Her bracelet wouldn’t restrict her from using mage sight, would it?She had permission to work this bit of magic.It wasn’t much, not like casting raging bolts of fire, but it was a bit defiant, and not something a fine lady of noble blood would do, now was it?
No one was watching her, they were all murmuring over pieces of gossip.She took a breath and held it, willing the power to come to her.She hadn’t tried this since Ritathan’s death, and for long, agonizing moments she feared she’d lost it, couldn’t do this one simple little—
A tingle ran through her and the worldshifted.
She’d done it.
Her heart lifted but she caught herself, afraid to lose what she had achieved.But the strangeness stayed, much to her joy.She kept her eyes down, not wanting to give herself away.Of course, all she could see were skirts and floor and—
The powershifted, and her skin felt like it was on fire, her clothes, rough and grating on her skin.
She managed not to gasp, although the burning made her want to rip her dress off.The pain was severe, swamping her in dizziness.
One of the older lades leaned over.“Are you well, dear?”
The worldshifted, and the woman’s sour breath wafted over her.Suddenly her lungs were filling with the scent of strong perfumes and unwashed bodies.
Her stomach churned.As she fought the nausea, the power tried to slip from her.She struggled, but it squirmed like an oily, wet eel, sliding through her mental fingers.
Everythingshiftedand it was gone.
“I’m fine,” Halithe managed to say, but the words came out in a gasp.“It’s—” she pulled herself together and gave the woman a weak smile.“It’s warm in here.”She continued.“I’ll sit toward the back, if I need to slip out.”
The woman’s eyes were sympathetic, but she shook her head.“We are seated in order of precedence, dear,” she reminded as the line started to move.
“Of course,” Halithe murmured, sagging inside.As the daughter of the Lord Marshal, she’d be toward the front.Second row, third if she was lucky.Usually close to Xydell, but that wouldn’t be happening, since the older woman had been sent—exiled—to the Black Hills.
At least her shrill complaints wouldn’t be grating on Halithe’s ears.
Halithe bit her lip, stepped to the door, and waited for the Herald to call out her name.
It was even warmer in the chapel.The women all stood in silence in their positions, each knowing her own place.The stone walls echoed the rustle of skirts and the quiet whispers of gossip meant only for their neighbors’ ears.
“Halithe, Daughter of Lord Marshal Tarwain.”
Halithe stepped forward, walking slowly, hands at her side, eyes demurely down, aware of all the eyes upon her and the chatter that would surely result.
Suddenly, the worldshifted.
Halithe stumbled slightly as the whispers poured into her ears.
“Fresh paint, pews refinished.Perhaps the Queen is more devout than I thought.
“Perhaps politics plays a larger role in faith than you thought.”
“No real competition in the marriage market, not with those looks.”
“But her father has influence with both royals.”
“Perhaps one more than the other.”
“Really?”
“They said it was his heart.”
“In a pig’s eye.Man was healthy as a horse.I heard it was ordered.”
“Poor Xydell, sent away like that, and no word since.”
