her, giving her everything he could in the snippets of time and space they spent together.
Ghisla knew all of Arwin’s foibles and faults. She knew of his tests and his tricks and the way he tutored and trained Hod, convinced that someday the blind god would complete his penance and rise again.
“I fear his disappointment will be great if I simply end up being a man with sharp ears, a good nose, and a steady hand,” Hod said one evening.
“What does he want you to be?”
“He wants me to be a hero.”
“What kind of hero?”
“He is convinced someday I will be the Highest Keeper.”
“Is that what you wish?”
“I thought it was, once. I had no ambitions of my own. I was happy to let Arwin dream for both of us.”
“And now?”
“Now . . . I have my own aspirations.”
“Tell me.”
“I dream of breaking the curse. And I dream of being near you.”
“Will that ever happen? Will I ever see you again? I know nothing about runes. But I speak to you through a rune on my hand. Sometimes I think I am crazy. Am I crazy, Hod? I hear voices. I hear your voice. But are you even real? Or are you just a figment of my imagination?”
He laughed, though she was half-serious. “It will happen soon.”
“How soon?” she asked, too cautious to give in to the excitement she sensed bubbling beneath his words.
“I am coming to the Tournament of the King. I am coming to Temple Hill.”
Ghisla watched for him all day. He’d said he would be here, in the square, when the temple doors were opened to the people of Saylok on the third day of the tournament, but when Ghisla, Elayne, Bashti, Dalys, and Juliah were escorted onto the dais in front of the temple, she could see nothing but the same endless crush of people trying to position themselves to obtain an audience with the keepers and see the daughters.
A platform had been erected between the columns to the left of the heavy temple doors. Their hair was twisted with ribbons and wrapped around their heads, and each daughter wore a new robe in the color of her clan. Princess Alba had even joined them for a while, wearing a yellow gown to represent Adyar.
Elayne of Ebba wore orange; she looked like a tall, thin flame with her red hair and fiery robes. Juliah complained about the brown of Joran, though it was the same chocolate as her eyes and echoed the richness of her hair. The color contrasted with the cream of her skin and complemented the ruby of her lips.
“Brown is like soil—deep and warm and rich. You look like the goddess of the harvest,” Elayne soothed, always knowing what to say. But she was right. Juliah was now fifteen, and she’d become a beauty overnight, though she seemed confused and even resentful of it.
They were all a little resentful and more than a little apprehensive. They were looked on differently, and there was new tension in the temple. Ghisla was eighteen, Elayne sixteen, and Bashti thirteen; Dalys and Alba were the only daughters who still looked like children, though Alba at almost ten was already tall and towered over tiny Dalys, who was a year older.
Master Ivo had grown exceedingly pensive as the tournament had approached. The chieftains would be assembling, the people gathering, and the changes in the daughters would be well noted.
The new robes were his idea.
“We cannot hope to hide you in purple any longer, not at the tournament. You are not keepers of the runes . . . You are kept by the runes. You are becoming women, but we must remind the people that you are their ambassadors. That you are symbolic, like the goddess Freya herself, separate and unattainable. You are women . . . but you will not be wives. That must be made abundantly clear.”
Bashti wore the red of Berne and had stained her lips to match, much to Ghost’s horror. She looked too fierce and too . . . female, but the Highest Keeper said to let her be.
“She looks like she’s sipped the blood of her enemies . . . and enjoyed every drop,” Ghost argued.
“I know. That is good. Better that people fear her, in my opinion. They will keep their distance.”
Dalys wore the blue of Dolphys and looked as delicate as Bashti looked immortal. Ghost put tiny white flowers in her hair and demanded she stand nearest the guard, afraid that