are growing,” Ghost said as they shook out their aprons and washed their hands. Ghost never ventured out of the temple or down into the village. She rarely even walked the mount. She was afraid of the king. They all were, but even when the king was gone and Temple Hill breathed easy, Ghost did not change her habits.
Ghisla was not the only one who had noticed Ghost’s tendencies. Bashti had a theory and shared it with her sisters—as they’d begun to call each other—while they prepared for bed.
“She doesn’t want to be seen because she thinks she is ugly. People stare . . . and it makes her sad.”
“People stare at all of us, Bashti,” Elayne said. “But at least our hair has begun to grow.” Elayne had surprised them all when she’d refused to cut her hair again. She’d promised to keep it covered until it was long enough to weave into a tight circle around her head, and the Highest Keeper had relented. The chieftains had complained to the Highest Keeper and the king that they were ugly; Ghisla had heard it in a keeper’s thoughts. She’d clasped his hand at mealtime with a song of worship still ringing in her head, and his voice was loud and clear.
“They are girls. And the people want them to look like Daughters of Freya, not keepers. They are hideous this way.”
Their hair had all grown long enough now to braid it around their crowns. It did not flow down their backs like that of most women in the clans, but it set them apart from the shorn keepers, and it was a vast improvement from the early days. Even Ghost wore her hair thus, though she continued to blacken her eyes like the keepers. Ghisla thought her magnificent, regardless of what Bashti claimed.
Bashti rolled her eyes. “They do not stare at us for the same reasons, Elayne. They stare at you because you are beautiful.”
Elayne smiled, pleased, but Bashti was just getting started.
“And you will soon be old enough to wed. They stare at Liis because she is beautiful too, and everyone is hoping she will sing. But people stare at Ghost and me because we are outsiders. We can’t pass for clan daughters. She is too pale, and I am too dark. Yet here we are.” Bashti folded her arms with a harrumph and stuck out her lips, daring the others to disagree.
Elayne stood and coaxed Bashti to take her hands. “You are Bashti. You are not an outsider. You are one of us. A Daughter of Freya.”
“I am Bashti, but I am not of Saylok. I do not even remember where I’m from.”
“It is better not to remember,” Liis said tremulously, drawing the eyes of her sisters. She turned away, folding her dress inside the chest at the foot of her bed.
“I do not look like a Daughter of Freya,” Bashti cried, and Liis relaxed. She hadn’t meant to interrupt.
“The keepers all attempt to look alike,” Elayne said. “But I think . . . it makes them . . . disappear.”
“Disappear?” Juliah scoffed. “I sometimes wish Keeper Amos would disappear. He drones on and on and never ceases.”
“The keepers want to disappear as individuals,” Elayne explained. “They want to blend into each other. To present oneness. But I like that I am different. That we are different. None of us are the same. Not me, or you, or Juliah, or Dalys, or Liis. I do not want to disappear. Do you?”
Bashti shook her head. “No. I want everyone to look at me.” They all laughed because it was true. Bashti wanted to be the very center of attention, all the time. The only one who got more attention was Alba, though she was happy to share.
“I do not know why Ghost hides,” Elayne said. “But you should never hide. If people stare, it is because you are special. You are Bashti, the performer. Bashti, the dancer, and Bashti the jester. You are a daughter of the temple, and there is only one of you. You are rare and wonderful.”
“Rare and wonderful?” Bashti said, her pout giving way to a grin.
“Yes. And beautiful, though rare is far better than beautiful. Rare is never ugly,” Elayne said, smiling too. “Now, please . . . can we go to sleep?”
Elayne doused the light and they all crawled into bed, and for once the dark silence was not a relief. It felt more like . . . disappearing.