Taking a shortcut through the gardens to the courtyard, he entered a vast space with stone columns arranged like the summer sky's primary constellations. At the heart of each constellation, a small fountain tinkled softly. They whimpered with barely enough water to fill their basins. Mildew stained the columns, worn from age and neglect. Leaves blew in from the surrounding gardens. They rustled and tumbled around the courtyard. Only Halkamas dared display so much abundance in the crater.
His heart sank. Soon these gardens would fail as well.
At the far end, beyond the columns representing Rilanik, the Forge constellation, was the entrance to the sanctuary proper, a kith cylinder sliced at the top like a writing pen. The opening faced the temple's globe as if begging for light. The interior was a single space, circular like the goddess, with the vault open to let in goddess-light. At the base, arched hallways led to instruction halls.
He stood at the very center of the sanctuary space, on a faded cluster of gems that stood for the Eye of the Goddess. As a student, he'd come here with his cohort for special instruction and sat on his heels in silent contemplation. The priestess-in-charge had whipped unruly boys with a reed stick for not focusing. He'd never sat on the eye, the spot reserved for the instructor.
Well-worn kith pavers fanned out from the eye. He strolled along the base, peering down the halls, searching for a diviner or magistrate he could question. Water murmured in the fountains. All the rooms appeared empty. He walked down the widest hall to an atrium with a covered gallery. On the other side, there was a large instruction hall. He paused, frowning. Something seemed wrong about this atrium; it had been one of his favorites as a boy.
He strolled about, hands on hips. His mouth twisted as the realization struck him. The statues, with smooth marble skin, rose twenty feet at each corner where once thick vines had sprung up and formed a canopy which attracted even the bees from the Diviner's school down the street. The vines had been cut down, burned at the roots, and statues of Beyyla Ilor'Daushalan, Voice of the Goddess, stood in each corner. He walked up to one, its arms and body straining to reach the sky, an almost impossible feat of sculpting created by a sorcerer's magic. He gripped the statue's ankle.
“Can I help you?” a woman asked.
He turned, and a priestess wrapped all in gray appeared from a shadowed hallway.
“I had come to…” He removed his hand from the statue. “I was admiring this space. I trained here as a boy.”
She frowned. “And?”
“Is there perhaps a prioress or a senior instructor I could speak to?”
“Follow me,” she said, looking him up and down.
They walked through the sanctuary and down another hall. The chattering rhythm of children reached him now, bouncing off the walls. The drone of repetitions. He'd hated it as a boy, but now found joy in it. He looked in one hall where clusters of boys and girls sat around a diviner or priestess receiving instruction. They wandered back and forth between instructors.
“Here,” said the priestess, drawing him back to his task.
He stepped in the narrow doorway and into a small chamber. Behind a desk sat an elderly priestess, also clad in layers of gray, her face covered by a light gray veil. She was a vaissana, a member of a growing number of priestesses who dedicated themselves in a way similar to diviners. They educated, functioned as midwives, and tried to conserve the past. His circle called them empty vessels. Had they known they'd not produce an heiress? Had this priestess been an heiress, maybe even a matron?
“What can I do for you, Prime Consort?” she asked him.
“You know me?” he asked.
“We must know the houses of the founding and the first cycles to teach the young our history.”
“I see,” he said. Her pearlescent eyes seemed to bore into him, a beam of light to scour his insides. “My name is Taul.”
Her eyes rolled slightly, as if she knew that already. She must have heard their sad story.
“Yes, of course,” she croaked. “Taul na'Nevtar, Prime Consort of Lor'Toshtolin. Shall I give your descent from Tasimar Lor'Hosmyr?”
She'd not used the prefix ilor to name a high house. His circle also considered these new orders subversive of the Fifth Accord, clinging to what was before and rebelling in the smallest ways.
“I've come to ask about the bounty,” he said.
“Bounty? Bounty?” she asked loudly. The echo unnerved him and sweat tickled his temples. Her eyes narrowed. “Adoptions?”
He cleared the lump in his throat. “Yes, precisely. Is it done in Halkamas?”
“No,” she said firmly. “The high matron sees to every child.”
“I see,” he replied, confused. He'd not heard of a bounty overseen by Ilor'Hosmyr. “So, I should request an audience?”
“Do what you will,” the priestess said. “I don't think she hands them out like that. You could always try the temple.”
“The temple?”
The priestess nodded and then squinted at him. “Shouldn't your matron consort be making these inquiries?”
No, she couldn't, he wanted to say. She mourns still. He couldn't say that, though. Ryldia had exceeded the time allotted to mourning. Mornae didn't mourn like other people. There was too much danger in such emotions. Death was the safest, quickest journey to the stars, back to the goddess.
“I am her consort,” he said.
She shook her head. “Even if there was a bounty. It ought to be a matron asking.”
“Would the answer be different if she made the inquiries?”
The priestess looked at him unamused. “No, Prime Consort. She'd know better.”
He restrained his growing annoyance. Was there a bounty or wasn't there?
Ryldia hadn't given up yet on bearing her own child. He could tell. No matter what Balniss said about her chance of success, Ryldia's duty was the single most important thing in her life. She would try again sooner than was wise, and she would command it of him.
“And the high matron?” he asked. “Would she help us?” Clearly there was some kind of bounty, but this priestess didn't want to share it with a mere consort.
Her eyes twitched. She hesitated then said, “You should go. There's nothing here for you.”
She rose, took him by the arm, and led him out.
