The leaf finally yielded and floated aimlessly away.

A litany of possibilities played out in her imagination. There was still Saugraen and Lissae Vakayne. And her other sons would make good matches. None of them were born with green hands, feet rooted in the valley soil. Did that matter? Maunyn thought as much, even though he wasn’t of that lineage either.

As a young woman, she’d thought Ilor’Hosmyr impervious to the problems lesser houses faced. It was the third high house. THIRD! Greater than Vakayne and Roturra, houses with Savra’s blood. The others teased Hosmyr as Savra’s gardener. Look how much we have accomplished! Yes, Hosmyr had succeeded where others failed. They forged kith, monuments, weapons, and knights, called down blue fire on hapless barbarians… and Hosmyr… Hosmyr shaped the very stuff of life.

Her glorious rumination soured as she recalled her own actions, the warnings she’d received from her predecessors and even from the seer, and now the actions of her vassals and servants.

It was all on her. She alone was the matron. She possessed the fuller knowledge. What did that Tosthtolin consort know about anything? He haunted her thoughts, lurking in her mind with his earnest face, his honest request.

It was valid; he had only done what was right for his matron consort.

She recalled every choice she’d made reaching back to her own acolyte anointing—yes, that far back. Oh, how they haunted her. Even then, she was choosing herself over her duty. Kaulor had been complicit. They were so eager, so in love, so rushed.

How could she combat nature? She’d tried to take it on, but it was beating her. Kandah, with his smirks and teasing, his mysterious powers, the lies… Excuses!

Her head fell limp on her chest.

“Mother?” Julissa screeched.

“I’m here,” Gishna mouthed breathlessly. “I’m here.”

Thankfully she’d not drifted off during an audience.

Just park me here, she wanted to say to her heiress. You take over and let me just become one with this chair… made of apricot wood… from a precious dying orchard.

Her eyes popped open, but all was white.

“Are my eyes open?” she blurted, her body straining.

“Yes, mother!”

She jerked about and finally found a pinhole sized window, but she could make little sense of what was there.

“Don’t scare me like that,” Julissa said, patting her arm.

Don’t scare YOU! YOU! Gishna’s mind reeled, and her body twitched. Oh, to be free of it, and free of all this!

“Tea,” she said as softly and gently as she could manage. “I’m sorry, dearest. I’m just so old now.”

Julissa commanded the servants and soon the brew was steaming under Gishna’s nose, pleasantly warm in her hands.

“Mother, are you at peace?” Julissa asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been to see the Seer.”

“And?” Goddess above, Gishna thought, now what? Is there not enough burden on me? “Tell me,” she said with a small smile.

“He says the hair you provided––the silver one––doesn't fit where it should. He also said you’d understand. But the ‘girls are excellent’. What does it mean?”

“It means Vakayne is making a play… or has made one… and we are witnessing its moves now.” She gripped Julissa’s arm. “Girl, you are my heiress! Do you understand? It will be yours to bear soon enough. It will wear you down with its weight. There is nothing more pressing on a Mornae woman than to be matron of her own house, and nothing more terrible in judgment. It will be excruciating. I will not hide that from you any longer. You will feel every day, every season, every cycle—may you reign forever—that you give birth to it. Every success, every failure, great or small, will be on you.”

She grasped at Julissa, but her daughter pulled away easily.

Julissa leaned close, so Gishna felt her breath on her cheek.

“I feel it, mother,” she said. “I know it already. Tell me what it means.”

Gishna found her daughter’s ear and whispered the idea forming in the back halls of her mind: “Zaidra is not the natural mother of those girls. They are true Vakayne—according to the seer, and who can deny it upon seeing them—but of a different line. A truer line. Zaidra is watered down. Don’t let her arrogance fool you. It is a show meant to divert attention from the truth.”

“But why?” Julissa asked.

“That I don’t know yet. Except they mean to put three new high priestesses—real ones, I imagine—on the high council. And then what? A new accord? A new ordering of the high houses? It’s all rushing now, like an avalanche that’s gained momentum, a glacier that’s finally broken free of its rocky cell…”

Gishna lost all strength, her meager weight vanishing into the cushioned chair. She felt herself a part of it… furniture. Ready for the pyre.

“What is it, mother?”

“They do not intend to consort the eldest to Saugraen. It won’t even be her choice.”

“How can that be?”

The words stuck on the edges of Gishna’s lips. She sputtered them out: “Lissae Vakayne is not the future matron. She is a… puppet? A tool.”

“Goddess above,” Julissa said, leaning back. “Poor Saugraen.”

Gishna wanted to blast her. Saugraen? POOR SAUGRAEN? He’s having the time of his life with the girl. What if she soured him? Catastrophe!

“What does this mean for our project?” Julissa asked.

Gishna smiled at her. Oh, my girl! Yes, you are ready. Back to the important matter.

“It means we will be open to any advance from Vakayne or its bloodhouses, but with eyes wide open, my dear. We must protect our own. The day may come when we flee out the east gate to the safety of our ancient heritage like that unruly house… Lor’Toshtolin.”

Julissa patted her hand. “They are not so unruly, mother. They’ve cared for Zeldra for all these cycles. Surely there is old magic in them to maintain it.”

“Yes,” Gishna said pensively. “Old magic.”

“What did I say?” Julissa asked.

“Has the seer gained your confidence?”

Julissa blushed.

Gishna wagged a crooked finger at her. “Control that, my dear. There is something unnervingly charming about their kind, isn’t there? I don’t know what it is. He’s nothing to look at.”

“It’s the power,” Julissa confessed. “When I’m around him, I crave to know what he knows.”