The Steel Princess

Chapter 5: Prophecy

The Granite Keep's sanctuary was a small, windowless room at the base of a tower, wooden benches arranged in concentric circles around the central altar. It was years since Skye had stepped inside a sanctuary - the Empire had no time for the Mother of Graces, who promised peace and succour rather than victory in battle - but the atmosphere of the place was instantly familiar. You couldn't help but whisper within these walls, which in turn allowed you to hear the soft drip-drip-drip of water, present in every sanctuary Skye had ever known. This was a place to appreciate the elements, the world around you, and the goddess who'd made them all.

For the first time, Josselyn hesitated before following Skye into a room. As the priestess went ahead and Skye shouldered past the heavy door, he lingered in the hall.

"Aren't you coming?" Skye demanded, backing into the sanctuary.

Josselyn bowed his head. "The words of the Mother are between you and her, Your Highness."

Skye tried not to roll her eyes. She'd never been devout, even before the Conclave, and coming home had only made the world seem a colder, more goddessless place than ever. Still, it wasn't fair to mock the faith of others, even if she was aching to illicit a response from her guardian. She'd take a smack in the teeth right now, if it stopped him looking as blank as a marble column. "Just get in here. I'm not about to bare my soul to anyone, goddess or not." If she had much of a soul left to bare.

Reluctantly, Josselyn followed her into the sanctuary, the door swinging shut behind him. By the light of the candles in niches around the walls, he was pale as a ghost, as was the priestess in her hooded white robes. Skye herself, all in black, felt like a shadow that didn't quite belong.

"The Mother welcomes all who walk upon her earth," the priestess said from the cool darkness, as though reading Skye's thoughts. "Come. Be blessed."

Skye threaded her way past the benches, Josselyn a step behind. Together, they knelt before the altar, a block of white stone into which a bowl-like depression had been carved. Here, the water collected as it dripped from some unseen hole in the ceiling; there was something almost perfunctory about the way the priestess dipped her fingers into the water, to daub a circle first on Skye's forehead, then Josselyn's. Skye shivered at the priestess' icy touch, wondering what she was doing here. What did a Sister of the Graces want with her?

The priestess bade them stand. "My name is Sister Beatriz. I don't suppose you remember me, Your Highness, but I've served on the Council since you were a child. I speak for all the sisters of all the sanctuaries in Eskeleth."

"Sisters who don't want me to be queen," Skye said, scrambling to her feet. She was of a height with the priestess, but in the gloom couldn't read her expression.

"We do not." Beatriz didn't dissemble, at least, for which Skye was glad. If her supposed counsellors were going to question her ability, she'd rather it was out in the open.

"All right, then." Skye folded her arms, squaring her shoulders as though she was about to take a tongue-lashing from Teacher. "Tell me what I've done wrong - and I'll tell you how I'm going to fix it."

For the first time, Beatriz hesitated. "I admire your confidence, Your Highness. In any other circumstances, the Church would be pleased to back your accession, assassin or not. However, outside conditions require that we take this stand. You cannot - and will not, if we have anything to do with it - take the throne."

Despite the force of the ultimatum, Skye latched onto one phrase, the one she knew was at the heart of this. "What 'outside conditions'?"

Beatriz inclined her head. "Step this way, Your Highness. There's something I must show you."