As the day of the sacrifice drew nearer, Markos spent more time withNavarre , sitting outside the cage in silence whenNavarre seemed pensive, talking about his own childhood whenNavarre was in the mood to listen.
KnowingNavarre 's penchant for sweets, Markos made sure thatNavarre 's supper always included a tart or some other kind of confection. He changed the scrolls on the shelf each fortnight.
It was just after dawn on a bright spring morning when Markos made an unexpected appearance at the cage door.
"What is it?"Navarre asked, his heart hammering with fear. "Is it time?"
"Not yet," Markos said. "But soon. Katlaina was delivered of a healthy male child less than an hour ago."
A boy. All these months he had clung to the hope that he might sire a daughter instead of a son, that he might somehow escape the fate for which he had been born. There would be no reprieve now. The knowledge left him feeling cold and empty, as though he were already dead.
"When will they come for me?"
"When next the full moon shines."
Two days hence,Navarre thought. A cold sense of dread speared through him. Two days, and his life would be over.
"Markos..."
The guard shook his head. "Do not ask it of me."
"Please."
Markos let out a sigh of resignation. "I cannot promise, but I'll try."
An hour later, Markos returned carrying a small bundle wrapped in a fleecy blue blanket. "You have time for one quick look, that is all."
One quick look.Navarre devoured the child in a single glance, marveling at the infant's tiny fingers and toes, at the thatch of curly black hair, the soft skin that was only slightly wrinkled and red. He felt his heart catch in his throat as the babe opened its eyes and he saw that the boy's eyes were pale gray.
My son, he thought. Joy mingled with despair as the baby's fist curled around his finger.
Tears welled in his eyes as he imagined his son growing up in a room, shut away from the rest of the world.
"My son," he murmured, "forgive me."
Markos cleared his throat. "I must take him back before he is missed."
"I understand. Bless you, Markos, for letting me see him."
"Remember your promise," Markos said.
"I remember,"Navarre replied, his gaze intent upon the infant. "A dozen sons and wealth beyond your imagination."
"Do you... is there anything you want me to tell his mother?"
Slowly,Navarre shook his head. It had all been said.
The next two days were the longest and the shortest of his life.
At dusk the second day, he was taken into a large room and stripped of his clothing. Moments later, a servant was sent in to bathe him. His body was rubbed with fragrant oils and spices. His hair was brushed until it gleamed like polished ebony.
Symbols of fertility and long life were painted on his chest, and then he was dressed in a pair of skin-tight breeches made of delicate cloth of gold. A long cloak made of finely woven black wool lined with whisper-soft crimson silk was draped across his shoulders.
And then the priests entered the room. There were three of them, all clad in long gray robes, their faces hidden within the folds of their cowls.
"You will present these requests to the goddess Shaylyn," said the first of the priests. "You will beg her for a good harvest, for rain in due season."
"You will ask that our women and our beasts will be fertile, that our enemies will be weak, that our men will be strong in battle," said the second.
"You will ask that our crops will be fruitful, that His Eminence will live long, that our people will prosper in the land," added the third.
"And if I refuse?"
"The woman Katlaina will be drawn and quartered, her still-beating heart torn from her breast. Your son will be raised by strangers."
"How will you know if I've delivered your message once I'm dead?"
"The goddess has always granted our requests. Should she fail to do so, we will know that you displeased her," the first priest replied.
"And your mate's life will be forfeit," the second priest remarked, his voice as hard and cold as the stone floor at his feet.
"I will do as you wish,"Navarre said.
The three priests nodded. "We will pray for your soul,Navarre ," they said, their voices blending as one. "May the goddess Shaylyn accept your sacrifice, that your death will not be in vain, that our people may prosper.''
One of the priests offered him a goblet filled with wine. "May your death be as sweet