… she knew the rider must be traveling to the mountains, and she understood this was the babe—no, babes! two!—the boy-king meant to abandon… but she could do nothing: She was borne along in the stream turning gold in the dawn, and she strained against the weight of the water to do something, anything, but she was splashing through a field at the base of the mountains, blooms trailing wild at the banks, sheep nibbling weeds at the edge, velvet noses dipped in the water, the lambs’ bleating as loud as the water…

… and there, in the distance, watching his flock, leaning on his staff, a shepherd… Alba struggled to find her voice in the water—Help! she wanted to cry, or, The babes! Save them! Hurry! Hurry!—but she could feel nothing but the terror of water in her mouth… and the shepherd turned away, and Alba roared with all the airlessness of water, and no sound came but the roaring…

… and Alba felt herself then rushing back through ground and stone and shadow and field and forest, rushing again into the darkness of the cavern, where the waters were whispering, “The babes are abandoned,” and someone was lifting her, unpinning her arm from the rocks, and she flailed, thrashing, desperate to return to the infants.…

“Apprentice! Oracle-Apprentice, stop!” cried a voice—someone dragging her away from the fissure.

“Let go of me! Put me down!” she gasped.

“I’m trying to save you!”

“It’s not I who needs saving!” She scrabbled away from the hands pulling at her. In dim lantern light, she saw long robes: one of the priests.

“I’m sorry.…” The priest picked up the lantern, and as he did, his features came into view. “I heard your cries—you were caught there, in the rocks. I thought… I’m sorry… I thought you needed rescuing.”

Alba, still overcome with the helplessness and terror of seeing the babes left in the wilderness, looked blankly at the priest, trying to bring herself into the present.

This priest—she did not recognize him. Though his nose was slender and sharp, a delicate beak, his face was otherwise round, even soft: He was only a boy—younger even than she.

He kept his gaze on the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I shouldn’t be speaking to… or I shouldn’t…” His eyes darted about the chamber. “I shouldn’t be here.” He began to back away. “But…” He paused, hesitating, then whispered all in a rush. “You shouldn’t, either. The chamber is not allowed at night. For anyone. I’m supposed to guard it. It’s been my duty ever since… ever since I was brought here. I wonder… how did you come past me? I was there, beside the entrance. I’ve never been in here, though.” He tilted his head, glancing at the floor and ceiling. “Such a smell. I wonder how you stand it. Is it hard to breathe? Outside I don’t smell it at all. Night, there are smells. My favorite is thyme—there’s not much in the rocks, but I can smell some when the wind blows. If you picked a little and kept it in your pocket, you could sniff it when you have to stay here… but only during the day, because night… it’s not permitted. One day, I’m supposed to have a different duty. I’d like to prepare the meals. I can make a stew with chickpeas and thyme. My mother showed me. Do you think that would be good? I think meals—that would be a good duty. I wouldn’t have to sleep while the sun is shining. It’s so difficult. But you must not see much sun, either.…”