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Back Priestess of the White
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. TRUDI CANAVAN
  3. Dedication
  4. Map
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. PART ONE
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. PART TWO
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. 32
  40. PART THREE
  41. 33
  42. 34
  43. 35
  44. 36
  45. 37
  46. 38
  47. 39
  48. 40
  49. 41
  50. 42
  51. 43
  52. 44
  53. 45
  54. 46
  55. 47
  56. 48
  57. EPILOGUE
  58. GLOSSARY
  59. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  60. About the Author
  61. Other Books by Trudi Canavan
  62. About the Publisher

A rider came into view and her heart all but stopped.

Juran.

At first glance he looked no different to the man she had seen a hundred years before. She looked closer and realized this was not true. The years showed in his eyes—in the hard, determined expression on his face. He still looked handsome and confident, but time had changed the man. She could not say exactly how, and did not care to find out.

As he moved out of sight, two more riders came into view. A woman and a man, both good-looking. They wore the same undecorated white robes. Two more of the White. The woman also wore a hard expression. She looked about forty. The man beside her, in contrast, appeared to be much younger. He had a disturbingly intense gaze. As his attention fell on the brothel’s caravan, he frowned with disapproval, then lifted his chin and looked away.

A tarn followed. Within this sat two young women. Again, both wore white and both were attractive. The blonde’s expression was more open than the other. When she saw the caravan her lips twitched into a faint, wry smile that made her look older and wiser than her physical appearance suggested.

Immortals, Emerahl thought. You can tell, once you’ve met a few. I wonder if I’m so easy to read.

The other woman wore her hair unbound. She had large eyes and a triangular face. She stared at the caravan, then quickly looked away. Not out of disdain, Emerahl saw. The woman looked pained.

The pair passed out of sight. Another tarn followed. It was highly decorated and surrounded by elaborately uniformed soldiers. Emerahl recognized the current Toren king’s colors and symbols. Several more fancy tarns followed. Genrian. Somreyan. Hanian. Then the priests and priestesses began to file past. She let the door flap fall and rolled onto her back, heart pounding.

So those are the ones they call the White, she thought. The ones the gods chose to do their dirty work among mortals.

She listened to the sound of the army passing and the calls of the girls. It was disturbing knowing so many of the gods’ followers were filing past her, separated only by the tarn cover. I should not have stayed with the brothel after the ambush, she decided. I should have taken my money and left.

She would have felt bad about leaving the girls unprotected, however; she could not have known that they would be safe. And if I’d left, I would never have been in this unique position to see the Gods’ Chosen without being seen myself. She smiled at the thought. I do believe I’m gaining an adventurous spirit, she mused. What next?

She sighed. The caravan had caught up with the army, though in an unexpected way. Rozea could find herself new guards now. There was no reason for Emerahl to stay. I can leave…or can I?