“You must learn to invoke this for yourself,” Ritathan murmured. “My spell will linger for an hour, maybe more. You must focus, concentrate on summoning it.” His mouth quirked. “Perhaps while you are at your prayers.”
The chapel bells started pealing.
“We are done for this day,” Ritathan said. “The rest is up to you. Report to me tomorrow and we will continue to work on control.”
“Yes, Master,” Halithe said as he strode off, his robes flowing around him.
The chapel wascrowded and over warm, since no lady of the nobility wanted to be counted absent. It was said that the Matriarch herself would lead the service, so they stood in silence in the pews, waiting, the only sound the rustle of skirts and the occasional cough.
Halithe felt sweat start to gather on her neck. The sun was beating in the windows and the heat was rising. The chapel wasn’t large and none of the colored glass windows opened. She looked around, realizing some recent repairs had been done. Was that to please the Matriarch?
Perhaps politics played a larger role in faith than she had imagined.
A glitter from the altar, drew her attention. The sun disk that hung above the marble glittered again. She focused, trying to invoke mage sense.
The disk flared bright, white and pure and—
A wave of hate hit her, almost like a blow to the chest.
Anger. Rage, deep and furious, but with an odd tang to it. It poured from the gated entrance to the crypts. Halithe focused again, trying to find a source, concentrating as hard as she could—
Then Caris stepped into view and all other thoughts fled.
Caris glowed, as if covered in ground gold and diamond dust. So beautiful that Halithe’s breath caught in her throat. Caris was warm amber and Halithe’s heart was caught within.
The golden cords of the bond danced with sparks of red and writhed like a silken web that clung to Caris’s skin, tight enough to be a trap, a prison, a binding. It moved with her, yet restrained her at the same time.
Caris glanced in her direction and for a long moment their gazes locked. Halithe’s mouth went dry as a surge of longing rose up in her soul. A deep, abiding hunger to rip those restrains free.
The hand bells chimed and the call for prayer rang out as the Matriarch led a procession of clerics to the altar. Halithe knelt with all the other women, but her mind was not on prayer.
I know what I want, Father, she thought as she bowed her head,and I will strive for it.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Let me guess. You will strike off my head.” Plumestra lifted her chin and sent a pugnacious look directly at Queen Satia.
Mira froze, mouth gaping open, staring at the midwife in disbelief. No one talked to the Bonded that way. Ever.
Satia’s eyes narrowed. She was lying on her cushioned couch, propped up on pillows. While the morning had started well, it hadn’t been a good afternoon, what with vomiting and avoiding council meetings. Even Captain Ussin’s description of events in the Black Hills hadn’t lifted the Bonded’s mood. The others had been sent off on various tasks, leaving Mira to serve during this interview.
Mira clutched at the knife concealed in her skirts and hoped she wouldn’t be commanded to use it.
“You will serve as my midwife exclusively,” Satia repeated.
“No.” Plumestra folded her arms.
“I will have you executed.” The fury in the Bonded’s voice made Mira’s jaw clench.
Plumestra tilted her head as if in doubt. “That threat loses some of it impact if you repeat it too often.”
“I am your queen,” Satia hissed.
“Aye,” Plumestra agreed. “But your jugs and your womb work the same as all others, noble or common. Waste of my time and skills to be at your beck and call.”
Mira grasped her knife’s hilt harder.
“I have found that noble-born ignore my advice, act surprised when they run into the slightest discomfort, and don’t pay,” Plumestra continued. “You have no need to have me dance in attendance, and we would both get on each other’s last nerve.”
