to the dead man at his feet. “Leave. All of you, go.”
The exodus from the throne room was an almost silent stampede. No one spoke, no one protested. Ghisla stood on hollow legs until Dagmar stepped forward to escort her from the room behind the keepers.
“She stays,” Banruud grunted, pointing at Ghisla. “Her screams woke me up . . . she can damn well sing me back to sleep.”
Two hours later—the king had been slow to settle—Ghisla staggered back to the temple, escorted by a guard who said nothing and kept his eyes locked straight ahead. Banruud’s message had been received.
Bilge’s heavy body had been strung up on the north gate for all to see, but Ghisla kept her eyes averted. She was not sorry he was dead, but she was horrified by it.
She entered the temple through the main doors, stepping into the huge foyer with the rising stone staircases on either side, and paused, dropping her chin to her chest and allowing herself a moment to breathe.
She was famished, and she marveled at the normalcy of the sensation. Life continued. The keepers would have already gathered in the dining hall, and breakfast would be over. They were nothing if not structured, nothing if not punctual. A man had been slain in front of them, but naught could be done about it now. And the fact that he was not a good man made it easier to overlook.
She ignored her hunger. She could not eat with the stench of blood and death in her nose, and her face ached with every beat of her heart. She needed to wash and she needed her bed more than she needed food. Her nightdress stank of sweat and terror, and her purple robe was splattered with the blood from her nose. She did not want to consider that it was Bilge’s blood.
“Liis of Leok,” Master Ivo said from the shadows.
She raised her head and found him, standing near the entrance to the sanctum.
“I need to speak to you, Daughter.”
She did not have the strength to commune with the Highest Keeper, and she hesitated.
“Come,” he ordered, entering the sanctum. She followed, but when he sat in his throne, she collapsed onto a stone bench not far from him and lowered her eyes.
“I mean no disrespect, Master. I am weary.”
“There is a great deal I don’t know about you, Liis of Leok.”
“There is a great deal I don’t know about you, Master.” She sounded impudent, and his response was cold.
“I am not your enemy, child.”
“I am not a child, Master.”
“No. You are not. And you have caught the king’s eye. That is not good.”
“I have not caught his eye. I have caught . . . his ears.”
“Yes. This is true.”
She closed her eyes and willed him to be finished with her.
“Why were you in the cellars, Liis? So late, and all alone.”
She had not expected the question, and her eyes snapped open.
“I was not in the cellars, Master. Bilge of Berne summoned me from my bed.”
“No. Months ago . . . when you were attacked. You were in the cellars in the wee hours of morning. Why?”
“Sometimes I want to sing, just to sing. It comforts me. I don’t want to wake anyone, and often I don’t want company.” It was a poor excuse, and it fell from her lips with a disingenuous ring.
“It is hard to know who to trust, isn’t it?” the Highest Keeper mused.
She did not answer him.
“It is even harder to know what is right,” he added.
“I am not sure there is . . . right. Only . . . good.” Bayr was good. Hod was good. Elayne, Alba, and her sisters were mostly . . . good. But everything else—everyone else—was a roiling pot of secrets and self-preservation. Including Ghisla herself.
“But there is truth. The truth is right. The truth is good. And that is what I seek.”
He held out his hand, his gnarled fingers trembling. She had never touched the Highest Keeper before. She was afraid to do so now. She didn’t want to hear his thoughts. She didn’t want him to hear hers . . . and she knew, somehow, he would. But she took his hand, unable to resist the pull of his will. He stilled, and his eyes fluttered closed.
“Will you tell me the truth, Liis?”
“Will you use it to harm?”
He seemed taken aback by the question.
“For every truth you give me, I will give one back.”
“I don’t want your truths, Master.” She had pockets