Kaden thought he heard a note of bitterness there, but she continued without dropping her eyes.
“The leina are careful—my mother taught me all the herbs and potions—” She colored, then rushed ahead. “Even though I haven’t needed them, she taught them to me, just to be sure. Anyway, even if you’re careful, sometimes things happen, sometimes a man gets one of the leina with child. Then the woman has a choice—she can kill the baby or mark it as goddessborn.” She touched the tattoo at the base of her neck again, as though assuring herself it was still there.
Kaden had some idea where this was going; it made perfect sense when you thought about it.
“The goddessborn belong to Ciena. We can never own anything, never inherit anything, never lay claim to our fathers’ names. Most of us don’t even know who our fathers are.”
She shrugged, a frustrated, girlish gesture that seemed somehow incongruous after her matter-of-fact description of the political realities underlying her station.
“So,” Kaden pressed gently, “Adiv came to the temple looking for a—” He was about to say “gift” but changed his mind at the last moment. “—for a leina, and you were the one he chose.”
“No. Well, yes.” Triste bit her lip. “But I’m not a leina. My mother never wanted me to enter the service of the goddess.”
“But you were raised in the temple,” Kaden replied, confused.
“She raised me in the temple because there was nowhere else, but she always said that if I studied hard and made myself into a proper lady—” She paused and looked down at the blanket wrapped around her, as though remembering her nakedness for the first time. “If I made myself into a proper lady,” she persisted, her voice cracking just slightly, “my father might take me in. Not as his daughter,” she rushed on, as though frightened Kaden might reprimand her for the thought. “He wouldn’t have to acknowledge me ever, but as one of the ladies of his court, maybe a handmaid or something.”
It seemed an unlikely proposition to Kaden. Bastards were dangerous business, even if they were girls, even if they were tattooed girls. A young woman as beautiful as Triste would have dozens of suitors, and if one of them married her and then realized she was the daughter to some sort of potentate …
“I studied the low arts at the temple,” she continued, oblivious of his thoughts, “but my mother refused to have me inducted into the high mysteries.”
“The high mysteries?” Kaden asked, intrigued.
Triste colored once more. “The arts of bodily pleasure,” she responded, eyes downcast. “All girls in the temple learn the low arts—dancing, singing, all of that—but you can’t be a leina without years studying the high mysteries. My mother says you can sing yourself hoarse—that’s not what the men pay for.”
“So you haven’t done … this … before?” Kaden asked, cursing himself silently for his clumsiness.
Triste shook her head. “No. My mother never wanted…” She trailed off, staring at her hands as though she had never seen them before. “No.”
A rustling at the back of the tent interrupted her before she could say more. Eyes wide, she put her finger to her lips. Kaden nodded. Perhaps it was only wind, but the memory of Pyrre Lakatur and the ak’hanath remained fresh in his mind. Ut was an Aedolian, but he was only one man—he couldn’t watch all the walls of the pavilion at once.
Kaden gestured toward Triste’s fallen dress urgently—her nakedness seemed to make both of them more vulnerable—and as she struggled to pull it on, he cast about for something that could serve as a weapon. He still carried the short knife on the belt of his robe, but that seemed a feeble defense. The supporting poles holding up the pavilion might stave off an intruder, but they were inextricable from the canvas. A heavy gilded candlestick caught his eye—twice as thick as his thumb and two feet long. The rustling came again, punctuated by a short ripping. Kaden hastily snuffed the wick, yanked the taper out of its sconce, and hefted the makeshift weapon tentatively. It wasn’t a sword, but a solid blow would knock a man unconscious. He forced himself to move toward the sound.