“Your shrieking has disturbed the king,” Bilge spat.
“Your men seem to think the temple daughters are here for their pleasure,” Master Ivo roared without preamble.
The king glowered at the Highest Keeper and rubbed his temples.
“Months ago, Liis of Leok was attacked by an unknown warrior. She did not see his face. It was dark, but he wore a warrior’s braid. She screamed and startled him, and he ran. We never discovered who it was. Now we know the likely offender. The temple daughter cannot sing for you, King Banruud, if she is not safe in your service.”
“She screamed so loud, my ears bled,” Bilge whined. “I thought she was having a fit. I only hit her to make her stop.”
The king studied her bleeding face.
“Did Bilge strike you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I screamed.”
“Why did you scream?”
“He put his hands where he should not.”
Bilge protested again, but the king leveled him with a look that made even Master Ivo step back.
“Ring the bells. I want everyone here, in the hall. Everyone. Even the keepers. Now,” the king ordered. A sentry rushed to obey, but Bilge was directed to stay put.
Minutes later, the king’s guard stumbled into the hall, sleepy eyed and rumpled, but they were dressed. She supposed they could be forgiven for their confusion and fatigue considering many of them had returned only the night before. The keepers looked no different than they always did, save the bags beneath their eyes and the discomfort of being summoned at dawn. The daughters, their braided wreaths not as tidy as usual, were huddled together beside them. Ghost was not present.
Master Ivo had not moved from his position in front of the king’s throne. Dagmar and Liis stood on either side, and she could feel his tension though his face remained serene and his hands were folded around the ball of his scepter. The king stayed slumped in his chair, his hands on the hilt of a sword he kept sheathed next to the throne. When all were assembled he began to speak.
“I have not slept in days. I have traveled from Ebba where we battled the dogs of the Hinterlands for two months. Yet even when I am home, in my own bed, I have no peace.”
He eyed the gathering with bloodshot contempt. Then he raised a hand.
“Daughters of the temple, step forward so my men can all see you.”
Elayne, Bashti, Dalys, and Juliah moved to stand behind Master Ivo, who had not lowered his eyes from the king.
“These daughters have lived under my protection, on this mount, for almost three years. They represent the clans. They belong to the temple. You will not look at them. You will not talk to them. You will not touch them.”
Master Ivo grunted in surprised approval.
“Liis of Leok, come here,” Banruud directed.
She stepped forward onto the dais, and the king pointed out to the assembly. “Turn so my men can see your face.”
She did as she was asked, her eyes running past the tired guard and the frightened keepers, before snagging on Bilge who remained nearby. He had lost his smirk.
“Who bloodied your face, Liis of Leok?” the king asked, projecting his voice so the crowd could hear his every word.
Liis raised her hand and pointed at Bilge. “He did.”
The king curled his fingers toward Bilge.
Bilge hesitated, but then walked forward until he stood next to her.
Ghisla did not shrink, but she stepped away.
“You thought you could touch a daughter of the temple, Bilge of Berne?” the king said, his voice silky and mild.
Bilge did not deny it. Ghisla’s face condemned him.
“Did you touch her breasts?”
An uncomfortable murmur spread through the men.
“You will cease this spectacle, Banruud,” Master Ivo ground out.
Heat and mortification rose in Ghisla’s chest, but she refused to give the king or Bilge the satisfaction of her humiliation.
“Yes. He did,” she said, calm. Cold.
“It was . . . it was . . . it was in jest, Sire,” Bilge stammered. “I did not hurt her.”
The king unsheathed his sword and shoved it into Bilge’s chest just left of center.
A collective gasp ricocheted around the room and Elayne screamed. Bilge gurgled and groaned, clutching his breast as the king yanked his sword free.
“And there? Did he touch you there?” the king asked, pointing the tip of the sword between the man’s legs. Bilge moaned and tried to ward off another, more terrible blow.
“No,” Ghisla said, shaking her head, emphatic. Her vision pulsed and bile swam in her stomach.
Blood was dripping from Bilge’s mouth.
“You don’t touch them anywhere,” Banruud boomed. “You do not touch the temple daughters. Is that clear?”
Bilge staggered and fell from the dais onto the floor. Blood began to pool around him.
“Get him out of here,” Banruud ordered, pointing to the dead man at his feet. “Leave. All of you, go.”
The exodus from the throne room was an almost silent stampede. No one spoke, no one protested. Ghisla stood on hollow legs until Dagmar stepped forward to escort her from the room behind the keepers.
“She stays,” Banruud grunted, pointing at Ghisla. “Her screams woke me up . . . she can damn well sing me back to sleep.”
Two hours later—the king had been slow to settle—Ghisla staggered back to the temple, escorted by a guard who said nothing and kept his eyes locked straight ahead. Banruud’s message had been received.
Bilge’s heavy body had been strung up on the north gate for all to see, but Ghisla kept her eyes averted. She was not sorry he was dead, but she was horrified by it.
She entered the temple through the main doors, stepping into the huge foyer with the rising stone staircases on either side, and paused, dropping her chin to her chest and allowing herself a moment to breathe.
She was famished, and she marveled at the normalcy of the sensation. Life continued. The keepers would have already gathered in the dining hall, and breakfast would be over. They were nothing if not structured, nothing if not punctual. A man had been slain in front of them, but naught could be done about it now. And the fact that he was not a good man made it easier to overlook.
She ignored her hunger. She could not eat with the stench of blood and death in her nose, and her face ached with every beat of her heart. She needed to wash and she needed her bed more than she needed food. Her nightdress stank of sweat and terror, and her purple robe was splattered with the blood from her nose. She did not want to consider that it was Bilge’s blood.
“Liis of Leok,” Master Ivo said from the shadows.
She raised her head and found him, standing near the entrance to the sanctum.
“I need to speak to you, Daughter.”
She did not have the strength to commune with the Highest Keeper, and she hesitated.
“Come,” he ordered, entering the sanctum. She followed, but when he sat in his throne, she collapsed onto a stone bench not far from him and lowered her eyes.
“I mean no disrespect, Master. I am weary.”
“There is a great deal I don’t know about you, Liis of Leok.”
“There is a great deal I don’t know about you, Master.” She sounded impudent, and his response was cold.