Norna scurried out
of the bathing room. After the evening
meal, she’d come here to luxuriate in the baths the way she’d never been able
to in the megara. The curfew bell
startled her. Would she be punished for
being out of the sleeping chamber after the bell chimed?
In her haste to
reach the room, she turned the wrong way.
She halted at the top of the staircase.
Her mother’s voice raised in anger caused her to back away. Then she saw her aunt on the stairs. Norna turned and ran down the hall.
As Norna crawled
into bed, she pulled the covers over her head to muffle the excited chatter of
the other occupants of the room. For
them, the end of the lunar of the Dark Moon would bring joy. Her future was unsettled. She had no desire to become a priestess and remain
in the temple for the rest of her life.
Nor did she want to return to the megara and be dragged into Prasutus’
bed the way her mother had threatened.
A scrap of
conversation reached her. “The chapel is
interesting. There’s a wonderful
tapestry on one wall and a map of the nomes made of tiles on the other. Did you know we’re almost to the ocean here?”
The bells chimed
again. Her companions settled on their
cots. Norna listened as their breathing
took on the rhythms of sleep. With care,
she rose from the narrow bed. If she
could see this map, she could learn how far ’twas to Bethsada.
She slipped into the
hall. Eternal torches set in brackets
along the walls softened the deep shadows.
She crept toward the stairs. When
she heard her mother’s voice, she pressed against a door.
“Leave me
alone. I won’t drink your vile brew.”
“Will you allow me
to train Norna as my successor?”
“A drab nursed
her. A drab raised her. A drab I have named her and as one, she will
remain.” The frost in Bodlesa’s voice
chilled Norna.
“What if Midra wants
her? The signs in the cup were
strange. Four colors, followed by
red. That is the color of this nome.”
Bodlesa’s wild
laughter made Norna shiver. “And the
color of death and war. Has the goddess
marked her? When I dragged her to the
baths before we left the megara, her skin was unmarked. She is mine to give or hold. She will have no high place in the temple or
the megara. As one doubly misbegotten,
she must pay for the life the Healwoman gave to her.”
“Will you return to
the megara and willingly take Prasutus to your bed and produce the daughters
who are needed?”
“You ask too much.”
“Until you agree,
the cell will be your home.” The iron in
Ulrica’s voice made Norna ease away.
“Dear sister, your will is strong, but mine is as firm as the surface on
the roads throughout the nomes. Hold her
while she drinks.”
Norna fled along the
shadowy hall and returned to her cot.
Tears flowed down her cheeks.
What could she do? Twice
misbegotten. A drab she’d been
named. She couldn’t accept that
fate. She had to escape and find a
refuge. Would the Healwoman give shelter
to someone like her?
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