She left the cell and went to the RayLight Chamber. The light within it was faint this early in the morning, but enough to make the stained glass glow. Radiance gathered in pools of color on the floor.
“Dragon-Sun,” she said. “Help me understand. I wish to serve you, not the Shadow Dragon.” As much as she longed to believe the Dragon-Sun had granted her these abilities so she could bring a glow of his brightness into the shadows, she feared her power came instead from the dragon who ruled the night. Her dedication to the sun was the best way she knew to turn her powers to the day, but her calling demanded a painfully high price.
“Dragon of light, I swear my life to you. Always will you have my devotion.” Tears gathered in her eyes and she wiped them away with the heel of her hand. “But I’m so lonely. Please, Great Ata-TakaMal D’Az, give me a sign I won’t spend my life alone. I am honored to be your bride, truly I am. But I—I—”
Ginger stopped, afraid to offend the sun. She thought of the last priestess who had served here, elegant and slender in her wrap, with white hair curled around her face. She had told Ginger the dragon never chose a mate for her. Perhaps that was true, but Ginger thought her predecessor would never have let herself see such a sign, for she liked her independence. Had this confused yearning ever burned within her? The loneliness was crushing Ginger.
“Darz seems a good man,” she said. “He’s a soldier in the queen’s army. So strong and brave. Is this the sign, Great Dragon? Or do I cause offense by wanting an injured man whose life is entrusted into my care?”
Nothing changed. If the dragon had an answer, either she didn’t see it or he had chosen to wait. She hoped he would show tenderness. The hard life in Sky Flames left so little of that for her people, and it was why they came to her for blessings, to ease their lives. But sometimes she ached for warmth. Who would tend the priestess? Maybe the sun was punishing her for using a spell to help Darz in the Sunset Chamber. Had the Dragon-Sun sent a demon to frighten her? That scream last night hadn’t sounded human.
Ginger shuddered. Her Aronsdale grandfather would have said demons didn’t exist, that dragons of the sun and night were myths. He had to be wrong. She saw the sun in the sky every day except when he pulled a blanket of clouds over his face. He was as real as the desert breezes that whispered sensually across her skin. He was a harsh lord to serve, and maybe a possessive one who would answer her wish for companionship with severity rather than compassion. But she had to believe he was real. Otherwise, she had dedicated her life to nothing.
“Oh!” Ginger stopped in the doorway of the cell.
Darz looked up at her, a spoonful of rice-cream halfway to his mouth. He was sitting on the bed against the wall with the glazed bowl of cereal in his lap. He had pushed the bandages back from his fingers so he could hold the spoon.
He grinned at her. “This cereal is good. Did you make it?”
“Yes,” she said, blushing. “I did.”
“You’re a good cook.”
“Thank you.” She loved to cook, but she rarely had anyone to do it for besides herself. “How do you feel?”
“Better.” He swallowed the spoonful of cereal.
She sat on the stool by his bed. “Are you in pain?”
He paused a moment too long before saying, “I’ll be fine.”
She took that to mean yes, he was in pain, and he was too stoic to admit it. “Well,” she said, “if you would like some sky-wood tea to wash down your breakfast, let me know.”
“I’ll do that.” He didn’t look the least interested in drinking any tea, though.
“I was wondering,” she said. “You mentioned you were going to visit kin. Would you like us to send them word?” She hesitated. “Or to your wife, to let her know you’re all right?”
“It isn’t necessary.” He ate more of the rice. “I’m not married, and I hadn’t told anyone I was coming.”
It pleased her far more than it should have to hear he had no wife. “So you were just traveling?”
“I do sometimes, to clear my mind.” With a rueful smile, he added, “Your temple is ideal for clearing the mind, Priestess, but I would have preferred a less drastic method of arrival.”
“Aye,” she murmured. She wanted to add, I’m glad you are here, but she bit back the inappropriate words. She felt so nervous. She had asked for a sign and found Darz awake. Could it be the sign she had hoped for? More likely, she was reading what she wanted to see into his recovery.
“Your face changes so fast,” Darz said. “What troubles you? I hope I haven’t too sorely disrupted your life.”
“You’ve nothing to apologize for.” She wished her moods weren’t so easy for people to read. “I’m sorry your visit here had to be under such terrible circumstances.”
“Ah, well. I’ve seen worse in battle.”
“You must let your commanders know what happened, yes? So they don’t think you deserted.”
He set down the bowl as if he had lost his appetite. “I’m on indefinite leave. No one expects me back.”
It sounded odd to Ginger, but she was too unfamiliar with the military to know if it was unusual. Maybe his attackers had tried to kill him because he had forsworn his oath to the queen. She didn’t think so, though. She had no facts, just intuition, but he didn’t strike her as someone who would desert.
“I wasn’t discharged,” he said, watching her face. “My commander has the notion that I need a rest. So it seems I’m on leave whether I want to be or not.”
She wondered what had happened to him. “Did you fight in the Battle of the Rocklands? The stories we’ve heard are awful.”
“Aye.” He let out a breath. “Many men died.” He looked tired. “I lost a friend and mentor I had served with for years.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
He tried to smile, but it resembled a grimace. “Taka Mal survived. That’s what matters.”
Ginger wished she had better words to say. She knew so little about the war. The fighting had taken place far away, on the western border of Taka Mal with Aronsdale. They had battled the army of the Misted Cliffs, though it wasn’t clear to her why.
“We heard that King Cobalt from the Misted Cliffs beheaded the Atajazid D’az Ozar,” Ginger said. She shivered. “They say Cobalt the Dark is a monster, nine feet tall, a demon who slaughters his victims without mercy.”
“For flaming sake,” Darz grumbled. “He’s only six foot seven.” Then he said, “But yes, he did kill the Jazid king.”
“I’ve heard—” She hesitated. “People say the Dragon-Sun appeared in the sky and roared flames to stop the battle.”
He shrugged. “The sky lit up with what looked like a dragon.”
His offhand response to such a manifestation bothered her, but she was glad for the affirmation that the dragon she served existed. “He wouldn’t want his people to die fighting.”
Darz rubbed his eyes with his bandaged hand. “Some say this dragon in the sky was no more than a trick of light created by the queen’s consort.”
“No one could do a trick that big.”
“He’s from Aronsdale,” Darz growled, as if that explained everything and none of it good.
“You don’t approve of Aronsdale?” she asked curiously. He was a veritable wealth of information. “Or the royal consort?”
“I would never speak ill of our glorious queen’s consort,” he said dourly. “Or our new ally, Aronsdale. Gods forbid.” He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.
Guilt washed over her. Here she was, pumping him for gossip when he could barely sit up. She was about to leave when he added one last comment. “But it can’t be true about these people from Aronsdale, that they make spells of light.”
Ginger felt as if the ground spun beneath her. Spells of light? She waited until she could speak calmly. “Whatever are you talking about?”
Darz sighed, slumped against the wall. “Supposedly their queens are mages…” He opened his eyes and sta
red across the room. Then he eased down to the bed and lay on his back.
“Ai, I’m terrible.” Ginger was appalled at herself. “I shouldn’t keep you up.” She leaned over him. “Would you like more tea?”
“I never drink tea,” he groused. “I need ale.”
She smiled. “I’m afraid I have no ale.”
His lashes drooped over his eyes, dark against the pallor of his skin. “Would you read to me…as before?”
So he had known she was reading. “Yes, certainly.”
Ginger fetched a scroll from the archive. Then she sat on the stool by his bed and read to him about life in Sky Flames a hundred years ago. But her mind was whirling with what he had said. Spells of light. Could it be she wasn’t the only one who could make them? Her Aronsdale grandfather may have bequeathed her something far more complex than his fiery hair.
A disquieting thought intruded. If her spells did come from her Aronsdale heritage, from a people who didn’t worship the sun, would the Dragon-Sun be angry?
What he would do, she had no idea.
4
Confrontation
“And if the killers return?” the Elder Sentinel demanded. “We must be ready.”
Rumbles of assent rolled through the crowd in the Tender’s Hall where the village held meetings. Hundreds of people filled the room, and many more stood by the walls or in aisles between the benches. Sky Flames had a population of about five hundred, and a good portion of the adults were here. Ginger stood against one wall trying to be inconspicuous. She was too agitated to sit. The stone room was designed to provide a cool refuge, but crammed with so many people, it became stifling. Oil lamps shed light, and their smoke blurred the scene, adding to her claustrophobia. She longed for the serene, spacious temple. She couldn’t leave, of course; she was responsible for the man who had inspired this meeting.
The Elder Sentinel, or just Elder, stood on a platform at the front of the hall. His name was Tajman Limestone. White hair swept up from his forehead, giving his gaunt face the aspect of an avenging angel from the Spirit Lands who kept a stern eye on the living. Three others sat at a table behind him: the Flame Sentinel, a brash fellow tasked with seeing to civil order in town; the Archivist, a woman with a severe face and gray-streaked hair; and Spark, the Second Sentinel, a shorter man with a bald head and beefy arms. The Elder Sentinel, Second Sentinel, and Archivist served as elders for the village.
Personally, Ginger thought the Archivist would have made a good Second Sentinel, helping the Elder to govern. But tradition forbid such an idea. Precedent did exist for a woman in a position of authority; a queen ruled in Taka Mal. Vizarana Jade Quaazera had inherited her throne as the only child of the previous king. But here in Sky Flames, it could never happen.
The Archivist was a historian. She, too, had trained as an acolyte, but only because they kept archives in the temple, not because she intended to become a priestess. She had left the temple to assume her duties in the village long before Ginger became an acolyte. Ginger sometimes sought her out with questions about the history scrolls. Although the Archivist seemed to appreciate her interest, she never hid her disapproval of the priestess. Ginger didn’t know why the elder disliked her. She treated the older woman with respect and tried to be friendly, but it didn’t help. Maybe her personality grated on the somber historian; Ginger’s independent ways had put off others in town. Many people expressed goodwill toward her, but at times she wondered if some would prefer a more conservative priestess. She was the only choice, however; in a village as small as theirs, it was difficult to find women willing to assume the temple duties.
“We don’t know what this stranger did to provoke an attack,” the Elder was saying. “If his assailants return, one of us may be their next target. We must protect ourselves.”
“The soldier should leave!” a man called.
In the packed hall, Ginger couldn’t make out who shouted, but many people were nodding their agreement.
“Turn him out!” someone else yelled.
“If we turn out an injured man to die,” another man said, “we are no better than the bandits who attacked him.”
Bandits? Ginger blinked. Darz had never claimed such. It was a reasonable assumption, though, and more realistic than her theory about shadowy assassins who might not even exist.
More voices rose, until the room rumbled in argument. The Elder raised his hand, palm outward, and the people quieted.
“It would be wrong to turn out a dying man,” Elder Tajman said. “When he is able to walk, we will send him away.”
Rumbles of assent started up as people nodded in agreement. It alarmed Ginger. Being able to walk and surviving the desert were two very different matters. Darz would die if they turned him out too soon.
Ginger hadn’t planned to speak. No one expected her to; it wasn’t so long ago that priestesses had been rigorously confined to the temple. Public presentations made her nervous, and she gladly avoided them. But she couldn’t remain silent if they intended to turn Darz out. Her pulse jumped as she stepped away from the wall. The people around her stopped talking and stepped aside with formal nods. Her bare feet whispered on the stone floor, and her wrap rustled with her small steps. The men took care not to touch her even by accident, lest the dragon smite them for sullying his devotee.
She continued past the benches, aware of everyone staring. Silence spread like the ripples from a pebble dropped into the temple fountain. The quiet washed through the crowd and up against the walls. She clutched her opal for confidence. Now, in the afternoon, it wouldn’t flare with light, as could happen if agitation caused her to lose control of her night spells.
It took her a while to reach the platform. She went to the staircase on the left. As she set her foot on the lowest step, she realized the wrap was too tight for her to climb the stairs normally. She had to put one foot on a step, then the other, then repeat the process for the next step.
The crowd remained silent. Kindle Burr, the Flame Sentinel who served as the head of the village guard, rose from his chair at the table on the platform. A husky man with short hair, he was tending to a little extra weight these days. He came to the top of the stairs and watched Ginger with concern. She only had to go up a few steps, but it took eons. When she reached the top, he flexed his hand as if he wanted to offer her support. He couldn’t of course; if he even just barely touched her in front of everyone, his own men would clap him in irons.
Ginger managed to incline her head to him without shaking or otherwise revealing her fear. She hoped. Elder Tajman was waiting at the front of the platform. She walked forward, and the stares of the people were like sparks against her skin.
The Elder bowed when she reached him. Although he showed respect, she knew him well enough to read the way his mouth tightened. He hadn’t expected this, and he didn’t like it.
He spoke in a low voice only she could hear. “You honor our meeting, Ginger-Sun.”
She answered with the same formality. “I thank you for your gracious words.”
“Do you wish to speak?”
She could tell he didn’t want her to address the assembly. The twitch of his mouth gave him away.
“I do,” she said. She had to stop herself from apologizing. She had the same right as any citizen to speak. In theory. In practice, the people expected silence from their priestess, which suited her fine, given her shyness and youth. But this had to be done, before distrust pushed them to send a man to his death.
The Elder stepped aside, offering her his place. One spot on the platform was the same as any other; his action was a symbolic acknowledgment from the town’s highest authority that she had his support. She stepped forward and faced the crowd. They sat like a pond with no ripples disturbing the surface. She knew many by name; a few, like Harjan, were cherished friends. Yet now they were all strangers, for she had never come before them this way.
She took a deep breath. “I would speak on behalf of the stranger.”
Gazes narrowed and people shifted in their seats.
“This man has done us no harm,” Ginger said. “He is a soldier who fought bravely in the Battle of the Rocklands. He serves Queen Vizarana and, as such, he serves the Dragon-Sun, who brings life to the deserts. If we turn him away, we are turning our backs on duties tasked to us by the dragon, and by the Sunset Goddess who watches over travelers. They guided this man to our temple.”
The weathered faces of her listeners showed the intense concentration distinctive of her people. She hoped they were hearing what she had to say. They couldn’t let fear drive them to shun Darz, for if they did, they were shunning the dragon and sunset. And without those, life ended.
When nothing happened except that everyone kept staring at her, relief washed over Ginger. She wasn’t sure what she had feared; perhaps that they would explode in anger. None of them had ever raised their voices to her, but she had never before so openly broken with tradition.
Just as she was about to leave the platform, a man near the front rose to his feet. Her pulse stuttered. It was Dirk Bauxite, who built and repaired houses. He had a hard-edged view of the world, especially for those who didn’t agree with him. The few times he had come to her temple for a blessing, his cold manner and avid scrutiny had frightened her. But he was also well respected in Sky Flames, a hard worker who was often willing to help others.
“Priestess,” he said. “I have a question.”
She couldn’t refuse to answer, not if she wanted the respect of the people here. “Please ask, Goodman Bauxite.”
“You speak of duty.” His voice, like his name, sounded as hard as a mineral. “But what of danger? It would be a cruel task set to us by the revered dragon, should this man or his enemies kill any of us because we opened our temple to him.”
It was a good question. Although she doubted Darz planned to harm anyone, she had no proof. And whoever had left him here might come back.