As indeed was the point. The lunassera were perfection – as separate from desire as sea from sky. They were ephemeral daughters of the maiden goddess, as blessed in sanctity as their spiritual mother, and the pinnacle of Hadari womanhood. Melanna had once asked Ashana as to the truth of that. A soft, despairing laugh and a slow shake of the head had been the goddess’s only answer.

Melanna hadn’t found the courage to enquire further. She had there-after wondered to whose benefit the lunassera wore such figure-hugging raiment. But she hadn’t wondered long. The robes were both pedestal and cage. In that way, the lunassera were indeed the purest expression of Hadari womanhood. Admired, but seldom on their own terms.

And now, it seemed, they were to be her jailers.

“You’ll have my reports by noon, my prince,” said Melanna, unwilling to address her father as kin. She offered a stiff bow. “Let’s hope you don’t regret your decision.”

Twenty-One

Twenty-One

Dawn found Josiri where dusk had left him: staring at the silver filigreed ward-brooch and infused with that bewildering, jangling energy that has ever been the enemy of those who seek sleep.

All these years spent yearning to fulfil his mother’s charge; to free the Southshires and its people. Some he’d spent in nights like the one just passed, worrying over consequences and detail, of lives lost, and others sacrificed. And now? Everything he’d ever wanted was his to claim.

If Akadra spoke the truth. If Akadra could be trusted.

Was that even a concern? Akadra had murdered his mother. Did granting her last wish even matter if it arose from her slayer’s largesse? And in truth, the equality Akadra promised fell short of the freedom for which Katya Trelan had striven. Was accepting the lesser prize a betrayal all its own? Josiri glanced up at the wall, remembering too late that the portrait was ashes.

He rubbed at his face. The prickle of stubble beneath his palms served as a reminder of how long he’d sat in that chair.

Two choices lay before him. Just two. He could embrace the brooch and Akadra’s offer, or he could leave his plans unaltered. Both were selfish. Both fulfilled his duty to his people. Both tempted peril. If the resistance perished, did it matter if it did so out of Josiri’s misguided leadership, or from northwealder treachery? If the Southshires was freed of its bonds, was it of any consequence if that freedom sprang from Josiri’s efforts, or Akadra’s generosity?

Aware he was again embarking on a journey with no clear destination, Josiri clambered to his feet. The chair toppled back and crashed against flagstones. A week ago, arrayed for Ascension, the great hall’s grandness had been unmatched. Now the air smelt stale, and Josiri saw wilted flowers more than he did the blooms. Even the statues seemed to judge him.