Bells of the Kingdom (Children of the Desert Book 3) Read Free Page A

real truth. Do you know where she lives?”
    “Yes, sionno,” Kolan said promptly. “But she’s gone, with all the other lake-born.” He caught himself and added, hastily, “Isn’t she?”
    Hagair’s eyes creased as though he were restraining a smile.
    “No,” he said. “She stayed behind when they left. I spoke to her once or twice in the following months.”
    Kolan’s mouth dropped open. “But her cottage was emp-hhmmphm.” He bit his tongue and shut his eyes, feeling hot color flooding into his face again.
    Hagair coughed a few times, then said, “I don’t know about that. I haven’t seen her in some time, myself. Perhaps she left and followed her people after all. I don’t know why she stayed, so I don’t know why she would leave.”
    I know why she stayed, Kolan thought dismally. He rubbed the fingertips of his right hand against the palm of his left without really thinking about it; glanced up to find the head priest watching him with a canny, perceptive stare.
    “I think that perhaps if Ellemoa is indeed still in the area,” Hagair said in an abstracted, distant tone, “someone ought to warn her that this captain is hunting her. Don’t you think?”
    Kolan nodded fervently and hoped that Hagair wouldn’t send sio Dernhain. Ellemoa would hide from most of the senior priests, and then there would be no warning given.
    In fact, Kolan couldn’t think of anyone that Ellemoa, if she was still present, wouldn’t run from—except himself. He met Hagair’s mild gaze, watched the man’s right eyebrow arch slowly, and felt a jolt of breathless excitement slam through his stomach.
    “Sionno?” he said, hardly daring to believe the hint he saw before him. Novices —sannio— weren’t allowed to leave the grounds. Only junior priests —siolle— and above could leave the grounds. Was the head priest going to break that rule? Was this another one of the gradations of morality he’d mentioned?
    “Sio Dernhain has you training as a scribe, I believe?” Hagair said. “Tedious work, that. Why don’t you take the afternoon off and take a walk to clear your mind, siolle Kolan?”
    Kolan opened his mouth to correct the head priest, then stopped. He blinked once, then again, his eyes feeling larger each time. He thought his stomach might turn inside out from sheer excitement. Siolle. Hagair hadn’t said that by mistake. Kolan had just been promoted to junior priest.
    Dedication. The gods were rewarding him for his dedication. Praise the Four, praise them loud. He would be sure to sing with more attentiveness during the next service, to let them know his gratitude.
    “You’re still here, siolle Kolan?” Hagair said mildly.
    Caught out of his dazed wonder, Kolan jolted to his feet. “Thank you, sionno! Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he blurted, and fled on the wings of the man’s laughter.
    As he ran, the church bells embarked on their hourly, doleful announcement of time passing.
     

     
    Start with the breath. There is always the breath.
    The infant smelled like peaches and slightly sour milk, although Ellemoa couldn’t remember having fed it recently. She couldn’t remember anything beyond the warm grey mist around her and the thin whistling sound of her firstborn breathing. Something had happened, something terrible and frightening, out beyond the mist, but she didn’t need to remember that now.
    She wasn’t alone any longer. She would never be alone again. That was the only thing that mattered. I have a son. He would stay with her forever. He would never abandon her without warning. He would never betray her.
    You must leave the lake, Ellemoa, her lover said. She felt the mist stir around her, lifting her hair in a gentle caress. It is not good for you to stay here so long. It is not good for the child.
    “I want to stay with you,” she said absently, her attention on the infant. “He wants to stay with you. We love you. Don’t you love us? Don’t you want us to stay?”
    The mist