The Light of the Oracle (19 page)

“I would like to introduce you,” Renchald said, “to Lord Errington.”

Errington's blue eyes were set beneath his brows as if the gods had measured the best distance from the bridge of his nose. It was easy to see where Clea and Raynor got their looks. His blond hair, graying at the temples, brushed his shoulders. He wore several thick gold chains; a large medallion set with gems was suspended on his chest.

Kiran felt a nearly overwhelming urge to smash Lord Errington's shapely nose. He'd spent the first twelve years of his life in this man's realm. He knew more than he wished to about Errington's greed. But
tonight Kiran wanted to get across the room to Bryn, so he bowed instead: student without rank to wealthy lord.

“Ah, Clea.” Lord Errington stretched an arm to welcome his daughter, who had followed Kiran through the crowd. “Lovely dancing, my dear.”

“I had an excellent partner,” she answered coyly, smiling at Kiran.

Kiran knew he was expected to murmur something about how enchanting Clea's dancing had been, but he looked past her to the wall. He couldn't see Bryn, but then Brock and Willow, Jacinta and Calden, Alyce and Marvin crowded the area where she had been standing. His friends. He should be among them, not here with the people he liked least in the world.

Kiran bowed: student taking leave. He added the precise motion to say he needed to visit a privy, a gesture rarely used but always honored. He backed away and then swerved toward his friends.

Brock welcomed him, slapping his shoulder. “Sorry you got waylaid by the vulture princess, Mox.”

Kiran looked about for Bryn. He didn't see her.

“Our Dawn is queen of the evening,” Jacinta said proudly. She pointed to where Dawn stood with Avrohom. Though they made an incongruous pair, they seemed at ease, with eyes only for each other. As Kiran watched, Avrohom fed a bite of cake to Dawn, and then she gave him a sip of wine from her glass.

Kiran's chest was aching again. “Where's Bryn?”

“She was here a moment ago,” Alyce answered.

“She'll come back,” Jacinta assured him.

Bryn sat curled within an alcove of the corridor that led to the Grand Hall. The hard stones she leaned on were cheerless, but how could she go back to the dance? As she had watched Kiran and Clea dancing, her heart had throbbed louder than the drummer's beats. Clea's gem-encrusted slippers had twinkled; the sleeves of her gown swayed like curtains of blood-colored stars. How did she always manage to look as if she ought to have been chosen by a beautiful bird; by an egret perhaps, or even a swan?

Kiran hadn't let go of her until the dance was done. Afterward he had stopped to talk to the Master Priest and Lord Errington.

Bryn's cheeks burned when she thought of how she'd begun to hope Kiran might return her feelings for him. He'd been so terribly kind to her, supporting her through the trell while she clumped about, unable to put her feet where she meant them to go.

Cursed.

She hung her head. Was it any wonder that Kiran wanted to dance with Clea, a lovely, graceful girl who'd never dream of missing a step?

Because of her, I can't dance. Because of her, Kiran will never think of me as more than someone to share chores with.

Bryn knew Clea pursued Kiran at every opportunity, lavishing smiles on him, speaking in a special tone when he was near.
He meets with me secretly
, she'd said. Could it be true?

How chilly it was in the stony recess. Bryn shivered. She shouldn't be sniveling alone in this alcove like a silly child.
It's the solstice. Solz triumphant. My seventeenth birthday.

Still, she couldn't bear the thought of returning to the dance. She'd never be able to hide her misery if Kiran and Clea were partners again. It would be better to slip away.

Taking one last look at the door to the Grand Hall, Bryn turned from the music and fled to the quiet of her pillow.

Kiran thought that the morning after the Solstice Festival always seemed colder than any other. Colder and bleaker. Few would be stirring in the early hours, for most preferred to sleep off the revelry that had lasted through the night.

Carrying a bone wrapped in sacking for Jack, Kiran nodded to a bleary-eyed guard and went outside. Shafts of cold pierced his lungs. He headed through the snow toward the stables, where Jack had a bed of straw. Early as it was, smaller feet had already left prints ahead of him. Recognizing Bryn's footprints, Kiran hurried forward. She hadn't returned to the dance the night before; Jacinta had looked for her; Alyce too. Dawn had been so lost in the glow of dancing with Avrohom, she hadn't noticed Bryn's early departure from the hall. Bryn's other friends had decided she must have taken ill.

Not wanting to chance Clea again, Kiran had slipped out himself as soon as it was plain Bryn wouldn't be back.

Now, he slipped inside the stables. Jack jumped
excitedly around him as he uncovered the bone. “Here's breakfast.”

The dog settled himself with the bone between his paws as Kiran lit a torch. The light showed Bryn hunched on a straw bale close to Obsidian's stall, hidden in the folds of her cloak, its hood covering her head.

“Morning,” Kiran said. “Are you feeling better?” He put the torch in a sconce nearby.

She caught him off guard by saying, “I don't exist to Lord Errington, except perhaps as an annoyance to his daughter.”

Kiran wondered why Bryn would care whether she existed for Lord Errington or not. “Maybe that's a mark of character,” he answered.

“But
you
exist for him.” Her hood fell away as she lifted her head. Tangles of hair hung around her face. “When I came here, they said, ‘This is the Temple of the Oracle, the most sacred ground in Sorana. Here, we learn to serve the gods.' She put a hand to her forehead, rubbing as if she could ease her thoughts. “Nirene insists all the handmaids are equal, though she knows it's a lie,” she went on. “Ilona says the bird-chosen love and understand one another, and she pretends not to see all the meanness done by the Feathers.” She took a shaky breath. “The ones who
do
love and understand—those like Jacinta and Willow— are given no favor. But everyone, from the Master Priest to
you
, defers to Clea. And what are her virtues? She's pretty, she's wealthy, she's related to royalty— and she casts curses.”

“Bryn,” he said, “I don't defer to Clea.”

Her eyes were so shadowed he couldn't see them clearly. “Why else would you dance with her?”

“But I—”

She jumped from the bale. “I thought you were my friend,” she said. “My dearest friend. But if Clea puts death curses on my friends as she threatened, she won't be cursing you, will she?” And she ran to the door and out into the cold.

Kiran sat blinking for several moments. “I
am
your friend!” he yelled, too late for her to hear.

Obsidian neighed in answer. Jack stopped gnawing his bone and looked up, black ears sagging.

“ You might have done something to get her to stay,” Kiran said to Jack. “
I
can't put my paws on her anytime I want the way you can.”

Jack sniffed.

“I do
not
need a lesson in where to put my paws,” Kiran said. “Humans are different. You wouldn't understand.
I
don't understand.” He shook his head in frustration. “
She
doesn't understand.”

Jack yipped and returned to his bone.

A week after leaving the solstice dance early, Bryn sat morosely in the handmaids' dining hall. Classes would begin again in a few days, and her entire holiday had been hollow. She felt a perfect fool for the way she'd behaved at the dance—going off to bed without saying goodnight to anyone; missing hours of music. Worse, she'd blurted out her feelings to Kiran the next morning.

Though they'd continued doing chores together, Bryn felt awkward with Kiran now. When he looked at her, his eyes, usually so warm, were cool and distant.

“I wish I could ride Obsidian to Uste,” she said to Dawn. “See my father.”

Dawn rested her elbow on the polished wood of the table, chin on her hand, looking dreamily at nothing.

“She's still getting over dancing with Avrohom,” Alyce said.

Bryn nudged Dawn, making her jump. Dawn's dreamy look disappeared. Tears sprang to her eyes. She picked up her napkin, covering her face. “What's wrong?” Bryn asked, alarmed. Dawn mopped her face with the napkin. She blew her nose. “I'm so happy,” she said. “But I'll miss all of you so much.”

“Miss us?” Alyce stopped spreading butter.

Dawn dabbed at her eyes. “I'm leaving the Temple,” she said. “To be married.”

“Married!” Bryn and Willow shrieked. Several of the Feathers turned to stare. “To whom?” Bryn asked.

“Avrohom,” Dawn answered. “I wouldn't marry anyone else, would I?”

“Avrohom?” Bryn cried. It had been only a short week since the red-haired troubadour had leaped from the stage to dance with Dawn. Since then, Dawn had been mysteriously absent many times, but Bryn hadn't thought to question her. “ You're going to marry the troubadour?”

“Tonight,” Dawn said, nodding. “The Master Priest
has agreed, but I've never seen him so angry.” She made a face. “He was hoping I'd become a star-caster for the Temple. Now he's probably afraid I'll tell Avrohom too many Temple secrets and they'll be sung to the world.”

“The troubadour,” Jacinta said. “ You're marrying the troubadour
tonight
?”

“Tonight.” Dawn's eyes streamed. “I wish you could all be there for my wedding, but Renchald won't allow anyone. Only the smallest of ceremonies,” he said. She rolled her eyes. “The Sendrata of Handmaids will stand up with me.”

Bryn wanted to cry when she thought of mealtimes without Dawn, of waking in the morning without Dawn's cheerful whispers, of mathematics without Dawn's explanations. But she smiled at her friend. “Congratulations.”

Dawn grinned through tears. “I'll travel with the troupe. We're leaving tomorrow morning.” She clasped her hands. “I'll see the world.”

“You'll cast star charts for kings and queens,” Willow said.

Dawn crumpled her napkin. “Remember when you said Vernelda would favor me if I fell in love, Alyce? And so she has.”

She began to talk in raptures of Avrohom, how his music had always spoken to her heart but she'd never considered he'd feel anything for her. “Jacinta, the dress you designed got him to notice me. Once he did, love found us. Did you know he writes the songs the troupe performs? He told me he'll be able to write
true love songs now instead of the bittersweet ballads he used to sing. Isn't that romantic?”

Nirene looked at the four determined young women who had insisted on a meeting.

“We're Dawn's friends,” Bryn was saying. The stone-cutter's daughter wasn't recognizable as the girl Renchald had plucked from the dirt of Uste. Her hair was neatly braided, her robe smooth, her face clean.

“We can't let her go away without a celebration, however small,” Jacinta declared.

“Let us use one of the rooms where guests are entertained?” Alyce asked.

Nirene frowned. “And whom will you be inviting?”

“Only a small group, Sendrata,” Bryn answered. “Ourselves. The guest of honor, naturally.”

“Her groom,” Jacinta put in.

“Brock and Kiran,” Willow added.

“Calden and Marvin,” Alyce finished. “And you, of course, Sendrata, to be chaperone.”

Nirene looked at their expectant faces in silence for a moment. “Oh, very well,” she said. “But I won't be bothered with preparations or cleaning up.”

“Of course not,” Bryn answered. “We know how to clean.”

Nirene showed them into one of the less imposing rooms kept for entertaining and watched sourly as they laid out a tablecloth, covering it with festive foods: delicate puff pastries, small frosted cakes, beribboned bowls of shelled nuts. Where had they got so many dainties? Nirene looked suspiciously
at Alyce, who was setting forth plates with an innocent air.

Dawn arrived wearing her old student robes, looking flustered, her black hair hanging loose. The acolytes came through the door in a disorganized bunch a few minutes later, their voices loud in congratulation.

Brock had brought a vial of sand. “From beside the pond,” he explained, presenting it to Dawn with a flourish. “If you get lonesome for your friends you can open it, take a big sniff, and remember you're getting along quite well without us.”

Dawn clutched the sand, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. She settled on laughter.

Alyce gave a collection of recipes. “Though I know you may not get a chance to try them now that you'll be rich.” Jacinta brought a box of hair ribbons, while Bryn surprised everyone by producing a Star Atlas.

“Bryn,” Dawn squealed, “did you become a thief for me? This book isn't even battered.”

Bryn beamed. “Let me show you what I said to Ishaan to get it.” She went into an elaborate bow.

“Humble friend of student about to be married requesting book from esteemed instructor,” Brock shouted.

Everyone clapped. “Kiran helped with the bow so the book is from him, too,” Bryn said, somewhat stiffly, without looking in Kiran's direction. “And Ishaan pronounced you ‘fully adequate,' Dawn.”

“Fully adequate, no less.” Dawn fingered the book delightedly. “Thank you, Bryn.” She hugged the
stonecutter's daughter. “Thank you, Kiran.” She shook hands with the tall freckled acolyte.

When Avrohom arrived, he awed the company by singing a newly written love song to Dawn: “
Through the soft night air, Monzapel's light
…”

Nirene refused to be drawn into such sentimental nonsense, but she had to admit the melody was haunting.

The friends talked and laughed. Brock glued himself to Dawn's side for awhile, talking with her about theorems.

Evening was approaching when the four young women grouped themselves beside Dawn. Bryn put an arm around her. “She may be yours for eternity, Avrohom, but she belongs to us now until the wedding tonight.”

“We're going to help you dress,” Jacinta announced, smiling at Dawn.

“Thank you for offering to clean, Kiran,” said Alyce.