Starless by Jacqueline Carey

Author:Jacqueline Carey
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

THIRTY-ONE

Some two weeks later, Sister Nizara returned.

Her entourage had departed without fanfare, but folk in the city had taken notice of it and word of their return spread quickly when their party was sighted along the River Ouris. Despite her comments regarding dead sparrows, Zariya was impatient enough for knowledge that she sent me to observe their reentry into the city.

People turned out to line the streets and watch. No one threatened violence against the High Priestess of Anamuht or the escort of Royal Guardsmen flanking the procession, but the mood was strained.

Sister Nizara wore the tall crimson headdress and the veil, so I could not read her face or the faces of the priestesses accompanying her, but from the way she held herself in the saddle, shoulders braced as though carrying an unexpected burden, I knew something had transpired.

“Elder Sister!” someone called out. “Why has Anamuht the Purging Fire forsaken the Sun-Blessed?”

She raised one hand and her entourage halted. “Anamuht has not forsaken us,” she said from behind her veil, her voice hoarse. “I will say no more until I have taken counsel with King Azarkal and my kindred.”

I trailed the party for a few blocks, then seeing neither new information to be gained nor danger averted, slipped past them to return to the palace to engage in pointless speculation with Zariya.

What had transpired in the desert, we learned soon enough, for Sister Nizara convened a meeting that evening in the Hall of Pleasant Accord with the king and all the members of the House of the Ageless present.

“Well?” King Azarkal was as impatient as his youngest daughter. “Tell us, what have you learned? Are there amends that must be made? Will Anamuht grant us a harvest or not?”

She bent her gaze toward him. Her unveiled face looked gaunt and sun-scorched, the sockets of her eyes hollow. “On the advice of the Seer, I held a vigil in one of the high places of the desert. On the third day, the Sacred Twins appeared in the distance. I waited and Anamuht the Purging Fire approached me, a column of flame as tall as the plateau on which I sat, and spoke to me.”

The fine hair on my forearms rose at the memory of her presence. Beside me, Zariya reached for my hand.

Sister Nizara took a sip of water scented with orange blossoms and cleared her desert-parched throat. Her gaze shifted to Zariya and me, and there was sympathy in it. “Anamuht the Purging Fire said to me that the Sun-Blessed have grown too insular here in Zarkhoum,” she said softly. “And that the youngest of our number must wed a foreigner and venture forth from our shores. Once the nuptials have been agreed upon and the betrothal announced, then, and only then, will Anamuht quicken the rhamanthus, and three thousand seeds shall serve as the dowry for this marriage.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Zariya’s mother let out a wail of anguish. A dozen other voices rose. “Three thousand seeds wasted on a foreign dowry!” one muttered in disgust.

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