It was not the closed, locked door that worried her, but rather those not-infrequent times when it swung open. Her guards were respectful, even kindly, and they often checked in on her to see whether she needed anything, how she was feeling, or simply to offer a bit of news or a home-baked treat from one of their wives. At first, Selinda welcomed the brief interaction with them, the few moments of conversation; otherwise her routine was monotonous. It lessened her sense of isolation to learn that a troupe of players had arrived in the city and were performing farces every evening, or that a cargo of fresh oranges had just arrived at the port.
But what if one of those guards came in to visit and found she was gone, thanks to Coryn’s magic ring? Whatever consequences she imagined were too frightening to contemplate. It was this fear, more than anything else, that had stayed her hand for a week, since Jaymes had marched through the pass and onto the plains. Instead, she had spent most of her time studying the city, the sky, the mountains, and the bay, from her lofty window. She watched and she remembered and she continued to seethe.
As the days passed slowly, she found herself snapping at the guards when they came by. She complained about the quality of her food, even though it was always prepared and served perfectly. She demanded things-fabrics and thread, links of jewelry chain and baubles, paints and canvas-that she had no intention of using. What was initially sadness became anger, and then the anger became barely repressed fury.
Until, at last, she knew that she could stay in that place no longer. Having just sent away her supper, barely touched, she had a reasonable hope she would be allowed privacy for the rest of the evening. If not… well, she was finally prepared to take the chance. The time was ripe for her to visit the person she wanted to see.
She donned a cloak with a soft hood that would conceal her face and her golden hair, and she removed her jewelry-except for the magical circlet given to her by the white wizard. With her destination clearly in mind, she followed Coryn’s instructions, turning the ring on her finger and imagining the place, calling up every detail she could remember.
The world faded away and she felt a momentary lightness in her stomach, the same sensation she’d experienced when she was riding and her horse took a high jump over a fence or stream. Selinda reached out to both sides, seeking something, anything, to grab for balance, but there was nothing there. She fought the urge to scream, but didn’t want to alarm her guards. The nothingness that surrounded her was everywhere, and her panic surged.
And just like that, the feeling passed. She found herself standing in the vestibule of the great temple of Kiri-Jolith, one of the loftiest sanctuaries in Palanthas, which was exactly the place she had imagined as her destination. The unsettled feeling lingered in her stomach, and she breathed hard, but other than that, everything seemed normal. Instinctively wary, she ducked behind the nearest row of the columns that lined both sides of the great house of worship and waited for a moment, listening for any sound of alarm, any indication her sudden arrival had been noticed.
But all seemed quiet. Soon her stuttered breathing settled down, and as she touched the cool marble of a nearby column, she was reassured by its solidity. Looking around, she took stock of her surroundings. Though she was the lone visitor in the vestibule, a hundred or more voices were raised in a steady chant.
They were the prayers of vesperspeak, she knew, the ritual celebration of the clerics, apprentices, and acolytes that marked the end of church business for the day. She leaned back against the marble column and was reassured by the sounds that had been a part of her life since earliest childhood. The chants were in an ancient tongue, and she did not understand the words, but there was comfort merely in the solemn repetition. For long minutes she stood in the shadows, listening to the quasimusical prayers, which finally swelled to a crescendo that signaled the conclusion of worship.
Finally the ritual ended with a whispered benediction and a few moments of symbolic silence. Eventually Selinda could hear the low buzz of conversation as the clerics rose and offered each other good wishes before dispersing-some to their houses or apartments nearby, while others would make their way to residences in either wing of the great temple. She heard the soft rustling of robes and sandals as people filed out, past the shadowy alcove where she lurked. When most of the clerics had exited, she finally emerged and advanced into the great, vaulted sanctuary.
Some apprentices were tending to the many candles around the great room, extinguishing their flames, trimming wax, replacing tapers that had burned down too far. The apprentices took no notice of her as she quietly walked past them, keeping her hood over her hair and her eyes cast down. The great vault of the temple loomed high over her head, but the ceiling was as shadowy as the alcoves behind the columns, where the lighting was muted in deference to the just and mighty god, Kiri-Jolith.
Kiri-Jolith was the eldest son of Paladine and Mishakal, and in the absence of his sire, he had gained prominence in the worship of the Solamnic peoples. He was a righteous god of glory, honor, and discipline, known to favor the efforts of those warriors who fought bravely in a just cause. Soldiers who elected to fight to the death instead of retreating were exalted in the god’s eyes. Courage was valued among his orders of priests and priestesses, many of whose number had been martyred over the years because of their unwillingness to compromise their beliefs.
The temple was the setting, Selinda recalled with bitter irony, of her marriage to Jaymes. Her wedding day-indeed, all the time surrounding that event-remained a kind of fuzzy memory, as if it were something she had dreamed, rather than experienced. The place seemed so much more real as she walked its halls, stone and solid and permanent. In her heart, the young woman understood that the place hadn’t changed since her marriage, but she had.
She made her way to the left side of the great room and passed into the corridor leading to the Hall of Priestesses. Passing several young women who were moving quietly, almost gliding, from room to room, Selinda nodded pleasantly in response to their recognition. The wing she was in was the living quarters of a dozen of the senior female clerics as well as some fifty apprentices and novices, and the princess had visited there before. She turned into a small hall and went to the door at the end of the corridor. There she stopped, drew a breath, and knocked softly.
“Come in,” came the reply, the last word rising in inflection welcomingly.
She opened the door and saw Melissa du Juliette. The young high priestess was hanging her golden robe on an elaborate rack. She turned and smiled warmly.
“Selinda! It’s so nice to see you!”
Almost immediately after her greeting, however, Melissa’s brow furrowed in concern. Selinda hadn’t said anything, didn’t think that her practiced expression revealed her inner torment, but her friend and counselor had clearly perceived her anguish.
“Please! Come in; sit down. Take off that cloak-it’s so stuffy in here.” The priestess bustled around, pouring cups of tea.
The two women sat together on a low couch, holding their steaming cups, communing in silence. Selinda looked at Melissa, marveling at the young woman’s composure and maturity. Though barely thirty, the priestess had demonstrated such a keen intellect, and was so clearly blessed by the stern god of right and justice that she had quickly risen to a high position in the church. She was one of two high priestesses in the temple at Palanthas-two high priests served there as well-and Melissa du Juliette was younger by twenty years than any of her three colleagues.
Selinda had known her most of her life. Always, she had been a person the princess could talk to or simply enjoy her presence. As a teenage novice, Melissa had been one of the older girls who shared advice, gossip, and good humor with the young daughter of the city’s lord regent.