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Careful of her bejeweled formal attire, Ela Lantec, prophet of Parne and Siphra, and Lady of Aeyrievale, lifted her infant son, Caed, from his heavily carved cradle.
Caed at three months was wholly Lantec, alternately flirting with her, then squawking, widening his bright gray eyes as she changed his linens and finally snuggled him close. “Shh...” Ela rumpled his glossy black curls as he vocalized fresh complaints. “You noisy little man! I just fed you and you’re clean, so why the fuss?”
The baby scrunched his engaging, chubby little face in an impatient look that she recognized quite well. “Oh! You are so like your father—always wanting to be entertained.”
A man’s voice interrupted from the corridor. “I heard that!” Kien Lantec entered their bedchamber, formally attired in gold-edged black robes, his pale gray eyes gleaming as he failed to look stern. “Furthermore we do not require constant amusement. Caed is merely telling you what I’ve already said—we intend to abandon tonight’s tedious reception as soon as the guests are distracted by food and music.”
She laughed at him. “Oh, dearest, you will not! It’s your sister’s birthday, and you’re the host. You can’t.” Ela’s teasing protest faded as a familiar current slid past her cheek, a warning wisp of air that tweaked the elegant tendrils of her carefully arranged black curls. Infinite!
Where was He sending her?
She hugged Caed close as the current strengthened, curving around her, sweeping her hair and robes about her in a rippling arc. Kien froze then protested, “You’re leaving? And taking the baby?”
Ha! As if she had a choice. “Can you feed him?”
“No! But can’t you just—” Whatever else her husband said vanished as the whirlwind whisked her away with Caed.
***
NO. ARAINE HUDDLED on the floor, hiding her face. Her Creator—speaking to her! And all she could do was protest and tremble. “Infinite, I’m...all to pieces! How can I possibly become Belaal’s prophet or any such thing? I’ve no—”
A gentle breath of air slid past her face, ruffling her hair, soothing as a loving parent’s touch. And a baby whimpered.
A baby? Araine looked up. A richly-garbed young woman, not much older than herself and holding an appealing, wide-eyed baby, looked down at Araine, clearly bemused. “Hmm,” the woman said, her voice kind and warmly modulated. “Belaal. Again.”
Araine gasped and flung herself backward. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”
Instantly the baby’s lower lip quivered, curving up and out, clearly a heart-rending prelude to tears. Araine softened her tone at once. “I’m sorry. Please, who are you?”
Soothing the baby, the woman knelt carefully, rich sapphires shining in her hair and at her throat and wrists, matching a softly draped sapphire-blue gown. “I’m Ela of Parne. And of Siphra. And of Aeyrievale. Goodness, it’s a wonder I remember it all. Now...Caed, shh... You’re perfectly safe. See?” She jostled the infant tenderly, then smiled at Araine. “What’s your name? I’m presuming you’re the reason my son and I have been returned to Belaal by the Infinite.”
“You are the prophet?” Araine stared, trying to mesh this lovely young mother with the horrid prophet image created in her thoughts by Zaria and others.
Ela sighed. “No doubt I’m hated here. But what could Bel-Tygeon expect? He ordered his men to steal me from my husband in Siphra. And he stole Siphra’s queen as well, and insulted us, as well as defying the Infinite. Were we supposed to be happy about the situation?”
“I suppose not. And I suppose I am the reason you’ve been brought here.” Araine offered Ela a smile. “I’m Araine, also of Siphra. And ToronSea.”
“ToronSea!” The prophet clutched the baby as if amazed. “My husband has had dealings in ToronSea. Infinite...” She shut her dark eyes and hushed, clearly praying and communing with Him.
In her arms, the baby squirmed and gabbled small infant complaints. Araine reached toward him, waggling her fingers. He stared at her doubtfully, his bright gray eyes wide, beautiful, and familiar. Araine whispered, “I remember.... The man who warned me in ToronSea not to follow Atea! He had a destroyer—”
The prophet opened her eyes and smiled, elated. “Yes, you met my husband. He had quite a time finding you.” Evidently seeing Araine from a new vantage point, she added softly, “You’re to be Belaal’s prophet.”
“But I haven’t agreed,” Araine protested. “I...”
The door opened abruptly. Araine’s eunuch-guard leaned inside and his eyes bugged with shock. “Prophet! How did you get in here? And with a baby!”
His lower lip quivering again, the infant looked up at the guard, then wailed.
Araine’s guard jumped as if stung. He slammed the door and Araine heard him throw the bolt with a resounding thud. He shouted, “Send word to the king! Parne’s prophet has returned. All guards, bring your weapons now!”
***
THE KING’S DISPLEASURE echoed in his heavy footsteps as he strode into the Lady Dasarai’s chamber, scowling and regal, his robes lifting behind him in a shimmering tempest. Behind him Dasarai lifted her hand, clearly warning Araine to be silent.
Well, she needn’t have worried. The very sight of Bel-Tygeon in a Corban-like temper made Araine cringe. Fortunately he was speaking to Ela. “Prophet, why have you returned? The news of your presence has thrown my courtiers into chaos—with my schedule! I complied with your warning and was forgiven, was I not? Why...?” The remainder of his words faded awa. He stared at the baby in Ela’s arms. “Who is this?”
Ela hugged her infant son close. “Well, he’s not yours, O king, and you know it.”
The king actually snorted. “Ha! I wouldn’t dream of trying to steal him after everything you’ve done. Though legally you are still my slave, as is he.” Yet Bel-Tygeon knelt near Ela and studied the handsome infant, much like a child studies a toy for purchase—eager and delighted, though wary of its price. “A boy?” Bel-Tygeon leaned forward, staring, his eyebrows lifting, so obviously enthralled that Araine forgot her fright. Truly the king now seemed as charming as the infant who’d intrigued him. “He’s a fine child.”
The baby gave the king a toothless grin and wriggled in Ela’s arms, clearly recognizing a compliment. He stretched one chubby hand toward Bel-Tygeon. Ela gasped. “Oh, you little rogue! Caed, be still. He won’t play with you.”
Dasarai knelt and murmured, “There’s not been a baby in this palace since the king himself was born.” She stared at the baby, every bit as captivated as Bel-Tygeon. “One hopes the child will play during his visit.”
During his visit. Araine bit down a smile, relaxing all the more. Both the king and the Lady Dasarai spoke as if the baby were the sole object of the prophet’s call. Was tiny Caed in part, at least, a reason for Ela’s appearance? Infinite, what does this baby mean to the king?
An answering glimpse of a wish opened to Araine, making her heart skitter in alarm then amazement. The Infinite was communing with her. Her. She recognized the king’s wish—an unlived instant—Bel-Tygeon and Dasarai, both doting over a baby. Not Ela’s Caed, but a different child, a miniature reflection of Bel-Tygeon. Would there ever be such a child?
Remembering the king’s reflective comments in the garden, Araine studied him. Yes, definitely wistful. She masked a wondering frown. Infinite, Bel-Tygeon has so many wives, but no child...
Quiet as a note brushed from the strings of a stilled harp, the Infinite murmured, With Bel-Tygeon, his father’s name dies unless he turns away from his self-idolatry. Unchecked Bel-Tygeon will ultimately devastate Belaal and My faithful who reside here.
He’d spoken to her! Again. Even as Araine’s heartbeat pounded out a discordant drumbeat, she cast a glance toward Ela. The prophet was watching, and her brown eyes seemed altogether too perceptive.
Softly she told Araine, “Don’t be frightened.” The prophet kissed her squirming infant son. Taking one of her own blue veils, she cast it onto the carpeted floor and tenderly placed little Caed stomach-down before the king and Dasarai. At once the baby braced himself on his pudgy forearms and lifted his dark-curled head, clearly ready for adventure.
As the king and the lady leaned down, distracted by the happy infant, Ela beckoned Araine’s attention with a lift of her chin. Araine scooted closer to her, and the prophet murmured, “When the Infinite called me as His prophet, I feared for my life and for everyone I love. I’m still afraid.” She nodded toward her tiny son. “Through him I am vulnerable. He is my dearest weakness. Yet I must trust the Infinite’s will—I cannot allow my fears to thwart my work for the Infinite. I urge you to consider His calling. The rewards are, of course, eternal.”
The baby jabbered loudly, drawing their attention as he “talked” to Bel-Tygeon.
The king laughed, gloriously handsome and amused.
Caed squealed in return, definitely pleased and quite comfortable with Bel-Tygeon’s presence. Remembering Ela’s husband, Araine said, “Sire, I believe you remind him of his father; you resemble him somewhat.”
Ela huffed, “He does not!”
Bel-Tygeon flung the prophet a taunting look. “Your son seems to disagree with you. As does my servant.” But then he raised an eyebrow at Araine, addressing her for the first time since entering the chamber. “You’ve seen the prophet’s husband?”
“Yes, Sire. He rode his destroyer into ToronSea and warned me to not be tempted away from trusting my Creator. At least...that’s how I interpreted his words. Even so he was admirably gracious despite his dire counsel.”
“Exactly as I expect you to behave,” the king warned. But he grinned at the kicking baby, and his warning seemed no more dangerous than the chubby and toothless Caed. Beside them the Lady Dasarai jangled a fragile collection of gold bracelets to gain the infant’s attention.
Emboldened Araine said, “Sire, I fear I’d be a rather frivolous prophet to Belaal, and completely unequal to the task.”
“I disagree.” Bel-Tygeon studied her, still smiling. “If you behave as I command, you need fear nothing.”
Ela spoke softly, watching her infant son strive for Dasarai’s bracelets. “Perhaps Belaal requires a seemingly frivolous prophet.”
Dasarai sniffed and placed her bracelets in Caed’s eager hand. “Prophet, one thinks you are trying to insult Belaal and our Prized of the Heavens—not to mention our prophet.”
“Not at all, lady.” Ela smiled, revealing her liking for the noblewoman. “What I meant is that Araine of ToronSea is better suited to life in Belaal’s royal court than I ever would have been. Already, she wears the traditional attire.” Ela flicked an uncertain glance at Araine’s tight-laced garments and the insubstantial rose-colored veils. “I never could. Nor will.”
Araine hid a wince. Were the garments so wrong? Grumps might have been shocked, but Iris would have loved them, and the colors were wonderfully brilliant and flower-like. Should she reconsider? If the prophet had doubts...
Now engaged in a cautious bracelet-tug-of-war with the baby, Bel-Tygeon asked, “Prophet, when do you leave?”
“When I’ve fulfilled my assigned work here for the Infinite.”
“Take your time,” the king urged. “Ask your Infinite if He will restore my temple that you reduced to mere sand.”
Stern, Ela said, “He will not.”
The king looked up, lifting one handsome black eyebrow. “Yet you haven’t returned to strike me down with some new disease?”
“Not to my knowledge, O king.” Her gaze rested on Caed.
Gently Bel-Tygeon released the bracelet. Overbalanced by victory, Caed inadvertently rolled over, startling himself. As he yelled his baby indignation, the king laughed. “My exact impulse, little one.” Looking around, Belaal’s king frowned at Dasarai’s slaves. “What small toys and clothes do we have for our most honored guest? Find some at once!”
Quite a lovely sight, Belaal’s god-king doting over a fussing baby. Araine smiled at the unhappy infant. “Sire and Lady Dasarai, perhaps I can amuse him briefly. Might I request a harp?”
The Lady Dasarai raised an eloquent eyebrow, a feminine copy of her royal brother. “If it pleases the king, I will provide the harp.”
Busy jangling more bracelets above the squawking Caed, Bel-Tygeon nodded and waved a benevolent hand. As one of Dasarai’s slaves offered a gilded, pearl-inlaid harp, the princess cautioned. “One hopes you play adequately, Araine.”
“I’ve attended lessons for most of my life, Lady. My proficiency is subject to your approval.” Araine accepted the lovely harp and smiled—until she touched its strings and remembered Iris. Even as her throat constricted with a mourning ache, she announced raw-voiced, “‘Rooster in the Rain.’”
The instant she sent notes pinging and popping into the air, then skittering about in the lively Siphran country dance, the baby hushed and turned, his pale-bright eyes huge.
Mentally seeing a fat raindrop splat on the make-believe rooster’s proud head, Araine leaned toward the baby and deliberately plunked a loud taunting note.
Caed laughed whole-heartedly, kicking the air, his chubby face crinkling as if he’d just heard the best joke ever uttered.
And Belaal’s god-king laughed with him.
***
IN HER NIGHT-DARKENED chamber, Araine cooed at the baby as Ela prepared his sleeping basket for the night. “You’ve conquered Belaal, you perfect little tyrant.”
Resplendent in a richly decorated blue and gold robe, a pristine embroidered linen tunic, soft new leggings, and tiny gold-cloth boots, all purchased or produced by slaves, Caed yawned. Eyes closing, he chewed mildly at his new toy, an exquisitely engraved gold and silver rattle.
Caressing her drowsing baby, Ela murmured, “In your own way, Araine of ToronSea and Siphra, you’ve also conquered Belaal.”
She had? “What do you mean?”
The lovely prophet stared at Araine, her luminous gaze so intense and somber that chills of alarm prickled Araine’s skin, making her shiver. Low-voiced Ela said, “You intrigue the king. I see it in the way he watches you and speaks to you. Be careful. Don’t become one of his unofficial wives if you can avoid it. The Infinite has brought you here for a reason, not to become Bel-Tygeon’s beloved. Your very presence in his palace as his slave is a lethal risk to you both.”
How calm she seemed, pronouncing a death-warning without fluttering an eyelash. So dignified, yet so young. Surely they differed by only a year or so in age, but...such an old soul.
Araine murmured, “Tell me your story.”
Smiling Ela kissed her baby’s nose then settled him into the basket. “As fair warning I’ll explain my scars. Scaln scars. Arm scars, heart-scars... You’ll bear many if you accept the Infinite’s offer. I fully expect to die young, and I’ll admit I’ve been afraid of how I will die. Yet there’s no higher calling in mortal life than to serve Him.”
“I confess I’ve missed His presence.” Araine exhaled, remembering the ancient Books of the Infinite and their fading glow. She blinked down tears. How could she endure their loss? Nonetheless, remembering Siphran stories of lethal, venomous monster scalns, she said, “You were attacked by a scaln? How in the world did you survive?”
“By the Infinite’s will, for His glory, which is my joy. This was my first trial.” Ela smiled and delicately lifted her tunic’s hem with one sapphire-mitted hand. Rippling, silvery-violet scars marred her legs with long deep and brutal furrows.
“Oh, those look painful.” Araine put a hand to her throat. “Will...will your trials continue?”
“Yes. Most likely for as long as I live. As will yours.” Sympathy played over the prophet’s delicate face. “Truly I understand your fears. Yet whatever happens, you must not allow the king to take you as a wife. His dynasty is already threatened, but if you become one of his wives, it will ultimately cost the king his life and yours.”
She was in peril no matter what she decided to do? Then why not agree to her calling? Araine drew a sharp breath, remembering her father tightening the gold cord about her throat. And death’s nearness.
“Can I do this?”
“You can,” the prophet agreed, her low voice raising fresh chills along Araine’s bare arms. “The question is, will you? The answer must be your own. The Infinite knows what you’ve already lost by following Him, and He understands your fears.”
Her losses. Grumps. Iris. Even her parents. She’d lost them all for her beliefs. Could she endure more losses?
“Furthermore,” Ela continued gently, “your Creator has called you to be His prophet because you cherish and study His Word more than anyone else in Belaal. You’ve sought the Infinite, and He answers. He waits. Don’t doubt Him.”
“Thank you. I’ll consider what you’ve said.” Gazing at the sleeping baby, Araine whispered, “Prophet? May I request a favor? If you are returned home soon, could you send word to my sister, Iris, daughter of Darion and Liyda Khalome in ToronSea? Tell her that I’m alive, that our father didn’t kill me. Tell her...” Araine swallowed. “Tell her that whenever I play a lyre, I will remember her.”
The prophet’s dark eyes brimmed. Glistening tears slid down her face, but she smiled. “I give you my word, I’ll remember. I know you’re grieving for your only sister. My sister’s name was Tzana. The Infinite knew she was the one person in Parne who could lead me into the Prophet’s tomb...to the Prophet’s branch. I miss her so! She was younger...fragile...”
Swiping her tears Ela—prophet of Parne and Siphra—began her story.
***
NIK SHIFTED IN A DARK corner of Ebatenai’s work chamber, alert in the stillness. Beside him the Books of the Infinite rested, tempting him to read each scroll. But they weren’t his. Moreover they were dangerous.
Infinite, if I am Your servant, what must I do?
His Creator’s Presence answered, surrounding him with an open vision, a nighttime thicket and unreasoning terror.
Beside him...a shadowed, hunted, haunted beast.
Both of them prey.