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A man.
One man to replace Merlin in the Temple of the Three. And another high priest to lead worship in the newly constructed Temple of Perun the king had built on the banks of the Greenbriar River.
A hush spread like ripples on a pond. I watched as, one-by-one, the guests standing at the round table took their seats.
Merlin approached her chair, her gray and white linen robes sweeping around her sandaled feet, and gestured to a curved wooden chair next to her own. I sat down gratefully beside her, barely registering as Javer scrambled into the seat to my right without a word.
But before we could begin, the doors behind us creaked open.
“Have I missed anything? Oh, you’re just getting started. Excellent, excellent.”
I turned my head as a jovial, smiling priest bumbled into the room, his arms full of scrolls. Irreverently, he kicked the heavy, oak doors shut behind him and jostled his bundle of parchments higher in his arms before they could topple onto the floor.
His cheeks were flushed, and his thin strands of hair a mess, as if he had just come in from the wind and rain outside. Dumping the pile of scrolls onto the table, he began to tug off the cloak he had been wearing, revealing a stocky, portly figure.
With a sigh, he eased himself into a chair on the left side of the table near Sir Ector and began to fan himself with one of the scrolls. The older knight eyed the priest with a hint of amusement.
Merlin smiled slightly. “Morgan, this is Tyre, my successor. High Priest of the Temple of the Three.”
Tyre leaned forward to look at me with interest, then winked. “I think we all know who the Three take their marching orders from, and it’s certainly not me.”
If he could have said anything that would have instantly endeared him to me, it was this. I grinned at Tyre. “I couldn’t agree more, Your Eminence.”
Tyre burst out laughing. “Your Eminence. Oh, ho, she’s a feisty one, isn’t she, Merlin. I can see why you’re happy she’s returned.”
“Morgan would have made a wonderful addition to the temple,” Merlin said a little primly. She looked at me with affection and regret in her eyes. “Though I see that is not to be your path, as it turns out.”
I felt myself blushing. If only she knew. A chaste priestess’s life was decidedly not my path.
Since I had arrived back only yesterday, we had not had a great deal of opportunity to talk. Javer’s injuries had needed to be seen to, first and foremost.
Before he and I had even made our way to the top of the stairs from the stone chamber below, it had been clear from Lancelet’s odd behavior that the temple was not the same place it had been when I left.
Hardly speaking, she had carefully chosen an empty corridor and escorted Javer and me to a secluded wing of the temple and then summoned Merlin.
Next, a close-lipped priestess had arrived to dress Javer’s wounds. His injuries were apparently worse than I’d initially thought, for at one point, he’d lost consciousness from the pain, something I observed with cool detachment.
At least Javer was still alive to feel pain. Beks was not.
Merlin had embraced me, held me close for a moment. The sentiment had been unexpected but not unwelcome.
And yet, somehow, I knew she had not been surprised to see me. Relieved perhaps, but not surprised.
I had sped quickly through a brief explanation of where I had been, leaving out any detail I thought would upset her.
Including the small detail of my being married against my will to a Siabra fae prince.
Or becoming the Empress of Myntra.
Or learning my mother and father may have both been Valtain fae royalty.
I would bring up everything when the time was right, I decided.
And the time had not been right. Before we could say much more to one another, Merlin had been called away to deal with something urgent elsewhere in the temple. I had fallen asleep in the little room she had left me in, my dreams a chaotic jumble of a world on fire and Beks’ small face lifted up to the flames.
Fortunately, Draven had not been a part of them.
Now, as I sat at the round table, I swiveled towards Javer, conveying a silent, intense reminder with my eyes that he was not to mention a thing of his own initiative. He got the message. One I had already hammered in, tersely and bluntly, that morning. He nodded almost indiscernibly. If I had to guess, I’d have said that for once in his bitter, miserable life, he was leaning towards a self-imposed period of extended silence. Thank the Three for that small blessing, since I trusted the loathsome toad about as far as I could throw him.
