and they all knew it. He would be leaving her on the mount.
“They will stay in the castle, under my watch,” Banruud said, raising his voice to be heard throughout the assembly. Then he turned back toward his palace, as if he was through with them all.
“You said they would be raised by the keepers,” Lothgar protested. “In the temple.”
“They will be raised with my daughter, in my house,” Banruud shot back. “Princesses of Saylok all.”
A stunned hush fell over the clan representatives, and the king waved his guards forward.
“You will take the daughters to the castle,” he directed them. “A feast awaits.”
“They are supplicants to the temple,” a voice boomed, and the guards hesitated.
An ancient man stood in the center of the courtyard, the light from the fat moon glancing off his face and hollowing out his black eyes and black lips like caves in pale sand. He and his brethren had descended from the steps while the king had made his inspection, and the crowd had been too distracted to notice.
“It is what was agreed upon. They will live in the temple and be guarded by the keepers,” the man continued. His rasping voice raised the hair on Ghisla’s neck, but she was not certain if it was from fear . . . or awe. Unlike the other keepers, he was dressed all in black, and he clutched a short, bejeweled staff in a clawlike hand. He had no hair, and his pale skin dripped from his face like he’d begun to melt in the moonlight. But his voice was strong and his influence stronger. The chieftains seemed to take courage from his presence.
“The Highest Keeper is right. It was what we all agreed upon, Banruud,” Aidan repeated, still astride his horse. The king had dismissed him, but he’d remained in place.
The Highest Keeper. The ancient man was Master Ivo.
“You have no say in the matter, Adyar,” the king shot back. “You have come to the temple mount with your hands empty.”
“I have promised this girl’s mother she will live in the temple and be raised in the safety—and holiness—of the sanctum,” Erskin of Ebba sputtered.
“I have made the same promise to Juliah’s grandfather,” Josef said, his eyes touching on the girl with the warrior braid.
“These clan daughters will be raised like princesses,” Banruud pronounced, pointing at the trembling children. “They will be raised beside my own daughter.”
As if he’d choreographed his argument, a little girl in a tiny crown chose that moment to dash from the arched, raised entry of the palace. She came to a teetering halt in front of the assembled chieftains and their retinues and looked down on them like a performer on a stage.
A gasp rippled through the gathering; even Ghisla shuddered.
The little girl hardly looked real with her pale hair, dark eyes, and honeyed skin. Such coloring should not have existed in the natural world, but it did so in perfect harmony.
A young man with a long, black warrior’s braid dashed out behind her, as if the girl had escaped his watch, but he drew up short when he saw her gaping audience. He was wide shouldered and lean hipped, with arms and legs that were thick with muscle, but his blue eyes were guileless and his skin was as smooth as the child’s. He had the form of a man but the face of a boy.
He is the Temple Boy, Ghisla thought. And the little girl was Princess Alba.
The chieftains fell to their knees, Aidan of Adyar sliding from his charger without a word. Their foreheads touched the earth, and their braids, long again with the five years of his reign, coiled in the dirt beside their heads. The king walked up the steps and swept the princess up in his arms. Her small body stiffened in surprise.
Lothgar tugged on Ghisla’s hand, urging her to her knees. The other girls slowly sank to their knees as well. They were in the presence of the princess, the hope of Saylok, and the king held Alba even higher, reminding his audience what he—not the keepers—had given them.
“The daughters will live in the castle with Princess Alba,” he said again.
“No, Highness. They will be raised by keepers,” Master Ivo insisted. The Highest Keeper had not fallen to his knees. None of the keepers had. They stood before the king, unbending, and the king glowered and raised his daughter even higher into the sky. She cried out and the Temple Boy grimaced, his eyes never