ear. The figure wore a communion shroud on his head, like a black, silken handkerchief, blocking out the physical world, so that he could focus entirely upon the spiritual. Sasha felt her heart gallop in gathering alarm and dismay. She had not known that her father wore the shroud at prayer. Such things were for the especially devout, and the penitent and fallible.

Torvaal rose, slowly, removed the cloth from his head, and gave it to the priest. Then he backed from the pedestal, head bowed, and straightened, arching his neck as if to stretch stiff muscles, gazing up at the huge, eightpointed Verenthane star upon the wall above.

'Daughter,' he said, and his voice was clear in the hushed temple air, although he had not spoken loudly. His tone held no anger, only calm. That, at least, was a relief. 'You have come to me.'

The priest gestured urgently for Sasha to approach. She did so, clutching Daryd's hand as she rounded the altar steps. She recalled blue blossoms behind the priest at the altar from childhood services. Now there was the neck chain and star. She wondered at the significance.

'My Lord,' she addressed her father, and sank to one knee. Daryd did likewise, shooting her sideways looks to see that he did it properly. Clutched in her own, she could feel his hand trembling.

'Rise, daughter,' said Torvaal. There was a calmness to his tone that had been absent on previous occasions. He seemed almost… content. Sasha's hopes rose dramatically. 'How long has it been since you last ventured into this place?'

'A long time, Father.' Torvaal had not yet looked at her. He gazed instead upward, his expression distant. His black beard, she saw in profile, had been recently trimmed. 'Twelve years, I would think. Krystoff's funeral.'

Her father drew in a long, deep breath. Sasha wondered if she'd said the wrong thing. 'Yes,' Torvaal said quietly. 'Yes, that would be the time. The last time that Kessligh, too, was here.'

'Aye, my Lord,' said Sasha. 'It would be.'

'It is beautiful, is it not?' Torvaal asked. 'Such tranquillity.'

The priest, Sasha noted, had melted away. They were alone in the great temple, herself and her father. And Daryd, who understood barely a word. She had not been in such a circumstance with him perhaps ever, in her entire life. Suddenly, her mouth felt dry. 'Very beautiful, my Lord.'

A faint smile seemed to tug at Torvaal's lips. 'Such manners. Whenever one of your sisters comes to me in search of some great favour, I hear much the same tone.' Sasha blinked. It was almost humour. She was astonished. 'What would you ask of me, daughter mine?'

'That you consider the plight of this boy, my Lord.' Torvaal looked at her for the first time. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if the sight surprised him. Well, perhaps it did.

His gaze slipped down to consider the boy. 'He is Udalyn, my Lord,' said Sasha.

Torvaal nodded. 'I know,' he said, with a faint weariness. 'I heard you from the entrance. Not for nothing do I wear the shroud. The gods are infallible, Sashandra. Yet the more I have attempted communion with their light, the more I recognise my own failings. Even with the shroud, I cannot find peace. The noise of the world penetrates my ears, and the silent enlightenment of heaven eludes me yet.'

'Then you know that Ymoth has fallen, father!' Sasha was unable to keep the urgency from her voice. 'Usyn Telgar leads the armies of Hadryn against the Udalyn, against all the instruction of Baen-Tar for the past hundred years! The boy's name is Daryd and he does not know whether his parents are alive or dead! He rode to Baen-Tar to plead with you for their lives, Father, and the lives of his people! Will you order them saved?'

Torvaal took a deep breath. He turned and gazed up at the great Verenthane star upon the wall, gloved hands clasped behind his back. 'Such decisions,' he said then, with heavy finality, 'are no longer in my hands.'

Sasha stared, incredulous. 'Why? You are king! All of Lenayin answers to you!'

The king gave a faint shake of his head. 'Daughter, you do not understand.'

'Enlighten me.' Her temper was slipping once more. She knew it was most unwise, yet she could not stop it.

'The gods have chosen,' Torvaal said simply. 'The wisdom of the gods is infinite. Once, I had thought that the signs pointed toward Saalshen and the Nasi-Keth. Now, I see that those were not signs, but merely my own delusion. Now, I see clearly that the signs point toward the great brotherhood of Verenthane. It is the gods' will.'

'It's your will!' Sasha retorted, and took a deep breath, gathering herself. 'Father. Father, please. Kessligh always told me of your justice. You know that the Udalyn Valley is the stitch that holds the tapestry of Lenayin together. If that stitch is undone, the tapestry shall unravel entirely. You know this!'

'You are young,' said Torvaal, with hard finality. 'Krystoff was your brother, and your love for him was strong. You saw him through a child's eyes-you still do. You never saw the gods' intent, daughter. You believed your own eyes, and trusted your own judgment, never realising how it could lead you so far astray.

'Krystoff was the king's heir, just as I was my father's. To be the heir is a sacred thing. I was anointed myself, here in this temple, as a child. The archbishop blessed me with the holy water before a gathering of lords from across Lenayin. In that, my fate was bound to the will of the gods. My father's rule was fair and just, and the gods smiled upon him. When your grandfather died, I became king. It was the gods' will, Sashandra. Such is indisputable.

'Yes, I ruled. I did what I felt was just. I did my best to please the fates.' Torvaal reached with one black- gloved hand to the gold Verenthane star upon the pedestal. There was a sadness on his face. 'And yet I failed. My heir was taken from me. Kessligh, Lenayin's saviour from heaven, left my service. And he took my daughter. Sorrows, the old texts say, always come in threes. Bad omens too. The gods' judgment is irrevocable. I must bow to it.'

He looked at Sasha. The sadness vanished, replaced by cool formality, like a mask. 'I am guilty of vanity, daughter. I had a great plan for Lenayin. Yet great plans are for the gods alone, and now, I must pay penance. Koenyg has shown great gifts of command. The north favours him and our lords and captains admire his leadership. The gods intend for Lenayin a new direction, Sashandra. Had they not, they would not have taken Krystoff from me.