It was plainly a dismissal, but he could not bring himself to leave. “Do you—do you think—when we are at the Sanctuary—” he began, but she shook her head and he fell silent.
“You do not know me,” she repeated. “But you will. And then you will … Then you will have your answers.” Still she did not send him away, so Thurion stood with her in silence until Komen Helecanth summoned them both to their beds. He wondered at the words she had spoken, and it was not long before he could place knowing upon them.
CHAPTER TWO
CHILD OF THE PROPHECY
Listen, child, and I will tell you a tale that is both true and real. Long ago, in the morning of the world, when there was nothing but Jer-a-kalaliel itself, nine stars looked down from the sky and saw the beautiful land we live in. And they were so enchanted by its beauty that they fell from the heavens. And
each place
one fell to the ground was
more
beautiful
than the next, and because each
was so beautiful, great Flower Forests grew up where each of the nine stars fell down. And the Flower Forests contained every tree and plant that grows, and some that remain only in Tilinaparanwira the Lost, which grows behind the East Wind.
—Ancient Nursery Tale
The Sanctuary of the Star was not just one building, though only one building was the Sanctuary itself. That building was like a great keep in miniature—three stories of grey Mage-forged stone with a doorway that led directly to the Outer Sanctuary. Within that building, all were bound by the Peace of the Sanctuary, which obliged even those who had declared blood feud to pass one another by without raising a hand in violence.
The Caerthalien party was met on the road by Othring Lightbrother, saying Caerthalien’s was the first caravan to come this season. He greeted all four Candidates individually, but Thurion thought his gaze lingered longest upon Varuthir. Thurion thought they might stop to wash off the dirt of the road before entering the Sanctuary, but as soon as they’d dismounted, Prince Runacarendalur unbuckled his swordbelt and handed his weapon to Komen Helecanth.
“Come,” he said. “The sooner I have delivered you to the care of the Mistress of Servants, the sooner you may settle into your new lives.”
At his words, Varuthir started, then stared at Prince Runacarendalur with hot eyes before turning away.
The four Candidates followed Prince Runacarendalur and Othring Lightbrother through the main doors of the Sanctuary. Thurion had heard many storysongs of this place, yet somehow it was unlike every one of them. It was not as grand as the telling in The Rade of Bringaer, for the stone was not as white as new milk, nor was it vaster than all the Great Keeps in Jer-a-kalaliel together. But to see the great bronze doors, with this piece and that bright-shining from the touch of uncounted hands, and to know that beyond it one might see stone struck by the Silver Hooves of the Starry Hunt’s own destriers … that made Thurion’s heart beat fast and the breath catch in his throat. It was a long moment before he had eyes for the woman who awaited them.
She did not wear the green robe, but she wore the Sanctuary’s badge upon her tabard. She was not young, for her braids were streaked with grey, and yet there was such dignity and power about her that for a moment Thurion was certain he gazed upon the Astromancer herself.
“I am Mistress Maeredhiel,” she said crisply. “Candidates, I greet you in the name of the Sanctuary of the Star. Until the day you are Called to the Light—if you are—you are my responsibility. In your Service Year you will take your orders from me. Now, who is it the Sanctuary of the Star has the honor to welcome this day?”
It was a wonder in a day of wonders that Mistress Maeredhiel had, until her last sentence, ignored Prince Runacarendalur as if he were any servant boy. Now he spoke, his speech as deferential as if he spoke to Lord Bolecthindial himself. “Caerthalien entrusts to the Sanctuary of the Star Candidates Berthon, Athrothir, Thurion, and—”
“I am Vieliessar Farcarinon, War Prince of Farcarinon!” Varuthir said, stepping forward. “I come as a prisoner, not a Candidate! Though Caerthalien slew my parents, Farcarinon yet lives!”
There was a moment of electric silence, and Runacarendalur cursed himself for eleven kinds of fool—and then cursed his mother for good measure, as he was certain this was of Ladyholder Glorthiachiel’s weaving. Who else could have—or would have—told the girl her true name?
“That’s as may be, girl,” Mistress Maeredhiel said briskly, “but here we care nothing for the quarrels of the Hundred Houses—nor will you, if you have wit.”
Vieliessar opened her mouth as if to protest, then closed it again, glowering wordlessly. Berthon and Athrothir were backing away from her, their expressions as shocked as if she had named herself Beastling. Thurion alone clearly had no idea what her declaration meant, for he simply gazed at her, his expression puzzled.
“Prince Runacarendalur, the Sanctuary of the Star thanks you for your service,” Mistress Maeredhiel said, as if there had been no interruption. “Will you visit the Shrine while you are here?”
Runacarendalur took a hasty step backward, and cursed inwardly at the gleam of amusement he saw in Maeredhiel’s eyes. He knew the day would come when he must stand within the Shrine and be judged by the Silver Hooves, as his father had been before him—but Pelashia grant that day still lay far in the future!
After a moment, he recovered himself enough to bow. “Alas that my duties do not permit it,” he said ironically. “But I will commend your great diligence to my father, when next I see him.”
“Caerthalien has always done us every courtesy,” Maeredhiel answered blandly. “Come along, you four. If you are waiting to be presented to Hamphuliadiel Astromancer, you will stand here forever. He is far too busy to waste his time on children.”
The outer doors of the sanctuary closed behind Runacarendalur, and Mistress Maeredhiel began walking away. “Farcarinon?” Athrothir said, staring at Vieliessar in stunned amazement. “But—Serenthon—”
“Your interest in the history of the Hundred Houses does you credit, young Athrothir,” Mistress Maeredhiel said repressively, stopping and looking back at them. “And I say again—for what I am certain is not the last time—until the day you leave us, neither rank nor House concerns you. Now come.”
Thurion walked forward at once; after a moment Berthon and Athrothir followed. With nowhere else to go, Vieliessar trailed after them. She wasn’t sure whether to be pleased to see Athrothir put in his place so sharply, or irritated that her announcement had not carried more weight. The only thing she was certain of was that it had come as no surprise to Prince Runacarendalur. May the Silver Hooves spurn you at your death, faithless betrayer!
“You will be called to serve during your first year in all the ways you—or some of you—have been served in the past,” Maeredhiel said as she led them along the corridor. “Those who have been in service before you will assist you in learning your tasks. The Sanctuary has few ordinary servants, not enough to do all that is required. Your labor will be needed.”
“What will we have to do?” Berthon asked, a little timidly.
Maeredhiel fixed him with a skeptical eye. “What can you do, young Berthon?” she asked. “No matter. You will learn. We have hosted all manner of Candidates in our time, from Landbonds to heirs to the Line.” She glanced toward Vieliessar.