“We offer this gift to High Priestess Auraya, of the family Dyer,” Chaia had said, turning to face her. “Come forward, Auraya of the White.”

Auraya took a deep, shuddering breath as joy swept over her again. At the time it had been tempered by sheer terror. She’d had to approach a god. She’d been the focus of attention—and probably jealousy—of several thousand people.

Now it was tempered by the reality of her future. From the moment she had been chosen she’d barely had a moment to herself. Her days were filled with meetings with rulers and other important people—and the difficulties had ranged from language barriers to avoiding making promises the other White were not yet ready to make. The only time she was left alone was late at night, when she was supposed to sleep. Every night so far she had lain awake, trying to sort through all that had happened to her. Tonight she had paced her room, finally sitting down in front of the mirror.

It’s a wonder I don’t look like a wreck, she thought, making herself regard her reflection again. I shouldn’t look this good. Is this another of the gods’ Gifts?

She looked down at her hand. The white ring on her middle finger almost seemed to glow. Through it the gods gave her the Gift of immortality and somehow enhanced her own Gifts. They had made her one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world.

In return she gave her will and her now never-ending life to their service. They were magical beings. To affect the physical world they must work through humans. Most of the time this was through instruction, but if a human gave up their will the gods could take over their body. The latter was rare, as it could, if maintained too long, affect the owner’s mind. Sometimes their sense of identity was confused, and they continued believing they were the god. Sometimes they simply forgot who they were.

Best not think about that, she thought. The gods wouldn’t wreck the mind of one of their Chosen anyway. Unless they wanted to punish them…

She found herself looking at an old trunk that stood against one wall. The servants had obeyed her instruction to leave it unopened, and so far she hadn’t had the time or courage to open it herself. Inside were the few belongings she owned. She couldn’t imagine the quaint, cheap trinkets she had bought over the years looking anything more than tacky in the austere rooms of a White, but she didn’t want to throw them away. They reminded her of times in her life and people she loved or wanted to remember: her parents, friends in the priesthood, and her first lover—how long ago that seemed now!