The blue star moved across the sky, and Mouse followed it, changing direction as necessary. Her great fear was that it would set, leaving her exposed on this empty plain, still within sight of the Citadel. What she would do then, she could not guess.
How quickly the last few days had passed, leaving her dizzy and exhausted now as, in her awful disguise, she fled. Was it only yesterday that she had hastened up the long stair of the Spire as the rising sun dispelled at last the darkness of Midnight? She had come at last to the final door just as the high priestess, finished with her morning rituals, stepped through.
“Speaker!” Mouse, nearly beside herself, fell on her knees at her mistress’s feet and grasped the hem of her red-stained robe.
It burned.
Mouse dropped it and withdrew, clutching her hand to her breast. The high priestess stood a silent moment, regarding her. Then with a heavy sigh, she knelt, the black weaves of her wig swaying gently on either side of her face. “It is dangerous to draw near to the goddess’s power unprepared,” she said. “But I can forgive you this time. I see that you are greatly troubled, and not for your own sake. Tell me, little Mouse, what do you fear?”
“The Silent Lady,” Mouse said at once. “The Silent Lady has returned!”
“Fire burn.” The high priestess whispered the fervent prayer but without surprise. Indeed, her face was calm and accepting. “In good time too. The Flame will be pleased. Where is she?”
It was a dreadful procession back down the Spire staircase. Stoneye, armed with his spear, led the way as was his practice, and the high priestess followed, Mouse at her heels. Other priestesses and acolytes joined, and other eunuchs, armed and keen. But why should they need armed guards? There was no need for protection from the Silent Lady! She was the prophetess, the one who, at the bidding of the goddess, had delivered her people from the Wolf Lord and the terror of his inflicted silence! Why the need for weapons? Mouse shuddered, unable to think, and kept close to her mistress’s shadow.
In the lower south passage, the Silent Lady waited between two pillars beneath a smoking brazier. By morning light she looked smaller than ever, little more than a girl, save for those old eyes.
Stoneye planted himself between her and the Speaker. But his lady stepped forward and, though he turned his head sharply, his face full of warning, she shook her head at him and drew near. Mouse watched, expecting to see the high priestess fall on her knees and make reverence before the chosen prophetess of the Flame.
Instead, the high priestess said: “Speak your purpose.”
Her voice was sharp with command. It startled Mouse, who pressed a hand to her mouth. But the Silent Lady responded gently. “I am come with a message for the Dragonwitch.”
“Neither dragon nor witch dwells within the Citadel of the Living Fire,” the Speaker replied. “There is only the goddess.”
“Then my message is for your goddess,” said the Silent Lady. “From Etanun.”
“I do not know this”—the high priestess hesitated over the strange name, pronouncing it with care—“this Etanun.”
“My message is not for you.”
“I am Speaker for the goddess. I am also her ears. Anything you wish to say to her must come first to me.”
There was a long silence. Mouse shivered. She had never thought to see anyone more holy than the Speaker herself, who lived and served daily in the presence of the Flame, her own skin burning away with purification. But now to hear her speak to the prophetess in such a fashion . . . it was frightful! How could a priestess, no matter how holy, address an instrument of the gods so harshly?
The Silent Lady said, “Etanun has told me where to find Halisa’s chamber. I will take you to it, if such is your will.”
The high priestess recoiled as though struck. Stoneye hastily stepped forward, his hand outstretched. She bade him back away, but she swayed where she stood as though years of labor had come suddenly to an apex, yet even now she dared not hope for reprieve. Mouse could see the throb of a pulse in her throat.
“You will take me there,” the Speaker said. “At once.”
4
I LAUGHED. IT WAS THE FIRST TIME I had laughed in many ages, and the sound startled me and, I could tell, frightened him. When the laughter eased, I said, “So I was not enough for you. Immortal Faerie that I am, glorious queen, beautiful beyond the description of poets and rhymes. I was not enough to keep you close, but you will love this woman of dust? You will love this decaying mortal?”
He did not meet my eyes. But he said, “I love her.”
“Why?” I demanded. “Why her? Why not me?”
“Because,” he said in the gentlest, most tender voice I had ever heard, “when I look at her, I see the light of my home shining clear and bright in her eyes.”
If I could have killed him then, I would have.
“What is her name?” I asked.
“Klara,” he replied.