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  She finished her meat and began breaking chunks off the potatoes, popping the pieces in her mouth and licking her fingers. Her idle gaze was moving over the crowd, looking without seeing, until he walked towards her.

  He towered above the others, surely a least a head taller than herself. Draped in rough cloak that did nothing to disguise the breadth of his shoulders, he walked with calm steps. He was big and strong, with a handsome face and blue, blue eyes.

  Drawn to him, Aketa made to rise. As she pushed herself up her foot slipped in the mud. She fell hard to one knee and hand, the scarf falling from her head to cowl around her neck.

  Warm hands cupped her waist. “Are you hurt?”

  His voice was a low rumble, thick and rich as loamy earth.

  No, I am fine. My name is Aketa, I live in the Southern Foothills. What is your name? You are very tall, and strong. Are you a farmer too?

  Aketa shook her head.

  “Let me help you stand.” The hands at her waist tightened, and then she was standing. He’d lifted her easily, setting her on her feet. Aketa quickly ducked her head in a deep bow, turning it to the side so her face was hidden. His hands fell away from her waist.

  No, don’t let go. Would you like to sit with me?

  “Are you hurt?” he asked again.

  Aketa shook her head.

  “Ah, well,” he stepped away.

  Don’t go.

  “Oh wait, your hand,” he said.

  Aketa looked down to see that her hand was dripping with mud.

  He lifted her dirty hand and began cleaning it with the corner of his cloak. “There is wash water, if you want it. Go to the kitchens and they will get you water and a cloth to clean with.”

  Thank you.

  Aketa looked down at his big hand cradling hers. His was dark from the sun, much as hers was, and there were calluses on his fingertips to match hers. Surely he was a farmer, same as she.

  When her hand was freed of the worst of the mud he let her go, and her hand fell to her side like a weight.

  “Are you certain you are not hurt?” he asked.

  No, I am fine, but I would not refuse your company.

  Aketa nodded.

  “Would you like me to escort you to your family?”

  For a brief moment Aketa considered letting him. Perhaps the escort of this man would, if only for a moment, make her worth something in her father’s eyes. But she’d known the company of a boy before, and it had ended with her the fool.

  She shook her head. Silence stretched between them.

  “Er,” the discomfort was clear in his voice.

  Aketa finger’s trembled with anxiety. Why didn’t she just say something, anything?

  “I bid you good night.”

  Aketa stared at the hem of his mud-stained cloak as he turned away.

  Wait, come back, I’m sorry! I did not mean to cause you discomfort, or to pain you, but there is no one to talk to and I forgot the way. Plus you are a man, and handsome, and that makes you dangerous, so dangerous. Do not think me overbold, but when I lie in the fields and gaze at the stars and imagine what it is to not be alone I imagine a man tall and fine of face, with strong arms, holding me. I imagine a man like you and how I wish, oh how I wish, I had the courage to say it.

  The words tumbled and rolled in her mind, a mess of emotion more than clear thoughts. But still she said nothing.

  Aketa looked up, prepared to see the back of his head as he walked away.

  Instead she looked into a pair of sky blue eyes. He looked at her, looked into her eyes, and was the first person to do so in years.

  She turned, heart beating so fast she could hear the rush of blood in her ears. She fumbled with her scarf, pulling it into place with shaking fingers, as she skittered away, terrified of what he might have seen.

  Aketa wound between the seated people, breath growing harsh as tears knotted deep in her chest. She did not cry, but the tears were there, pressing against her throat and burning her lungs.

  When she reached the outbuildings of the Palace, she followed her nose to the kitchen. Holding out her dirty hand in explanation, Aketa waited near the door as a kitchen maid fetched her a wet cloth.

  She was foolish. Bitter experience should have taught her to keep all people away. Somehow she had not learned, had not been hurt enough by her past, to completely murder the longing for a man’s arms around her. She’d known that once. Known what it was to smell a man’s skin, to feel his arms around her, strong and sure, holding her close. Known what it was to anticipate each day, look forward to a future.

  She’d known love, but it had been an illusion.

  Hating herself for being so weak as to continue to desire something she would never have, Aketa cleaned off her hand and swiped at her skirt. Luckily the already drying mud barely showed against the fabric, which itself had once been a wooly-white, but was now brown with use.

  After handing the cloth back with a nod of thanks, she made her way to her family. She’d held no great desire to attend this feast, having barely thought on the summons once they’d heard the crier’s words, but now her ambiguity was gone. She wanted to leave. She did not want to be in this place anymore, knowing there was blue-eyed man here who sparked her desire.

  Chapter 4

  “Most have eaten, when do you want to call the girls in?”

  “We must find Moregon.”

  “I’m here,” Moregon said, stepping into the Palace’s massive receiving room. His voice echoed against the smooth stone walls and floor.

  “Did you enjoy yourself?” Cryessa asked, picking up her skirts and climbing the dias steps.

  “There are many girls,” Moregon said. It was not an answer, but he was still thinking of the girl.

  “Pretty girls?” Tamlohn asked, plucking his crown from the seat of the throne and placing it on his forehead.

  “Very pretty,” Moregon answered. All he could remember was green eyes.

  “I am glad,” Cryessa said as Tamlohn walked to the far side of the chamber, his head held high, steps easy and light.

  “Moregon, stand by me.”

  Moregon moved to the Queen’s side, taking a position behind and to the side of her throne. It was a position he’d occupied for many years when, as a Zinah his first priority had been her safety.

  “Stand here beside me,” the Queen chided, and Moregon moved forward.

  The other former Zinahs and Anleeh’s beloved Siara filtered into the chamber, dressed in their finest. Rohaj joined Tamlohn at the doors to the receiving room.

  When the doors were flung open, the last of the fading sunlight arrowed across the floor. Rohaj went down the short hall that extended from the chambers' double doors to a second set, even more imposing. He nodded to guards, who pulled them open.

  Beyond those doors were wide steps that descended to the courtyard. The guards who stood at the bottom of the steps moved away as the doors opened. The girls of appropriate age, whom the criers were herding towards the steps, stopped their giggling and chatter.

  When none of the girls moved, the guards looked at one another, then at the top of the steps. Rohaj sighed. Every eye was on him as he descended the steps. When he reached the bottom, most of the girls backed away.

  He arrowed in on a pair of pretty girls who clung to one another, their eyes huge as he approached.

  Rohaj stopped, bowed, and held an arm out to each girl. Their faces grew soft and rosy with the romance of it, and they each took an arm. Rohaj turned and escorted them up the steps. A duckling trail of girls followed, until the width of the steps was full.

  Hugging the wall, Aketa watched from the shadow cast by her scarf. Families were clustered around the edges of the steps, shouting encouragement to their daughters.

  A crier approached Aketa.

  “Miss, please join the others in the Palace receiving room.”

  Aketa kept her head bowed.

  “She don’t need to go. We have fields to farm and will be leaving
now,” Markum said.

  Aketa flinched away from his voice, but was desperately grateful that for once her father’s wishes were in line with her own.

  “You wish to leave now sir? There will be music and dance while the girls have their first audience, and once they are finished there will be pies and custards.”

  “Pie, you say?”

  Oh no.

  “Aketa, get goin’ in there. Now.”

  The force of her father’s command pushed at her. She could refuse. If she remained silent and still he would yell but eventually her mother would insist they leave. She could get away from the place, from the man who’d tempted her with no more than a look.

  They would return to the farm, and there they would remain. Days, mayhap even months, would pass before she went anywhere.

  Aketa stepped away from the wall, head low.

  It would be only women inside, so Aketa would not have to face the blond man again. Despite her anxiety, she was not quite ready to sink back in to the abyss.

  She wended her way through the crowd, which had started to disperse from the steps, the majority of the girls having already gone inside. There were several other girls who had also just arrived at the steps, and Aketa hurried in front of them, not wanting to be the last one in.

  She mounted the steps, and passed through the double doors into the Palace.

  There were girls crowding the hallway that led to a second set of double doors. Oil-pans suspended from the ceiling threw off flickering light, but the greatest brilliance flowed from the receiving chamber beyond. Light and sound poured forth in blinding and deafening abundance.

  Aketa looked over her shoulder to the young night sky and took several deep breaths. She’d never been confined in a building with so many other people, and the feeling of being closed in grew worse as other girls filed in behind her.

  She could easily see over the heads of the others into the room beyond. She risked a quick glance, and then ducked down, overwhelmed.

  Time passed with agonizing slowness as the press of girls shuffled forward. At the threshold two servants directed traffic, sending the girls in individually. When Aketa’s turn came she kept her head down.

  She could barely hear the servant’s instructions through buzzing in her ears, but when he motioned her forward, she went.

  Aketa walked the length of the receiving room, her padding footfalls steady and rhythmic against the marble. She stopped when she reached the dias, and stared at the hem of a green dress.

  From her brief glimpse of the room, Aketa knew she was facing the Queen. She didn’t understand what she was supposed to do, as the instructions had been lost to her, and so Aketa stood there, shoulders hunched, head bowed, radiating fear and discomfort.

  * * * *

  Surely it was the same girl.

  Moregon, standing beside the Queen’s throne, resisted the urge to lean forward and peer at the girl’s face.

  She was tall, gloriously so, but huddled her body in on itself. She wore an ugly dress of rough brown wool, unevenly dyed. Moregon would never consider himself a connoisseur of fashion, but even he could tell the dress was of poor quality and did not fit correctly. The loose sleeves had been pulled up and buttoned in place above her elbow, revealing tanned forearms, lean with muscle.

  Her forearms were the only bit of flesh he could see. She wore a scarf over her head, the ends tucked into the bodice of her dress. The scarf and angle of her neck served to hide her face, rendering her anonymous.

  If he could see her eyes he would know her. The instant claimed by recognition was quickly followed by a moment pregnant with uncomfortable silence. He could feel her suffering, as surely as if it were his own. She was frightened, or uncomfortable, or both. She should not suffer like this.

  He took a half step forward, then caught himself. It was the first time he’d moved in the whole of the audience, and those few who hadn’t already been watching the tableau now turned their attention to the humbled girl.

  She leaned forward a little more, as if the pressure of those additional gazes weighed on her.

  “Priestess,” Moregon murmured, forgetting the correct address is his concern. He felt Cryessa’s gaze on him. “Please,” he added, gesturing faintly to the girl.

  “Step forward,” the Queen said, and the girl hesitantly obeyed. “What is your name?”

  The girl jerked, fingers visibly shaking before she twisted them in her skirts, causing the hem to rise, displaying worn boots.

  Moregon turned to the Queen again. Before he could speak the Queen rose from the throne. Silence filled the room like gas, pressing down on them, as every person in the receiving room watched.

  The Queen stepped down and laid a hand on the girl’s bare forearm, turning her head to the side, eyes half lidded. Moregon knew she was touching the girl’s mind.

  After a silent span, no longer than a breath, the Queen released her, turned, and mounted the steps.

  “Thank you, Aketa,” the Queen said, “please join the others.”

  The girl, Aketa, jerked in surprise when the Queen spoke her name, and, in her shock, looked up. It was then she caught sight of Moregon. She drew in one long breath, and though her features were shadowed, he saw her eyes were green.

  Chapter 5

  The blond man was here. He was here and he was important!

  There was no mistaking him, she would never forget such a face, but the courtly dressed man standing beside the Queen was a far cry from the simple farmer she’d taken him for.

  Pressed to the wall, Aketa examined the scene, coming to a conclusion she was loathe to believe.

  The handsome object of her desire was Lord Moregon.

  A ball of shame and embarrassment formed in her stomach. How foolish she was to have, for even the briefest moment, lusted after him. Men would never pay her heed, and certainly not one of Lord Moregon’s stature. Aketa was absurdly grateful she hadn’t made a fool of herself by speaking, which would have made the situation all the more unbearable.

  She wanted to go, wanted to return to the open sky and smell of warm earth. The lure of more time away from the farm, and her family, had briefly tempted her, and prompted her to mount the steps of the Palace, but now she saw that impulse for the folly it was.

  The last of the girls came forward, stuttering out their names when the Queen asked for them. The Queen rose, and a hush fell over the crowd, which had been chattering quietly.

  “Honored maidens,” the Queen intoned, voice clear as lark’s song. “Thank you for gathering with us this night. I have asked you here in the hopes that one of you might find the favor of our beloved Lord Moregon.”

  Aketa looked and Moregon, who ducked his head slightly at the Queen’s words.

  “I have spoken with each one of you, and have looked within you for the presence of those things the Lord seeks: strength, courage and wit. Time now has come for most of you to return to your homes with your families. I hope that you will think back on this night with joy and laughter. A few will remain here in the Palace, to further compete for Lord Moregon’s considerable charms.”

  There was a ripple of giggles, and Aketa’s eyes dropped to the front of his pants. She sucked on her lower lip, worrying the scared flesh there, and wondered exactly how considerable his charms were. Not that she would ever find out.

  “King Tamlohn will call names. If your name is not called, leave with the blessing of myself, the King, and the Goddess. If your name is called, please practice patience as the others leave, and then we will convene.”

  With that the Queen sat, yielding the floor to the King. A dark haired woman, curved and lush in white fur-trimmed garments, passed the King a roll of parchment. He stood, tall and slim, red hair pulled back from a handsome face, and began reading. The list was short, only fifteen names.

  The last name called was Aketa.

  The King thanked and dismissed the girls, but the words were lost on Aketa, who stood, mouth open in shock. It could not be. H
ow could one such as she have been chosen? She did not want to be chosen, did not want to remain here in the oppressive halls of the Palace. She wanted to go home, to the sky and wheat, to the earth and water.

  Perhaps she’d imagined it. Spending so much time with only herself for company must have warped her mind, until she imagined hearing something … something she secretly wanted.

  Foolish, foolish girl. He was not meant for her, she was not good enough for him. But she wanted him, had fallen for a kind touch and blue eyes. If only he were not a Lord, not the center of this mad wife-quest. She could return to her fields and imagine he was out there somewhere, thinking of her, and then she would dream of the day they met again, and how he would take her away from her life, from her family, and touch her and talk with her. She would imagine a life of beauty and trust with him, of laughter and mayhap children, children they would protect fiercely.

  But that dream would not take root; she would always know that he was here, in the Palace, married to a fair maid who caught his fancy and won his heart.

  And so she’d imagined hearing her own name called. Convinced of this, sick to her stomach with the truth of it, Aketa turned her face away from the dias, watching and waiting for the room to clear a bit more before she tried to leave.

  A few smiling, giggly girls passed by her, on their way to the throne, to claim their spots in the race for Lord Moregon. They were all short and slender, with long hair.

  Aketa closed her eyes and swallowed.

  “We are missing one. Aketa. Aketa.” The King’s words cut through her thick misery, and Aketa cautiously turned her head. There was a gaggle of girls around the King, who stood, parchment in hand, looking right at her.

  “Aketa,” he said again. “Would you join us?”

  Aketa jerked her head up and down, and rushed over to the dias.

  Foolish girl. For the first time in many turns of the year, she was smiling.

  * * * *

  Moregon paced the halls. It was near dawn, and the Palace had just settled into sleep. The massive effort to produce tonight’s grand feast had resulted in an exhausted but satisfied lull over the Palace . There was still work to do, cleaning up and breaking down, but it would be easy compared to what had come before. Yet Moregon paced the halls.