Now Challen thought she really would faint. The King honored Shazzur as if he were his own father or the most revered priest in the kingdom.
The King sheathed his knife and took the torch from the trembling servant boy and turned to Challen. “Uncover your face, Kena'Shazzur'Challa'Naya. Show proudly your grief and love."
Challen hesitated, unsure whether it was wiser to obey the King or obey custom. Then she saw the smears of the King's blood on the wood of the torch. She could almost hear her father laughing his scorn for customs that smothered people's hearts. She wiped the tears from her eyes as she lifted the veil and let it slide back onto her shoulders.
The King handed her the torch. Challen bowed to him and turned to face the pyre.
"Good-bye, Father,” she whispered. “Wait for me in the Mother's arms.” She knelt and touched the end of the torch to the oil-soaked wood of the pyre and waited until the flames licked around the sides. The King helped her stand when her knees refused to obey.
"Come, and take your father's place,” King Nebazz said.
Take her father's place? Was he serious?
Swallowing a thickness in her throat that could have been tears or hysterical laughter, Challen let the King take her arm and lead her across the wide courtyard to the doors back into the palace. Behind her, the funeral pyre crackled and burst into a mound of writhing golden and red flowers, so hot it drove the onlookers back from all sides.
* * * *
"Crown Prince Doni'Nebazz reminded me that in all the kingdom, you know the Prophecy best. Now that we have lost your father,” the King added after a slight pause.
The Council members stood in a semi-circle behind Challen, who stood facing the King at the foot of the horseshoe of tables. O'klan stood by the door. The Council's lack of reaction told Challen this was no gesture of the King's grief. This was thought out, and if not approved by all, at least agreed to.
Challen bowed her head, acknowledging the King was right. Shazzur had taught her prophecy and all the convoluted possible interpretations as bedtime stories.
"Lady Kena'Shazzur, for the good of the kingdom, take your father's place. Become First Advisor. The Healers Temple vows the hand of the Mother is on you."
"Majesty.” Challen spread her hands helplessly. “I will serve you with all that my father taught me. I have been told that I have great potential, but I fear I will fail you when you need my help the most."
"Modesty is well placed, but all in its proper time,” Chizhedek said from behind her.
Startled, Challen raised her head. Her grandfather nodded to her. His expression was neither smile nor scowl, but something held in reserve. A secret gleamed in his eyes. Challen knew at this moment, he was all High Priest and their blood bond would mean nothing to him if it interfered with serving the Mother and Bainevah.
Strangely, that thought comforted her.
"My father taught me when Mother Matrika wished to use me, I would become a channel for her power. He taught me to be ready,” Challen said. She turned back to the King. “Test me, Majesty. If it is the Mother's wish, I will succeed. If not, she will reveal another to serve you in Father's place."
"Well said,” the King murmured.
"Let the testing begin.” Chizhedek held out his hand. When Challen gave her hand into his grasp, his flesh scorched like lava waiting to burst through the crust of the earth.
He had begun the testing here. Challen almost smiled, recognizing the tests her father had employed as games in her childhood.
Mother Matrika, run like a river through me, she prayed. Water to douse the fire of those who hate Bainevah.
Chizhedek released her. Steam rose from his hand and drops of water flowed across his palm, dripping onto the floor. He nodded, an impressed frown breaking the expressionless mask of his face. He rubbed his hand dry on the side of his white robe.
The King laughed.
"Come, Lady Kena'Shazzur. Come, Priest of the Mother. We will go outside where you will be less likely to bring the palace down around us.” He stood and offered his arm to Challen.
She bowed to him and rested her hand gingerly on his bent elbow. The High Priest followed behind her, and the Council behind him. O'klan hurried down the hallway at their heels.
"Majesty,” she said, as they walked, “I am honored by your trust in me and in Father's teaching, but is this truly the best for Bainevah?"
"We will let the Mother choose.” He squeezed her hand. “Some vow the Mother has already put her mark on you. The winter solstice has never had so definite a sign of approval."
"Perhaps it was your heir who was chosen and not me."
"Perhaps."
They reached the courtyard where the solstice sacrifice had been made. The King released her and gestured to the altar.
"Fire,” Chizhedek said from behind her. There was no emotion in his voice, no indication what he felt or thought. “There is wood laid on the altar. Light it."
Challen saw incense sticks and split logs the length and thickness of her arm, piled in a pyramid on the altar. Her sense of imbalance fled when she realized someone had anticipated the need. Had she passed another test by requesting they test her?
She closed her eyes and bit her lip against warning them that the most she had done was light cooking fires, lanterns, and the clothes of irritating soldiers. Killing the man who tried to kidnap her and kill Prince Mynoch had been a fluke. Challen smiled slightly as she thought of all the opportunities she had let pass by, to fight back when Agrat had been particularly irritating. It was too late now.
The image of the wood filled her mind's eye. Challen envisioned flames, scarlet and gold flowers engulfing the wood. She whispered a silent prayer, and as her father had instructed, made herself an empty bowl, waiting to be used.
A harsh wind yanked at her braids. Something whooshed past her face. Challen staggered when intense heat slapped her. Opening her eyes, she gaped at the man-high pillar of fire roaring on the altar.
"Water, you have already given me,” her grandfather said, and held out his hand to Challen. “The Mother feeds us through the fruit of the ground.” An apricot stone lay in his palm.
Challen's hand trembled as she took it from him. His hand felt damp and cool, not the dry burning that had prompted water.
In the brilliant light of the fire, she saw shadows strong and black from each person in the courtyard. No one there was among the enemies Elzan heard playing Draktan in his visions.
This test wasn't to see whether she was worthy to be an advisor. This was, however, dangerously like the test for a High Priestess, when only women served at Matrika's altar and the High Priestess ruled as Queen.
Healer, scribe, advisor, priestess—would there be any room left to be Challen, who loved and was loved by Elzan?
Shazzur had taught her the motions and words and prayers for this moment. Had he known she would someday need to prove herself worthy to serve the Mother?
Knowing her father, that was more than likely.
"Mother flow through me,” she whispered, raising the apricot stone high in her hand so the morning sunlight spilled over it.
A ring of black earth lay between the altar and the paving stones. Challen knelt and dug with two fingers, making a hole in the soft, moist soil. She inserted the stone and covered it with soil, then pressed both her hands over the spot.
Wet oozed through the dirt under her hands. Challen shivered. Did the water come from her hands, or up through the soil at her moment of need? She focused her mind on the Mother, on the ceremony and prayers her father had taught her. Tears spilled down her cheeks, startling her.
The soil grew warm, as if summer filled the ground. Challen refused to think beyond the moment and her silent prayers. She knew if she did, she would doubt and the flow of power through her could stop.
Shouldn't she feel something? A tingle of power? A jolt, like lightning?
Shazzur had said the river felt nothing different, whether drought or flood, bec
ause it did as it was created to do.
A tickling at her palm almost wrung a cry from Challen. She shifted backwards, smearing wet dirt on her skirts, and took her hands from the damp spot in the soil. Pale green leaves and a soft brown twig poked up from the black earth. Before her eyes, it grew as tall as her hand.
"Majesty.” Challen's voice broke. She struggled to her feet and stepped aside so the others could see.
"Such a depth of power has never manifested before,” Chizhedek murmured. He nodded to her and finally smiled.
Challen looked down. In the few seconds she had looked away, the tiny tree had grown as tall as her knees.
"Keep me strong and wise in your service. I listen, Mother Matrika.” Challen raised her arms high and braced for what would happen next. “Send me your servant to mark me as—"
Wings snapped in a suddenly stiff breeze. Two falcons skimmed into the open courtyard and dove, to land on Challen's outstretched arms. She staggered under their weight. Nerves screamed, waiting for the first sharp stab of their talons.
"Two?” a noble blurted. “When has the Mother ever sent but one to mark her favor?"
"She wishes us to be entirely sure of her choice,” King Nebazz said with a dry chuckle. He pressed his hands together, palm to palm, and bowed low from the waist. “Thank you, blessed Mother, for sending this woman to stand among us as your eyes and ears and voice."
"I hear, Mother Matrika,” Chizhedek called, raising his hands to the sky. “From this moment, Kena'Shazzur is my heir, priestess born, your voice and vessel.” He held out a hand to her. “Well done, Daughter of the Temple. Daughter of Naya. You have proven yourself worthy ten times over."
Challen never felt the falcons lift from her arms, numbed by the chill that flowed through her at his words.
Her father had warned her. Mother Matrika never worked in loud, visible signs unless there was a strong need. The people needed large, bright reminders of her favor and guidance when they moved into times of potential catastrophe.
The King held out his hand to her. Challen barely managed the five steps to reach him before her knees startled to buckle. King Nebazz hooked her arm through his to support her without shredding her dignity. Challen was grateful.
Chizhedek caught her other arm. Nothing but sympathy shone in his eyes now. He understood, if anyone did. The aftermath, as her father had warned, was the worst part of being a vessel for the Mother's power. Challen relaxed into the two supporting arms and let them lead her back to the Council chamber.
* * * *
Shazzur's funeral pyre had been lit at dawn, so the flames could rise with the sun and carry his spirit to Mother Matrika. Challen spent the entire day with the King and the Council and only began to learn the true status of the kingdom. She felt as if she had been living in a box with pretty pictures painted inside to give her a vague idea of the world. Taking her father's duty destroyed the box and tumbled her out into blinding sunshine and overwhelming colors, sounds and scents.
When she left the Council at nightfall, Challen sent O'klan to the Scribes Hall to ask Chief Scribe Cho'Mat if she could see him. The response was that she was always welcome, and old men rarely slept until early morning. Challen suspected the elderly scribe had some inkling of what she needed and was ready.
Haneen would now live with Challen as her right-hand assistant, with her own guard and servants. Challen knew her friend would be delighted at the change.
Challen fell asleep as her bearers brought her back to the palace. O'klan woke her to walk from the chair to her quarters. She suspected that if there hadn't been witnesses, her faithful friend would have carried her asleep to her room.
"Wait.” She stared at the double doors trimmed in gold, at the top of a wide staircase. Her rooms opened off a hallway shared by the concubines; this was an outside entrance, in a different wing of the palace. “This isn't—"
"You have new rooms, Lady,” the eunuch said, keeping his voice soft. “You are now a power in the kingdom. The First Advisor to the King, and future High Priestess, cannot be a concubine."
Challen hoped her face didn't show her surprise, but she was too tired to do anything about it. No longer Elzan's concubine? It was bad enough she wasn't allowed to visit him, but now she was no longer part of his life? She had anticipated the time he could leave the Healers Temple, when they would have the long night hours to comfort each other and talk. She needed Elzan to guide her in her duties, so she could serve the kingdom well and not embarrass her father's memories.
If she was no longer a concubine, then Elzan was no longer her lover. Would they even be allowed to kiss?
"But Lady—Queen Mayar was a concubine, and she is High Priestess of the Healers Temple."
"Yes, but she had already given King Nebazz his son when she rose to her position. It may not seem different to you, Lady, but it is.” O'klan's voice sounded thick with sorrow on her behalf. Challen took what comfort she could get.
Her bed was chill and her pillow damp with tears that night.
If only she could have been a scribe's daughter, and Elzan merely a scribe.
* * * *
Ambassador Anbis of Dreva requested an audience with Challen two days later. After the things Elzan had told her about the Drevans’ questions, their quest, and her father's skillful blocking of their politely phrased demands, Challen could easily guess what the man wanted.
Her untouchable status as a concubine had been removed. That gave her protection, because now no one had the authority to give her to the Drevans and their Priest-King as a peace offering. At the same time, her new status made her even more valuable to them. Challen had read enough incidents in history where the priestess of one demi-god had wed the priest of another demi-god, to unite the two nations and make them both more powerful against a common enemy.
She understood Elzan's teasing disgust with her overwhelming knowledge of history. Challen would have preferred not to know the Drevans had a precedent to follow.
On the other hand, Mother Matrika had given her no guidance in this regard. If Matrika did not order the marriage, Challen would not agree to it. To marry the Priest-King would be to make Matrika subservient to Skataeroz, rather than a partner. It would be the same as if Dreva had conquered Bainevah in a war and made all the Priesthood subservient to Skataeroz and the Bull of Dreva.
She had no choice but to grant Anbis’ request for the meeting. That did not mean, however, she had to see him in her private reception room. Her new quarters were her sanctuary. There, she could close her eyes and pretend Elzan would burst through the door any moment and sweep her off her feet to laugh and love. There, she could cry her loneliness, and no one would ever know. She refused to pollute her sanctuary with even the memory of Anbis’ presence there.
Challen had heard that in Dreva, gifts and powers were more important than birth, wealth or character. No one had authority without some power, gifted by Skataeroz. For all she knew, Anbis could come into her rooms and hear the echoes of her tears. That was too much intimacy to grant someone who she suspected had a hand in Shazzur's death.
After all, Shazzur had built a wall between the Drevans and their goal. Had they killed her father in spiteful retribution, or to remove the barrier by removing his influence?
She met Ambassador Anbis in the gardens, with O'klan to her right, Andorn to her left, and faithful Belten and Oyen standing behind her. The three men had become good friends and requested the honor of being her personal guards. Challen imagined she would feel Elzan present at the interview through them.
Her fears were confirmed when she looked at Anbis, standing among the brilliant flowers and ornamental grasses in the early afternoon sunshine, and he cast no shadow. Neither he nor the two Drevan guards permitted him for this meeting cast any shadow, despite the angle of the sun.
The Bull was the emblem of Dreva, just as the Ram was for Bainevah. If she dreamed of the Bull-man tonight, would he emerge from the shadows at last, and wear Anbis’ face?
Mother Matrika, speak through me, Challen prayed. Fill my mind and lead my steps safely away from whatever trap he builds around me.
She calmed, as if being certain of the man's status took away her fears. Challen set herself to be gracious and use diplomatic, empty words as her weapons and shield.
"Priestess,” the dark-haired, too-thin man said, bowing. His voice flowed in deep music that could mesmerize when combined with the black pools of his eyes. “All Dreva sends greetings and congratulates you on ascending to your proper position of power."
Anbis had lower-rank priests who communicated with their Priest-King through scrying bowls. Why had he spoken of her?
"Thank you, Ambassador. You will please forgive me if I am not yet adept in proper protocol. My esteemed Father had no use for elevated language and gave me little instruction."
She heard a snort from Andorn. A burst of love for Elzan's close friend washed over her. She could depend on him to find humor in this encounter today, no matter how dangerous it grew.
"No, gracious Lady of the Temple, there is no need for apologies. Simplicity and forthrightness are greater beauty and grace than the most highly trained tongue.” His caressing voice sent warm, drowsy ripples through her. Anbis straightened his red and black formal robes with the silver Bull of Dreva across his chest. Challen concentrated on the emblem to avoid his eyes.
What was wrong with her? Was his spicy scent a drug to overpower her mind as it overpowered the lilies in the pond behind her?
"May I ask why you requested this meeting?” Challen caught a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye, but she knew better than to glance away from this man, even for a moment.
"For the sake of peace. For a strong alliance between Dreva and Bainevah. For the fulfillment of prophecies spoken in the Temple of Skataeroz.” He smiled, and Challen would have fled if O'klan's hand did not rest heavily on her shoulder for support.
"Alliance?” she asked, following the silent voice that told her what was the more delicate thread in the conversation.
"You obey the Sacred Marriage, and are now Priestess because of the blessings you brought. I come to speak of a higher and more sacred marriage, Priestess.” Anbis leaned forward and Challen suspected he would leap on her if she were not so well guarded. “It is your destiny, Kena'Shazzur, to join yourself to the Bull of Dreva, the Priest-King of Skataeroz.
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