“Daughters of Freya, goddess of fertility, goddess of childbirth, wife of Odin the Allfather, we welcome you,” Ivo cried, turning away from the king and toward the massive stone pyre that loomed cold and dark in the center of the square. The keepers moved behind him, as though they’d devised an entire ceremony beforehand.
“These daughters of the clans, these Daughters of Freya, will be guarded, their lives revered, their virtue defended. They will be a symbol to Saylok just like the runes,” the Highest Keeper thundered. He cut his palm and painted upon the stone hearth with his blood. The rune became flame, whooshing up in a soaring column. The chieftains and their warriors gasped and Ghisla swallowed a scream.
“Saylok needs daughters,” Master Ivo cried. “From this day forward, Chieftains of Saylok, these Daughters of Freya—your daughters—will keep the flame lit. As long as it burns, you will know that your daughters are tending it, that the Keepers of Saylok are tending them, and Saylok will live on.
“We will guard them well, just as we honor the princess,” Master Ivo added, his tone placating but his gaze a challenge. The child in King Banruud’s arms was lit by the glow, and the jeweled crown upon his head cast a glittering rainbow across the faces of the keepers. The kneeling chiefs began to nod, looking from King Banruud and his daughter to the Highest Keeper.
“Bayr of Saylok, a child raised here on the temple mount and blessed with exceeding strength, will be their protector as well, just as he has protected the princess,” the Highest Keeper promised, extending his arms toward the boy as though he presented the chieftains with yet another miracle.
The Temple Boy simply dropped to one knee and bowed his head as though being knighted to the cause. But it was answer enough, and the chieftains rose to their feet, nodding and clutching their braids as though they grasped the hilts of swords slung across their backs. Bayr met the gaze of each one and stood, clasping his own braid in a posture of promise.
“The Temple Boy will guard them,” Aidan shouted, releasing his braid and raising his fist. The chieftains of Ebba, Dolphys, Leok, and Joran did the same, though Benjie of Berne hesitated, his eyes shifting from the king’s face to the men around him. Then he raised his arm slowly, almost fearfully, indicating his support.
“From this day forward, we will call them the Daughters of Freya, and they will be a light to the clans,” Lothgar boomed beside Ghisla, repeating the words of the Highest Keeper like he’d composed them himself.
The princess was squirming to be released, and the king set her down with a look of disdain. She ran up the steps and into the arms of the Temple Boy, choosing him, completing the appearance of an anointing. Bayr rose and, holding the little girl’s hand, bowed to the chieftains again. Then he bowed to the Highest Keeper and finally to the king himself. And still he did not utter a word.
“So be it, Master Ivo. I entrust the Daughters of Freya to your care and to the care of the Keepers of Saylok,” King Banruud said, relenting, though his voice dripped with scorn. “Do not fail me. Do not fail them.” He pointed at the five girls. “If something happens to one of the daughters, the chieftains and the people of Saylok will know who to blame.”
Ghisla did not bid goodbye to Chief Lothgar or his men. She did not even spare them a second glance. She was too angry. Arwin said Lothgar had his own daughters, but Lothgar had not brought his daughters here to be raised by the hairless keepers in their purple robes and bottomless gazes. He had not brought his daughters to be used as pawns by a ruthless king.
Ghisla and the four other girls—Elayne, Juliah, Bashti, and Dalys—were herded up the stone steps and into the temple. The same resignation that had billowed through the clansmen and the keepers followed the girls into the stone edifice and settled on their small frames like little black birds with sharp claws and cawing beaks. Then the doors were closed behind them.
None of them cried, not even the littlest girl, Dalys of Dolphys. She seemed accustomed to being passed from one caregiver to another and was more at ease than any of them. None of them asked questions. They all seemed resigned to their fate, whatever that