Oh, Waukeen, Emriana thought, sitting down right in the plaza. Not this. Not now.
The girl had to draw several deep, slow breaths to gain her equilibrium back. Lavant was the new Grand Syndar of the entire temple. It didn't seem possible for the news to get any worse. She had to let the family know, but first, she needed desperately to find someone, anyone, within the temple who could help her. Otherwise, she would never make it back to the estate.
'Please excuse me,' Emriana said, trying once more to weave her way through the crowd.
'I told you to know your place, girl,' the hawk-nosed woman said, shoving Emriana back once more. 'Now stop pushing.'
'But I want to go inside,' the girl said, not understanding why they were being so rude to her. 'I didn't mean to shove.'
'Inside?' the woman said incredulously. 'Looking and smelling like that?' Then the woman began to laugh, a high-pitched cackling that was harsh to Emriana's ears. Several other people gathered about joined in. 'You know the Waukeenars don't let street waifs like you in their midst. You've got to have coin to spend in order to walk the golden halls.' The harsh woman shook her head bemusedly. 'Inside,' she chuckled, turning away again.
As Emriana looked down at her bedraggled appearance, she felt tears beginning to well up. Her clothes were ruined, torn in several places. They were soiled with odiferous gunk from the alley the previous evening. Her hair, normally so shiny black, hung limply and smelled of rotting fish. She realized just how badly she smelled by the way the people around her gave her a step or two of clearance. No one was going to believe she was Arrabaran nobility looking like that. But the only way to prove otherwise was to either clean herself up or find someone who knew and could vouch for her, neither of which she could do in her condition.
Feeling defeated, Emriana staggered to one side of the plaza and sank down in the shade of a vender's awning, too tired to even look at what he was selling.
The man who owned the cart, a fat fellow with black, bushy hair and huge, flaring mustaches, eyed her curiously then began to frown. 'You can't sit there,' he said, shaking a single pudgy finger in her direction. 'You'll drive away the paying customers.'
Emriana nodded and dug out her coin purse, surprised to find it still tucked in a sash at her waist. 'Water,' she said, her voice little more than a croak, handing the man a silver coin. 'Please,' she added, hoping her politeness would smooth things over for the fellow.
When he spied the silver glint in her hand the man's expression lightened considerably. 'Of course,' he said, helping Emriana to sit up and get more comfortable before snatching up his own belt cup and pouring out a serving of water from a pitcher on his cart. He handed the cup to Emriana, who took it and began to drink thirstily. It tasted of mint and was cool as it went down. The girl hadn't realized how thirsty she was until she began quenching it.
After she finished off a second serving, she sighed and looked up at the man gratefully. 'Thank you,' she said, feeling better. 'What are you selling?'
'Why, hot honeycakes, of course,' he said and brought one down for her to smell. 'Another silver will get you two,' he said, eagerly eyeing the girl's coin purse, which she still clutched in her lap. When Emriana nodded and began to retrieve another silver coin, the man produced a pair of fresh, hot pastries that had been soaked in honey. He set them on a narrow wooden plank, like a shingle, and handed the whole thing to Emriana.
She sat in the shade of the cart's awning and devoured the cakes, then paid for another two cups of water after she was done. After swallowing the last of her drink, she handed the cup back to the man and smiled at him. Feeling much better, Emriana climbed to her feet again. Deciding that the temple was too difficult to navigate with the crowd, she turned for home once again.
Grandmother Hetta needs to know, she reasoned. We have to find a way to stop this madness.
Emriana could not run, having only one boot on her feet, but she walked as fast as she was able, out of the temple district and into the neighborhood where the Matrell estate was located. She arrived there nearly an hour after she had been at the temple and pushed past the guards manning the front gate, who stared at her dumbfounded. She didn't care. She hurried up the front path toward the house.
Bursting through the front door, she began calling for her grandmother. A servant met Emriana near the entrance to the house, and the look on the woman's face made Emriana pull up in abject fear.
'What is it?' the girl demanded, taking the servant by the shoulders. 'What happened?' They already know about Xaphira, Emriana thought. The news of her death beat me home. She felt her stomach flutter at the possibility and swallowed hard, afraid to hear the revelation.
'Oh, Miss Emriana, it's terrible,' the servant said, a girl named Liezl who worked in the kitchens. 'I'm so sorry.'
'Sorry for what? Liezl, what on Toril happened?' Emriana said, wanting to shake the fool servant.
'It's Mistress Hetta,' Liezl said, her voice barely a whisper.
The blood pounded in Emriana's ears. Her legs threatened to give way once more. She couldn't breathe.
Oh, no. No!
Emriana released the poor girl in front of her and ran to the central room of the house, the main hall. From there, she intended to dash toward the wing where her grandmother's rooms were, but she saw the crowd gathered in the sitting room. She skidded to a stop and changed direction, coming up behind another servant, a man who worked in the gardens, whose name she didn't even know. She pushed past him.
Hetta Matrell had been laid in state in the middle of the sitting room.
'No!' Emriana sobbed, rushing into the room. 'Hetta!' she said as she stumbled up next to the table where her grandmother had been arranged. All around her, Emriana could hear the gasps of the people in the room, but she ignored them. 'No!' she sobbed again, burying her face against her grandmother's. 'It's not true!' she cried, willing her grandmother to still be alive. 'Please!'
'Oh, I'm afraid it's very true,' came a man's voice from the other side of the room. It was a voice that made Emriana's blood run cold. She raised her head and looked, tears streaking her cheeks.
In the far corner, a sickening smile upon his face, stood Grozier Talricci.
'And thus, we mark Mikolo Midelli's passing not in sorrow, but in celebration of his life, his leadership, and his accomplishments,' Grand Syndar Lavant said, his voice echoing throughout the grand hall of the Temple of Waukeen. Standing where he was at the great altar, both the acoustics of the chamber and permanent magical enhancements allowed the entire audience to hear him clearly. He was dressed in very formal robes of state, a flowing outfit of cream-colored silk with brocaded gold and maroon highlights, and the whole thing was woven with rubies and yellow sapphires. A great miter sat atop his head, a stiff, almost conical thing of deep red, highlighted with solid gold and ruby decorations, glinting in the light of thousands of candles.
In front of the Grand Syndar, lying within a great gold sarcophagus encrusted with hundreds of gems of every imaginable hue, was the body of Mikolo Midelli, the previous Grand Syndar. He had been dressed in his own finest robes of office, an outfit that rivaled Lavant's, who loomed over him, speaking of the man in his most eloquent and gracious tones.
Pilos wanted to clamp his hands over his ears. He could not stand to listen to the fat, arrogant man who had been named as the successor Grand Syndar to the temple. Not when he knew of the political maneuvering, the wrangling of votes, of support, that had taken place the night before, prior to Midelli's death. Earlier that morning, before the public ceremony on the front steps that proclaimed him Grand Syndar to the world, the council of high priests had assembled, with all other clergy in attendance. They had barely given Mikolo's body time to grow cold before they were nominating Lavant for the position. Of course, there had been others who had coveted the rank, and their names were mentioned in the great council chambers as well, but Pilos knew it was a foregone conclusion, even if many of the other clergy members sitting in audience did not.
As the roll had been called and Lavant had garnered the necessary votes to be raised to Grand Syndar, the priests filling the council chamber had given the man thunderous applause. Pilos could not. He had sat there, feeling sickened and listening dully while Lavant revealed his first edicts. The man had the audacity to begin using the weight of his office right then and there, before the temple had even given the old Grand Syndar a proper, respectful send-off.
Of course, Lavant had waved away his brashness in the trappings of dire necessity, for he spoke of the coming of war in the east, of divinations that all of Chondath would be engulfed in the ravages of conflict if the temple did not act. It was all so necessary, Lavant had explained, that they begin preparing for the coming
