Priestess of the White

The lie sounded implausible, however. Servants liked to imagine more exciting matters than political discussion went on behind doors late at night, especially if that consultation lasted all night. If they did suspect he’d bedded Auraya, the other White would have read it from their minds. If any of the Gods’ Chosen wanted to confirm it they had only to summon Leiard and read his mind.

No summons had arrived. He was hoping this meant his visit had not been noticed or speculated upon. When he thought of the consequences to his people if such a scandal became known, he shivered with dread. Yet whenever he wasn’t worrying he found himself planning ways to visit her secretly when she returned.

If she wants me to. She might regard me as a night’s entertainment. A lover she’ll cast off when she realizes how inconvenient he will be to keep around. If only I could find out what she wants.

There was a way, but it was dangerous. He could dream link with her.

Don’t be an idiot. If she reports you they’ll have you stoned.

She won’t tell anyone.

“Leiard?”

He jumped and looked up, surprised to find Jayim standing in front of him. The garden was now lit by the faint light of dawn. He had been so lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed.

The boy yawned as he took the seat opposite Leiard. He had wrapped himself in a blanket. Winter is coming, Leiard thought. I should teach him ways to keep himself warm.

“Will we practice mind-linking again?” Jayim asked.

Leiard considered the boy. They hadn’t linked since the day Jayim had observed Leiard’s attraction to Auraya. He had been so disturbed by that, he had put off further lessons in the skill.

Now the thought of linking with his student filled him with fear. If he did, Jayim was bound to learn of Leiard’s night with Auraya. He would see, too, Leiard’s hopes to continue the affair. If Jayim knew that, there would be two people in Jarime from whom the White could read Leiard’s secret.

“No,” Leiard replied. “The air is chill this morning. I will explain the ways the body is affected by cold, and teach you how to counter it.”

High Priest Ikaro paused outside King Berro’s audience chamber. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room. Attendants, advisers and representatives of the greater trades stood about the throne. The seat was empty, however. The king was standing before an enormous urn.

It was decorated in the new style, Ikaro noted. A black coating covered the urn, then designs and figures had been scratched out of it, revealing the white clay beneath. The king glanced at Ikaro, then beckoned.

“Do you like it, High Priest Ikaro? It is of myself naming Cimro as my heir.”

“I do indeed,” Ikaro replied, moving to the king’s side. “There is grace and skill in these lines, and the detail is exquisite. You do me a great honor, your majesty.”

The king frowned. “By showing this to you? I intend to place it here. You will see it each time you enter this chamber.”

“Yet I will not have an opportunity to stand and admire it, your majesty. My attention will always be on more important matters.”

The king smiled. “That is true.” He stepped away from the urn and strolled toward the throne. “I did not know you were an appreciator of art.”

“I am merely an appreciator of beauty.”

Berro chuckled. “Then it is a great irony that you have turned my city upside down looking for an ugly old hag.” The king settled onto his throne. His expression became serious and his fingers drummed on the throne’s arm. “How much longer do you intend us to continue with this search?”

Ikaro frowned. He could not read the king’s mind - he was only able to read minds when Huan was present - but he did not need to. The king was not hiding his impatience. The usual reassurances would not placate Berro this time. He was not sure what would, except...

“I will ask the gods.”

The king’s eyes widened. The men and women exchanged glances, some skeptical.

“Now?”

“Unless this is an inconvenient time,” Ikaro added. “I could use the palace Temple.”

“No, no,” Berro said. “Speak to them, if that is what you feel is right.”

Ikaro nodded, then closed his eyes.

“Join me in prayer,” he murmured, putting both hands together to form a circle. As he spoke a familiar chant of praise he was grateful to hear many voices quietly echoing him. He drew courage from them. At the end of the chant he paused, then drew a deep breath.

“Chaia, Huan, Lore, Yranna, Saru. I ask that one of you speak to me so that I may receive instruction.”

He waited, heart racing. His skin prickled as an energy filled the air.

:High Priest Ikaro.

Gasps echoed through the chamber. Ikaro opened his eyes and glanced around. There was no sign of the owner of the voice, but he could see from the expressions of everyone in the room that they had heard it.

“Huan?” he asked.

:It is I.

He bowed his head.

“I have done as you bade, but I have not found the sorceress. Should I continue searching? Is there any other way I might locate her?”

:Let her think you have given up. Call off the searchers. Stop checking people at the port and main gate. Instead, have these exits watched by a priest in disguise. If she believes the search has ended, she may take the opportunity to leave the city. I will be watching for her.

Ikaro nodded. “If she can be found this way, I will find her,” he replied with determination.

The goddess’s presence faded. Ikaro looked up at the king, who wore a thoughtful expression.

“Is it only recently that the gods have spoken to you in this way?”

“Yes,” Ikaro admitted.

The king frowned. “No doubt the goddess knows I am grateful that the restrictions on my city will be lifted, but I will include my thanks in my prayers to be sure. Much as I do not want a dangerous sorceress roaming free in my city, I am concerned that my people will suffer if trade is restricted. Will you need any assistance following her instructions?”

Ikaro shook his head, then hesitated. “Though perhaps you should inform the guards that beggars around the gates are to be left alone.”

“Beggars, eh?” Berro smiled crookedly. “Original disguise, that one.”

Ikaro chuckled. “And if it would not be inconvenient, a few guard’s uniforms might come in handy as well.”

Berro nodded. “I’ll see that you get them.”

For all of the last day and most of the morning, Auraya and Zeeriz had flown over impressively rugged mountains. She had lived most of her childhood in the shadows of the range that divided Dunway from Hania, but those mountains were mere hills compared to these high, jagged peaks.

Looking down at the steep slopes and broken ground, and the tangled limbs of trees and sharp spires of rock she could see how difficult it would be to travel into Si by foot. The “ground” was vertical more often than horizontal, and every bit of soil had been claimed by plants, from sharp grasses to enormous trees.

Wide, rubble-filled rivers cut through the forest. High eroded banks scattered with enormous dead trees hinted at an impassable spring flow. These rivers surged toward glittering blue lakes, then spilled out to form two huge, sea-bound rivers.

They had flown directly southeast from Jarime, then turned south to fly between a gap in the mountains. That night they had camped in a cave furnished with a fireplace and simple beds, stocked with dried food. In the morning she woke to the smell of fried eggs, and was surprised to find that Zeeriz had flown out to raid a few nests at dawn. Obviously the Siyee were not squeamish about eating other winged creatures.

They had flown southeast all morning. Now, as the sun rose to its zenith, her attention was drawn to a long,