Robin Owens - Guardian of Honor

The right wall held another little door. She hurried and opened it. A triangular room held a toilet with the tank above it and a hand-pull to the left. A tiny basin hung on the wall and a shower stall was to the right. Another open door showed a large sitting room.

Alexa frowned—no bathtub. But people from Earth had definitely been here before—and had had some influence. Unless it had been the other way around—people from here had been to Earth. In any case, these folks had indoor plumbing. A very big plus.

Soon her relief that she was simply and gloriously alive would fade and the reality would crash upon her. She sensed it coming like a huge tidal wave—one the cobalt color of that dreadful pool.

It was only when she was back in bed, three pillows of the four propped behind her so she could think, that she recalled the pink fairy.

The Marshalls sat in their Council Chamber in the morning. Bright sunlight danced through the narrow windows, lighting dust motes until they glowed golden, bringing out the streaks of burnished oak in the table—and illuminating its scars.

Thealia could tell which of the Marshalls had availed themselves of the pool. The strain of the Summoning was there in them all, but those who’d used the pool of protection had an extra glow to their skin, a hint that their energy would return redoubled. It made her blink in surprise. Could the jerir in the pool be that powerful? Perhaps.

Bathing in jerir wasn’t common, so she hadn’t realized the effects were obvious. She noted everyone studying one another and saw a dawning awareness on the faces of those who hadn’t taken the plunge.

Clearing her throat, she said, “The Marshalls’ meeting is now in session.” She inclined her head to Faith to make sure the Lorebook recorded the meeting. “Mistress Loremarshall, can you tell us how long the jerir is effective?”

Faith jerked in surprise. Stacked in front of her were three large tomes, all covered in the metallic hide of lizworm, one with an illustrated page of the jade baton. She frowned. “One moment.” With a whoosh, a new book she’d summoned arrived on the table near her. She set her hand on it and lilted a spelltune. The book opened and Faith bent her head over it. “The amount of jerir in the Temple’s sacred basin should last through an entire moonspan and a half.”

“Ah,” Thealia said. “In that case we will not drain the basin today as previously arranged. I propose that we let word spread that any who wish to use the pool may present themselves at the gates properly prepared. They will be escorted to the Temple and watched while they immerse themselves. Discussion?”

“Thealia, is this wise? Anyone?” asked Faith.

“We are at the prelude of a new age. Enough of us have heard the Song to know that the struggle before us will be long and hard. We will need all our resources.”

Mace’s—the Armsmaster’s—grin was ironic. “Anyone who’s bold enough to come to the Castle and request the use of the pool, and courageous enough to dunk himself, will be someone I can respect—and train, if needs be.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Any more discussion?”

No one answered.

“Then we are agreed?”

“Agreed,” everyone responded.

Thealia smiled in satisfaction. Meetings went so much more smoothly when their leader, Lord Knight Swordmarshall Reynardus, didn’t attend.

“Let’s talk about our new Marshall, Alyeka,” Thealia said.

“She can’t be allowed to keep that absurd name,” someone grumbled.

“Oh, who’s going to tell her that?” Faith smiled.

“Swordmarshall Johnsa, an image if you please,” Thealia requested.

With the care and competence that she brought to all her duties, Johnsa built a foot-high, three-dimensional model of their new Exotique, startling in its likeness.

Thealia caught her breath. She’d forgotten how odd Alexa looked. Or perhaps it was that sunlight accentuated her pale coloring, light hair and green eyes so much more than the shadowy Temple.

Partis grasped her hand under the table and squeezed.

The harp on the door strummed.

“Enter,” Thealia called. Of the Marshalls, only Reynardus’s place was empty. She hadn’t anticipated that he’d make the meeting, and he wouldn’t courteously use the doorharp either.

The door opened and Luthan, one of Reynardus’s sons—one of Thealia’s dear godsons—entered.

Concern fluttered in the pit of Thealia’s stomach. That he was here meant he didn’t agree with the Marshalls on some point. “Do you come as the Representative of the Chevaliers?” Thealia asked. It was his right, but she didn’t want an altercation with a man she respected, or a breach between the Marshalls of the Castle and Chevaliers of the Field. But she wouldn’t let him turn her from the path she knew was right. “I trust you are not the only Chevalier who arrived for ‘The Pairing.’ I’d like to give our new Marshall a good choice.”

His glance swept the table. He froze when he noted the model of Alexa. His expression of revulsion was brief but obvious.

Thealia’s chest tightened. A pity he could not like her. They both could do so much worse. Maybe in time…

Luthan smiled, showing teeth. “No, I don’t represent the Chevaliers to the Castle. I am here as the Representative of the Cloister of the Singer.”

“The Cloister!” They hadn’t sent a delegate to the Castle for as long as anyone could remember.

He slid into the proper seat, the one carved with a full moon sending rays down to a woman who Sang. “That’s right. The Cloister wanted a Representative at the Castle if the Summoning was a success. They approached me as a man of good moral fiber and one with experience of the Marshalls.”

No one could ever deny that. He’d battled his father all his life.

“The Cloister requested I turn over my representation of the Chevaliers to another whom I trusted, and attend for them.”

This complete change shook Thealia. “Who did you choose to replace you for the Chevaliers?”

He hesitated. “The post is open for the moment.”

Mace snorted. “The Chevaliers didn’t believe we’d succeed in the Summoning. Caught them and you unprepared. Not a good thing for knights.”

A flush crept to Luthan’s cheekbones. He sat straight. “There is dissension amongst the Chevaliers as to the arrogance and the secrecy of you Marshalls. Further, some of us Chevaliers consulted the Song a week ago. It foretold only a sixty-percent chance of success.”

Thealia flinched. “The last time the Marshalls consulted the Song, it was an eighty-percent chance of achievement.”

Luthan lifted a shoulder. “Circumstances change.”

“We were luckier than we thought,” Faith said, smoothing the page of one of her books.

This change, and the new information, disturbed Thealia. But she couldn’t afford to let it show. “And your replacement?”

“I thought to offer it to my brother.”

“Bastien?” Mace laughed so hard he nearly fell off his chair.

“That rogue…in a responsible position? Impossible,” Thealia said.

“What’s impossible is the thought of the three of them—Reynardus, Luthan and Bastien—here on the Council.” Johnsa shaded her eyes as if trying to banish the vision. “We’d never get anything done.”

“Bastien is a good man,” said his brother. “Undervalued and underestimated. Further, as delegates, we would follow the instructions of our patrons.”

That started Mace laughing again. “As if Bastien ever followed any instructions, ever!” he said between snorts. “I thank you for the laugh, my friend. But we should proceed with business.”

Thealia scrutinized Luthan. What were his instructions? He’d just made her job harder. She sought to keep him off balance. “Does your father know you’re the new Cloister Representative and that you’re here?”