examined the ranks critically. She had moved down the two lines nodding with satisfaction until she reached Asima. Her eyes had bulged so dangerously that Asima had been afraid she was going to have some sort of attack but, instead, she had merely shaken her head in despair as she noted the bruises and the red weal on Asima’s forehead. The mistress had long since given up any hope of impressing her will on this one.
And then the guards had escorted the girls across the paths and between the lawns to the private gate that led from the palace grounds directly into the precinct of the great temple without having to enter the public square. Asima had smiled to herself once again as they mounted the steps and entered the narthex, keeping to one side and out of sight of the closed doors into the temple proper.
There they had rested for several minutes, awaiting their cue. Asima had been aware of the girls glaring at her and had given them a surreptitious wave and a sweet smile that had reopened the lip and send a slow trickle of blood across her teeth.
A huge gong had announced that the ceremonies had reached the appropriate point and two of the lesser priests had opened the gate as the royal guard lined the narthex along either side. They couldn’t enter the church under arms at any time and were here merely as an escort. But the girls hardly needed them. Two years of training had prepared them thoroughly for this moment.
As the doors swung wide, the two lines of girls, side by side, had entered the great domed temple, walking slowly and solemnly down the open walkway between the rows of seated nobility, priests and wealthy citizens.
The God-King, still in plain robes, yet oozing a commanding presence, stood on the dais to one side of the altar, attended by three priests and his nephew, the prince Ashar. Asima sighed as she looked around the rows of so many people as subtly as possible. Yasmin’s hopes of becoming Ashar’s princess had been dashed last year. She had carefully worked everything out and deliberately failed to appeal to the God-King.
When she, along with the other girls, had been presented to the nobles the month after she missed the God-King’s selection, she had positioned herself and pouted just enough to attract the prince’s attention and Ashar had chosen her for the first dance. Asima, watching from the gallery where the younger girls were to observe the events of a state occasion, had initially been pleased for her friend, but Yasmin’s hopes had been shattered a moment later. She had smiled up at the prince and slowly, as passionately as she could, she had pursed her lips and leaned in to kiss the prince.
Ashar had pulled back ever so gently. He had not made it obvious, for fear of embarrassing her, but had clearly rejected her. Even from the gallery, Asima had seen the look of confusion and dismay in Yasmin’s eyes. The prince had leaned forward and whispered something to her.
Six days later, Yasmin had entered the harem to collect her things and follow her new husband-to-be, the satrap Khelid, and Asima had stopped her.
“I’m sorry about Ashar” she had confided, “but, you know, many of the noblemen’s preferences lie in… another direction.”
Yasmin had smiled sadly.
“Not Ashar, Asima, but he put me straight. He doesn’t like the court or these occasions. He’d only been there because the God-King asked him, and he said quite clearly that he was not looking for a wife for many years yet. I had the distinct feeling he was already pining for someone else.”
The witch had appeared then and hurried Yasmin along to the satrap who waited patiently outside the harem for her.
And after all that time, here was Yasmin once again in the great temple watching events unfold for Asima and standing at the side of Khelid, not far from the dais. Asima had been pleased to see what appeared to be a genuine smile on her friend’s face. Khelid was a handsome enough man and, as he had turned and looked down at Yasmin, there was adoration in his gaze. Asima had smiled as the lines approached the dais.
Slowly, in time with the quiet beat of the drums, the girls had stepped into position and then turned, bowing from the waist to the assembled crowds, before returning to face the God-King, the prince and the priests.
The high priest had rattled on with an incantation and then a speech that Asima only half heard. She wasn’t a follower of any God, let alone the Pelasian maker. Patiently she had waited, aware at all times of the warm, gentle trickle of blood into her mouth.
The speech had finished and finally the God-King had stepped forward.
“Here goes” Asima had said to herself and held her breath, only to discover that the God-King had begun to make a speech now too. She’d sagged slightly and then, remembering where she was, had straightened. Slowly, finally, the speeches had come to an end and a fanfare blared. Asima had found her patience ebbing and hoped this would be it, finally.
The God-King had taken one more step and reached the end of the front line of girls. Slowly, he had moved along the row, casting his gaze over them. The rear line, in which Asima had been disgruntled to find herself, had been spaced so that they were fully visible between the front girls. Asima, determined, had smiled, but with an air of insolence. Given her condition, a meek, wet grin would hardly give the right effect.
The God-King had nodded and whispered things in his nephew’s ear. Ashar had shrugged a couple of times and whispered back; clearly the God-King valued Ashar’s opinion highly. With a nod, they had come on ponderously. This was no mere ceremony for the God-King; the decisions he made here would affect his personal life for at least the next year. More nods and consultation and then…
The God-King had stopped directly in front of Asima. It was the first time he had come to a complete stop during the ceremony. Asima had smiled in satisfaction as the God-King had reached across to Ashar, who was busy studying the girl they had last discussed, and tapped him on the upper arm, pointing at Asima.
The music in the background would make it exceedingly difficult for anyone close by to hear, let alone the general public in their seats, but Asima was close enough and sharp enough to catch the whole exchange spoken beneath their breath.
“Look at this one!”
Ashar had peered at her and, despite her resolve and her surety, Asima found herself suddenly experiencing doubt. There was something about the black-clad prince that unnerved her. It was as though he was staring directly into her soul and dissecting her motives. The Prince frowned at her and shook his head. He knew. He couldn’t possibly have known how Asima had schemed and worked everything since her arrival here, how she had ruined the chances for her main competitors and played every opportunity to her own advantage, even that morning’s beatings. But somehow Prince Ashar Parishid distrusted her.
“This one is more trouble than she’s worth, uncle.”
“Sometimes a little trouble is good for the soul, Ashar.”
The prince had nodded unhappily.
“That is very insightful and certainly true, my King, but mark my words. This one will do you no good. Her smile is bright and her mood is mischievous, but her soul is black. Take her if you must, but remember what I say.”
The God-King had straightened and, in a breach of etiquette that had never been seen in generations of this ritual, he had spoken to one of the girls. He had smiled at Asima and addressed her directly.
“My nephew warns me off you, young lady. What have you to say for your unique appearance this morning?”
Asima had lowered her head slightly in respect and taken a deep breath.
“Majesty, I am considered a threat by many of my peers and they act according to their fears. I do not fear and shall not hide what I am. If your majesty deigned to choose me, you will know from the very beginning what I am.”
The God-King had laughed.
“Outspoken and honest? That will truly be a change among my companions.”
He had given her a nod of respect and moved on along the line. Ashar, however, had let his glance stay on her for some time, boring into her very being. Finally he had shaken his head sadly.
“Honest, indeed.” It had not been meant to be heard, but Asima’s hearing was sharp.
As the ceremony had concluded, one of the priests had come along the lines and selected the three girls that would be taken in by the God-King and his household. Asima had been so sure that she had already been stepping forward when the priest came to her.
She had noticed, that day in the great temple, that one of the other two chosen girls was Sharra, her
