Page 7 of The Half King
“Already?” Cerise glanced in the direction of her bedroom. Surely she owned more possessions than a servant could have packed by now.
“It’s done. Now come, girl. Don’t make me tell you again.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
As Cerise made her way out of the garden room and noticed the luggage waiting for her on the other side, a thought occurred to her. She wondered what type of clothing the servants had packed for her. Would she continue to wear the gown of an oracle in training? Would she change into the robes of a novice Seer? Or would the king expect her to dress for court in the same silk finery that Mama and Nina wore? None of those roles fit. Cerise wasn’t an oracle—at least she didn’t think so—and her status as a second-born meant she belonged in service to the goddess, not to the world of men.
What was she now?
She wanted to ask, but she had already tested the Reverend Mother’s patience too much to broach a topic as frivolous as clothing. So she remained silent and exchanged goodbye kisses with her family. After they left, the Reverend Mother settled a hand on Cerise’s shoulder and said her own goodbye.
“This is where our paths diverge, my girl. I will miss you, even though you confounded me to the end of my wits.”
“I’m sure I’ll be back someday, Your Grace.”
The Reverend Mother shook her head. “I do not know where your path ends, but you will never return to this temple.”
Cerise chose not to point out all the times the Reverend Mother had been wrong about her path. The future could change. She had to believe it was possible to come home to her temple. Any other outcome was too frightening to consider.
“Remember, my girl, calm and compassion will guide you. Do not be afraid. Keep the vision alive, even if it means keeping it to yourself.” The Reverend Mother turned her eyes to the animated murals on the ceiling. “The goddess has plans for you, Cerise.”
When Cerise looked up, her gaze found the wrathful side of Shiera’s face—one eye blazing, half an upper lip hitched above a lethal incisor. A chill skittered down her spine. She had no doubt the goddess had redirected her path.
But which side had plotted the course?
3
With no windows in her cabin, Cerise caught her first glimpse of Mortara when the ship docked and she made her way onto the deck. The first sensation to strike her was the heat.Goddess. Scorching and dry, it swept over her like the bellows of a flame, heady with the scents of lemongrass and musk. In the time it took for her to walk to the railing, she learned she would have to find a different wardrobe than the satiny dresses she had worn at the temple. Something loose and airy, like the clothes that the scurrying dockworkers and line-handlers wore, with long, linen sleeves to stave off the sun.
Voices tumbled over one another, creating a cacophony as workers used pulleys to unload boxes and trunks onto the dock. Cerise put on her best temple demeanor and nodded at some of the sailors as she passed, then looked away from the bustle of activity and surveyed the land that would be her new home.
To the west, greenish-brown clover rolled as far as she could see, leading to a mountain range on the horizon. The crags pushed to the sky—cruel, jagged peaks that sent a shiver down her spine.
That was the place.
The place where the Great Betrayal happened.
The very same mountain peak on which the four noble dynasties had gathered together and conspired to slay the goddess. Conspired and failed, resulting in a thousand years of curses for the noble firstborns and the lands of Mortara.
Very little of value was produced here, barring a few spices and rare gems from the mountains. Most of the vegetation was cultivated with the magic of the palace priests, or else imported from the other lands. She glanced down at the water sloshing against the dock, finding no trace of floating seagrass or saltweed.
Not even fish could thrive in such a cursed place.
To the east stood one of the city’s outer walls, constructed from stone and tall enough that only the temple spire was visible above it. She didn’t know what manner of protection the wall provided, but there were tales of strange beasts and anomalies created by the goddess’s spilled blood. Cerise had assumed that some of the stories were fables.
Well, she was among fables now.
…
Dusk had fallen during the ride to the palace, which meant the king had vanished for the evening. Cerise couldn’t deny the relief that swept over her as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. She didn’t want to meet the king until she was fresh and rested. She didn’t want to meetanyoneuntil she’d had a proper bath. With any luck, she would arrive at suppertime and avoid introductions until morning.
Two guards met her carriage at the gatehouse, each man dressed in a lightweight tan uniform that bore the Mortara crest of a single mountain divided in half by a spear. The guards wore metal blades at their hips. Cerise studied the tapered edges and the needle-fine points of each sword. She had never seen a weapon up close before. There had been no need for them at the temple. Priests provided defense as well as instruction.
All thoughts of weapons disappeared as the gatehouse doors parted to reveal a crowd of palace workers waiting on the other side. She had just enough time to blink before the crowd erupted in a chorus of cheers.
Panic rose in her chest. What was happening?
Someone shouted, “She’s here! The blessed oracle is here!”
