“Bayr of Saylok, a child raised here on the temple mount and blessed with exceeding strength, will be their protector as well, just as he has protected the princess,” the Highest Keeper promised, extending his arms toward the boy as though he presented the chieftains with yet another miracle.
The Temple Boy simply dropped to one knee and bowed his head as though being knighted to the cause. But it was answer enough, and the chieftains rose to their feet, nodding and clutching their braids as though they grasped the hilts of swords slung across their backs. Bayr met the gaze of each one and stood, clasping his own braid in a posture of promise.
“The Temple Boy will guard them,” Aidan shouted, releasing his braid and raising his fist. The chieftains of Ebba, Dolphys, Leok, and Joran did the same, though Benjie of Berne hesitated, his eyes shifting from the king’s face to the men around him. Then he raised his arm slowly, almost fearfully, indicating his support.
“From this day forward, we will call them the Daughters of Freya, and they will be a light to the clans,” Lothgar boomed beside Ghisla, repeating the words of the Highest Keeper like he’d composed them himself.
The princess was squirming to be released, and the king set her down with a look of disdain. She ran up the steps and into the arms of the Temple Boy, choosing him, completing the appearance of an anointing. Bayr rose and, holding the little girl’s hand, bowed to the chieftains again. Then he bowed to the Highest Keeper and finally to the king himself. And still he did not utter a word.
“So be it, Master Ivo. I entrust the Daughters of Freya to your care and to the care of the Keepers of Saylok,” King Banruud said, relenting, though his voice dripped with scorn. “Do not fail me. Do not fail them.” He pointed at the five girls. “If something happens to one of the daughters, the chieftains and the people of Saylok will know who to blame.”
Ghisla did not bid goodbye to Chief Lothgar or his men. She did not even spare them a second glance. She was too angry. Arwin said Lothgar had his own daughters, but Lothgar had not brought his daughters here to be raised by the hairless keepers in their purple robes and bottomless gazes. He had not brought his daughters to be used as pawns by a ruthless king.
Ghisla and the four other girls—Elayne, Juliah, Bashti, and Dalys—were herded up the stone steps and into the temple. The same resignation that had billowed through the clansmen and the keepers followed the girls into the stone edifice and settled on their small frames like little black birds with sharp claws and cawing beaks. Then the doors were closed behind them.
None of them cried, not even the littlest girl, Dalys of Dolphys. She seemed accustomed to being passed from one caregiver to another and was more at ease than any of them. None of them asked questions. They all seemed resigned to their fate, whatever that was, though each girl handled her strain differently.
The keepers, so regal and silent in the square, scurried off like terrified mice when the temple doors were secured. None of them seemed to know what to do with five small females. The Highest Keeper barked orders at a man named Dagmar, who remained behind, and the girls were brought to a dining hall and served a simple supper in the cavernous and deserted room.
As before, everyone assumed Ghisla was far younger than she was. They thought she was younger that Elayne, mayhaps the same as Juliah, but older than Bashti and Dalys. Elayne said she was twelve. That made Ghisla the oldest girl there by two years.
Ghisla didn’t bother correcting the assumptions. She had no intention of ever telling the truth again, at least not where it concerned her life and her past, and Elayne would be better in the role as oldest. She looked oldest. She also seemed genuinely kind and eager to make the best of things, though from her pale cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, it was easy to see that she’d succumbed at some point to fear and sadness too.
Juliah of Joran bristled with hostility when anyone looked at her, and Bashti of Berne was just the opposite. She wanted everyone to look at her.
She attempted to be the court jester, juggling the apples someone had placed on the table where the girls were instructed to sit for their supper. Bashti wasn’t without skill, and Dalys clapped for her performance, but Juliah swiped one while it was in the air, throwing Bashti off her rhythm. Juliah took a huge bite out of it, the juice and bits of apple falling from her mouth as she chewed, insolent.
Bashti’s temper flared at the rude interruption, and Elayne moved between the girls from Berne and Joran in an effort to diffuse the tension. They all ended up eating in weary silence, their eyes on their food, shivering in the candlelit hall while listening to Master Ivo and Dagmar discuss their predicament.
The two men had waited until the keepers on supper duty were gone, but like many men not accustomed to females, they assumed their conversation was being ignored or unheard. It wasn’t. Though she bowed her head over her dinner, spooning in the broth of a weak soup and shoveling bread into her hungry belly, Ghisla was listening intently. She assumed the other girls were too.
“I had hoped the chieftains would not obey the king,” Keeper Dagmar said. He was handsome, with pale-blue eyes and skin that did not have the pallor of so many of the other keepers. He seemed younger than most of the other keepers too, though the Highest Keeper looked so ancient, everyone was young in comparison.
“I knew they would. So did you, Dagmar,” the Highest Keeper scoffed. “The chieftains are afraid. Saylok is afraid. A girl child from each clan—adopted by each clan—is their way of fighting back against a faceless foe, of preserving life, of bartering with the gods. Bringing a daughter to the temple is like storing gold in the ground, sewing jewels into a cloak, or hoarding food against a weak harvest.”
“What do we do, Master?” Dagmar worried, his eyes on the huddled daughters eating in the flickering candlelight.
“They are supplicants, Dagmar. We will treat them as such,” Ivo replied.
“They are not supplicants! They are children who have been ripped from their homes.”
Ivo sighed. “We ask nothing of them, Dagmar. Nothing. We will simply keep them safe.”
Dagmar shook his head and his tone was one of anguish. “I cannot protect Bayr. I cannot protect these girls. You saw the king this night. Bayr is at his mercy. These girls are at his mercy. He will use them to increase his power. It is a sham, Master.”
“Only to the king, Dagmar. Not to me. Not to Saylok.”
“They are just little girls,” Dagmar said. “Can we do this, Master?”
“We can. We will. And when the king leaves for Ebba, you must retrieve the ghost woman from the fields and bring her here. She will help us.”
After supper, Keeper Dagmar laid five pallets by the fire in the kitchen. The keepers had not yet prepared a permanent space for them, and every other room felt dark and cold.
The littlest girls tossed and turned in their sleep. Elayne moaned as though she wrestled with bad dreams, and Juliah lashed out at invisible foes. But Ghisla lay perfectly still, contemplating nothing and everything.
The girl with hair like flames—Elayne of Ebba—slept next to her. Hody would be entranced by the color.
Why was she thinking of him? Why was she calling him Hody like he was one of her brothers and not just a boy she’d known for a handful of days?
She answered her own question: Hod was alive and her brothers were dead. Hod still existed, and her family was gone.