The woman nodded, her face alight with anticipation as she switched her attentions from Yvenne to the Parsatheans more likely to buy her wares. Then her face was simply alight, as if the moon shone directly upon her instead of the sun, and a sudden hush fell around the square.
Heart leaping into her throat, Yvenne glanced to the temple—which glowed white, as if brightly lit from within. The presence that she always felt at the back of her mind had vanished, yet she sensed no absence. Instead it was as if the presence had simply moved outside her mind and swallowed the temple ahead.
Chest swollen with emotion, she stepped in that direction.
Her breath jolted from her lungs when Maddek abruptly snagged his arm around her waist, dragging her protectively against his side. His sword was drawn, his jaw hard, his gaze not moving from the shining temple.
“It is only Vela,” she told him, but he spoke at the same moment, giving orders to the others—who were also armed. As if that might make any difference.
“Prepare to ride,” he commanded tightly, and began backing with Yvenne toward the horses.
“It is only Vela,” she said again, but it was lost as Kelir called out a warning.
“Maddek!” Disbelief filled the warrior’s alert. “Look to our mounts.”
“And the wolves,” Fassad said, his voice not alarmed but awed.
For they were all in a similar stance—down on left foreknee, heads lowered. As if bowing. Yvenne had never seen the Parsathean mounts balk at anything the warriors asked of them, yet when Danoh urged one horse to its feet, the animal refused to move.
The glow through the moonstone walls faded. In a wave expanding outward from the temple’s entrance, the crowd erupted in disbelieving cries and threw themselves to the ground, some on knees and others prostrating. The cockmonger joined them, gasping and pressing her forehead to the cobblestones. Within moments, no one in front of Yvenne stood upright, giving her a view of the veiled figure in black robes who had emerged from the temple.
One of Vela’s priestesses—yet it was not the priestess who gazed back in their direction. Her brown skin glowed as if made of moonstone, shining so brightly that her face was clearly visible through the black veil. The orbs of her eyes seemed filled with silver moonlight.
Ardyl’s back and shoulders blocked her view again as the warriors formed a king’s guard around Maddek.
Kelir shot over his shoulder, “What say you, Banek? Is it demon? A wraith?”
This time Yvenne would be heard. “It—is—Vela.”
Sharply she tugged on Maddek’s beard for each word. He tore his gaze from the figure ahead to meet hers, brows lowered, eyes dark. Sudden tense silence fell over the warriors.
“The goddess? You are certain?” Kelir asked, disbelieving.
“I am.”
“Then we had best follow the horses’ lead,” Maddek said grimly.
As one—and with reluctant grunts—the warriors sank onto their left knees, laying weapons at their sides. Steadying herself with a hand on Maddek’s shoulder, Yvenne began to lower herself but was dragged down to sit on his thickly muscled thigh.
“Bowed head is enough. If it is Vela, she will know you mean no disrespect,” Maddek growled softly when Yvenne pushed against him. “And if she demands that you kneel on your shattered joint, she will earn that disrespect.”
Yvenne would bear the pain. Yet she would not argue with him now. The goddess took a step in their direction.
The next moment Vela stood in front of Kelir. Startled by the quick movement, the warrior flinched and went utterly still. Maddek’s muscles became steel. As did Ardyl’s, Yvenne saw, as each of the warriors battled their instinctive response to defend against attack.
“And so I face the head of the Dragon.” The goddess’s voice held the ring of cold steel against stone. “But you do not bow that head to me?”
Kneeling before her, the big warrior trembled, yet there was no wavering in his reply. “A Dragon with bowed head cannot see threat coming, and would fail in his duty to protect his Ran.”
“You believe I am a danger to him?”
“I know not your intention. That is why I keep eyes up and watch.”
“And if I threatened your Ran, you would raise your axe against me?”
“I would, my lady, as is my duty.” His scarred face was bloodbare as he spoke that truth. “Forgive me.”
“Forgive what? Your loyalty and your courage serve you well, Kelir.”
“Thank you, merciful lady.”
“So, too, the Dragon’s claw is loyal and courageous—and has blood that burns like fire.” On silent steps, she glided past Ardyl, her glowing fingers drifting lightly over the warrior’s braided hair. “Ardyl, the last of your clan, whose memory you carry upon your face. Always you have feared that letting yourself fully belong to those who raised you and loved you would mean your own family would vanish from memory. But even as you belong to those you love, so they belong to you—and through the family you build, your clan will be renewed.”
A choked sob came from that warrior, who only nodded beneath the goddess’s touch. Vela moved on, into the circle of the Dragon guard’s protection, toward Fassad.
“And the Dragon’s fangs.” Though the veil Yvenne saw the curve of pale lips and shining teeth, the sickle moon of a smile. Down on her heels she sank, the billowing of her robes bringing icy wind to Yvenne’s face, yet there was warmth in the goddess’s voice as she scratched Steel’s ears, then Bone’s ruff. “I have always favored wolves.”
“Yes, my lady,” the warrior replied, his voice thick. “I have, too.”
“As they favor you, Fassad,” she said. “Had they been mistreated, I would feed you to them.”
“Had I mistreated them, I would cut off chunks of my own flesh for you to give them.”
Smiling, she touched his cheek and rose again. The seat of Maddek’s thigh shifted as he pivoted, keeping the goddess in view as she glided around behind them, where Danoh knelt with bowed head.
“And here is the Dragon’s tail, which holds deadly sting.” With a finger beneath the warrior’s chin, Vela raised Danoh’s gaze to meet hers. “Born of cursed rape, as were my children, Justice and Law. Even from pain, sometimes beauty emerges. Your rage is beauty. Your courage is beauty. Your compassion is beauty. Perhaps your mother will never have heart to see it, but all who know you do.”
A queen did not cry where there was someone to see her tears. Yet Yvenne’s vision blurred then, and the goddess was but a shining star as she continued on. Swiping her eyes, Yvenne watched her stop in front of a silently weeping Banek.