Thalia sat in her bedroom at the top of the Temple, hands clasped around her knees, trying to read. She had a book of old tales: Amarillia Swan Neck; the Golden Girl and the Silver Horses; the Butcher’s Boy and the May Tree. It was an old book, taken from the Temple library, the gold leaf that curled around the great elaborate opening letters of each sentence worn and peeling, a couple of pages torn. The illustrations bright and vivid, lovely maidens and fearless peasant boys, black bulls with the heads of lions, horses with huge feathered wings. In her favourite picture, a beautiful girl with silvery hair sat by a stream of clear water waiting for her lover, whilst around her strange little man things with legs like chickens danced and tumbled, accompanying themselves on reed pipes and drums.
The door opened: the old priestess Samnel, light steps on the wooden floor, hard unsmiling eyes.
‘My Lady.’ The relationship between them had become ever more formal, as Thalia had grown into her full role as High Priestess. When her predecessor had lived, Thalia had been Samnel’s ally; now, she was Samnel’s superior and the chosen vessel of her God. Special. Powerful, with powers and knowledge Samnel would never have and never know.
Will she befriend my successor when she comes? Thalia wondered of her. Make her an ally against myself? She had begun to suspect that it had not been the last High Priestess herself whom Samnel had hated but the office. The power. The fact that there was power there that she could not have.
‘You should not read such books,’ Samnel said with a sniff, looking at the book lying on the floor. ‘Children’s tales. Foreign nonsense. You should not fill your head with these nonsense things.’
‘There’s no harm in them,’ said Thalia defensively. ‘Just stories.’
‘We need you to come down to the Large Hall. There is … trouble. Your judgement is sought on the matter.’
Thalia stood up. ‘Wait,’ she said, and she carefully arranged the book on her table. She walked slowly down the stairs with Samnel beside her. ‘What is the trouble?’ she asked.
The voice was half weary and half gloating. ‘Ausa. She made mistakes in the morning service, placed the things wrong on the Silver Altar. Then later she … she knocked over a candle. It went out.’
‘Ah.’ Fear came up inside Thalia. Grief.
In the large hall, Ausa was sitting on a low chair, her head bent. Two other priestesses stood across from her, watching. She raised her head and looked up at Thalia as she entered. Her skin was very dark, deep black with hair even blacker, but she looked ashen pale, all the blood drawn from her face. Her eyes were red and puffy with tears.
Tolneurn stood before her. His eyes moved to Thalia also. Bland light-brown eyes. One of the few men in the Temple. One of the few men she or any of the priestesses knew. He had a narrow face and white skin like he was always cold. He bowed, very slightly. Thalia suppressed a shiver and stood straight.
‘What is the trouble here?’ she said again, wanting to hear it from Tolneurn, make him speak in obedience to her. Ausa shifted in her seat.
‘She has defiled the Altar.’ Old fat Ninia, voice hoarse and dry like dead leaves on dry earth.
Thalia said, ‘Ah’ again. Trying to stall for time, perhaps, before what must be said was said.
‘She must have her eyes cut out and her hands cut off.’ The more horrible, to hear it in Ninia’s rasping quiet voice, her grandmotherly face remorseless as stones.
‘She—’ No mercy. No mercy, not before Tolneurn. If he had not been there, she would defy Ninia and Samnel and forgive. Without his presence, it would have been strength. But in front of him, the Imperial Presence, hand of the Emperor, it would seem weakness, a silly girl afraid of pain and hurt.
‘Come, then,’ Thalia said. Ausa cowered back, hands clenched against the sides of the chair. Her eyes stared dumbly.
‘Now?’ asked Tolneurn. There was shock in his voice. Thalia thought: he did not think I would do it.
‘Now.’ Get it done. Get it over. It must be done, so it must be done immediately. We all chose our lots, she thought. Ausa’s yellow, mine red. What would we rather, that we had drawn the black or the white?
‘I was tired,’ Ausa whispered. ‘I was tired, I haven’t slept … I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t feel well. My hand … my hand slipped. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …’
Thalia said, ‘Be silent.’ Her hands trembled. ‘Come.’
They walked together across the large hall, down a little cloistered walk giving onto the Temple gardens. ‘Look at the sun,’ Ausa said. ‘Look at the sun, Thalia.’ They walked very slowly. They entered one of the dark corridors that led to the Great Chamber. Ausa stopped in the dark, clutching the wall, shrank and crouched in the dead place. ‘Come,’ Thalia said. Her voice was very loud in the dark. They came out into the Great Chamber, into the brilliant blinding golden light. A choking noise came from Ausa. They crossed the Great Chamber. At the Silver Altar, Helase was kneeling, a hundred candles burning, one dead and cold. She looked up as they passed. They came to the curtain before the entrance to the Small Chamber. Thalia pushed it aside. Ausa followed her, a low moaning noise coming from her mouth like the noise of cattle. She is no longer alive, thought Thalia. She is no longer alive. Two slaves came forward out of the shadows where they crouched. Waiting. They lifted Ausa and placed her on her back on the altar stone, tied the ropes carefully around her to keep her from trying to move. Thalia watched until it was done. She is no longer alive, she thought, over and over. She is no longer alive. It took a very long time. Finally it was done. The slaves sank back into the shadows. Thalia bent down and drew up the knife in its bundle of cloth. Raised the blade. Don’t look at her face, she thought, and immediately she looked and saw the black eyes looking back up at her wide and dry.