Irona 700 Read Free Page B

that this was her choice. Irona looked at the priests on the far side and thought that they seemed as surprised as she felt. She did not know why the token had not fallen, but she was much more inclined to believe in priestly trickery than divine providence. Why would the goddess ever choose an ignorant, illiterate, impoverished girl from a remote outport, barely even part of the city? No, Nis Puol Dvure had been the intended Chosen and something had gone wrong. That girl in front of him had not been supposed to faint.
    A youth in a pleated sea-green tunic strode out from behind the goddess and came to the end of the bridge, waiting there for Irona, grinning widely and beckoning. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life where she was, so she walked forward, and now the bridge seemed to sway far more than it had before.
    He wore a collar of jade plates around his neck and held another like it in his hands. He also had a gold bracelet on his right wrist, a silver anklet on his left ankle, a ruby in one ear, and a sapphire in the other. He had bulgy eyes that made him look like an owl trying not to laugh.
    â€œI’m Zard 699.”
    That number was written in silver characters on his collar.
    â€œIrona Matrinko.”
    â€œThen welcome, Irona 700.” He put the collar he held around her neck and closed with a click. “Too loose, of course,” he said. “They always make them big, just in case, but tomorrow they’ll adjust it to fit you properly.”
    The edges of the plates were smooth, not sharp, but the collar itself was cold, heavy, and alien.
    The crowd was still roaring and cheering.
    â€œLet them take a look at you, 700. Wave. And smile! All your worries are over. You’re rich. You’re made for life.”
    No, her life was finished. Father, Mother, brothers, sisters … and, worst of all, Sklom! All taken from her. Would she ever see any of them again? Even if she found a chance to run away, how could she get the awful collar off her neck?
    â€œCome,” Zard said. “Water and shade. You are allowed some time to compose yourself.”
    The offer was irresistible. Irona nodded and let him take her by the hand and lead her around the great statue, into the cool darkness of the temple.
    â€œThat’s enough for now,” Zard said, still smiling.
    He had brought her to a small room, whose windows were masked by slatted shutters, making the interior cool and dim. Walls and floor were decorated with gaudy tiles, in complex patterns she could not make out and did not care about. She had slumped down in a huge padded chair, almost a bed, and Zard had handed her a beaker of water, which she downed like a scupper.
    Holding out the beaker for a refill, she noticed that it was faceted like the broken ice she had chipped off South Wind ’s cables in the northern seas. She had never seen colorless glass before. Zard poured water from a large jug, also glass. This time the drink was flavored with lime juice.
    When she tried for a third, he refused. “Not wise to drink too much too soon. I know from experience.”
    â€œI liked the plain water better,” she said hopefully.
    â€œYou should. That was from the Koupind Source. It’ll have you turning standing backflips in no time.”
    Source Water was sold in Brackish by the mouthful for enormous prices, and even then it was usually fake or well diluted. Irona could not believe that she had just drunk a whole beaker of it, or imagine what that might cost. She leaned back in the heavenly chair and felt the healing magic seep through her like a rising tide.
    â€œYour tutor will be here shortly,” Zard said, with his perpetual grin. “She’ll take you home and let you bathe in Source Water. No, I mean it! Or at least wash your face and arms to heal the sunburn.”
    After a moment, Irona held out the beaker again, and this time he refilled it.
    â€œYou were surprised to be chosen.” He had