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Roche couldn't understand it。 His had been a fairly serious malfeasance； a terrible example for the lay workers。 How could the High Priestess take an indifferent view of such a thing； he wondered？ How could the customs of the goddess be properly preserved if the great ones of the temple paid so little attention to them？ He felt almost indignant at his casual reprieve。 Why； he deserved a temporary exile at the very least！ Though he would have felt miserable at such a punishment； he had certainly deserved it。 But what was this…an absent…minded lecture and a quick dismissal？
Something； Roche decided； was seriously wrong。 He was only a lowly priest； but he couldn't help wondering if the upper hierarchies of Rian's clergy were serving her properly these days。 He shook his head。 What was the world ing to？
On the way out； though； he couldn't forebear grinning broadly at the dour…faced woman at the door； and as he walked back past the bakehouse through the crisp afternoon sunshine he offered the woodsman a positively cheerful wave。 Not； perhaps； the most judicious thing to do； but some temptations； Roche had learned； he was ill…equipped to resist。
When he finished his tour of duty in the sanctuary that evening； he washed himself carefully； hands and face and body； in the growing chill of evening after the sun had gone down； and he donned clean raiment before going back to pray in the temple for two full watches of the evening。 As he had been admonished to do； Roche humbly asked the goddess to vouchsafe him the strength to resist his inappropriate desires； and then； as an afterthought； he prayed for Rian to lend her holy wisdom and eternal presence to the High Priestess； who seemed troubled of late by burdens beyond his own poor understanding。
He felt better when he finally rose； though his knees and back creaked stiffly in the cold。 He left the temple to return to the dormitory and his bed under the winter stars and both moons。
On the way out from the dome he saw a cluster of his fellow priests and priestesses standing together in the atrium around the one small fire there。 It was very late； this was unusual。 He went over to join them； and as they made room for him in their midst it was Maritte； very near now to delivering the child he and she had conceived last spring； who told Roche that word had just arrived that the army of Gorhaut had been seen two days ago in the High Road Pass through the mountains ing south into Arbonne with the engines of war。
It had always been likely； more than that； even。
From the moment the Treaty of Iersen Bridge had been signed； Beatritz had been certain Gorhaut would be ing to them。 Until the sun falls and the moons die； Gorhaut and Arbonne shall not lie easily beside each other。 That was the ancient saying…in both countries。 The sun had not fallen and both moons were in the winter sky tonight she knew； aware of them as presences though she could not see their light。
Deep in her cushioned chair she was also aware of the fire on the hearth； as a warmth certainly； and a wele one； but also as something else； not sound or heat； certainly not light…a source of danger and knowledge； both。 It was such a plex world she had walked into on the night she had given up her eyes for this other sight of Rian。 She saw so differently now； better in the darkness； best on the island； not at all without Brissel on her shoulder。 She reached up and stroked the owl； she could feel his disquiet； or rather； she could feel him reacting to her own。 She tried to send calming thoughts； to go with the gentling hand； but it was hard。 It was hard tonight。
Aubry had been a blow to her heart； heavy as a descending hammer； and it had only been an opening move； no more than a small number of Gorhaut corans writing a first message in fire last autumn。 There was an army now； and it seemed Galbert de Garsenc's long dream of burnings in Arbonne was about to be fulfilled。
And there was next to nothing she could do about it。 She had already done what she could； keeping her lines of knowledge flung far； leaving the island more than she ought to have done； neglecting the localized but vital needs of her priests and priestesses to meet with her mother and Roban and the most important of the nobility…Bertran； Thierry and Ariane； Urté。 It had been Beatritz； feeling the rare pulse of the goddess within her； who had counselled that a careful approach be made to Blaise de Garsenc； who was known to have left Gorhaut in anger。 She remembered the first reactions to that： he was the son of the High Elder； their purest enemy。 An ignorant； unpleasant mercenary soldier； Roban the chancellor had named him derisively。
He is more than that； Beatritz had told them； trusting her intuition and the silence of her owl。 Bertran was the one who had agreed with her； though almost in spirit of amusement； and also because…as they only afterwards understood…her proposal coincided neatly with a seduction he was then pursuing。 It was that way with Bertran； sometimes。 You took him for what he was； which was not inconsiderable； and tried to keep private the inward lament for how much more he might have been。
She had known she was right about Blaise de Garsenc when Rian； in holy intercession； had acted to bring the man to the island even before Bertran went to Castle Baude。 Beatritz had done what she could here； too； trying to frighten him out of the grim placency that was obvious and reach past his barriers to touch the shielded thing she sensed within。 Brissel had let her know that he； too； felt something there； and long ago she had learned to listen when the owl told her such things。
She remembered Brissel flying from her shoulder on Midsummer Night in Tavernel when Blaise had first spoken of the crown of Gorhaut。 She had not expected that； either the man's words or the white owl's sudden flight to him。 She was truly blind when Brissel was not with her； but her mother had reached up to take her hand and had told her quietly where the bird had gone； and Beatritz had felt the presence of Rian in that moment。
If only it were a presence she could invoke more often。 If only she had a tenth of the magic and the mental powers the superstitious attributed to her。 But magic in Arbonne was a tenuous； very nearly non…existent thing…whatever it might be in those uncharted countries storm…blown mariners had told her lay beyond the deserts to the south。 Magic here was wholly confined to small things； the coinage of hearth and heart。 Control of conception； foreknowledge of a child's sex…and that last not always with certainty。 Knowledge of sorrows； some access to easing them。 A skill with the gifts of the earth： herbs； flowers； fruits； trees。 A certain awareness Beatritz herself had…though only here on the island or the isle in Lake Dierne； and only since her blinding…of inward life； in matters of love and hate。 Some powers of healing； though these as much a matter of herbal and other lore handed down as anything else。
That was the sum of their magic； that was their dangerous power。 It had been useful to have others think there was more； a fear of the clergy of Rian and their night gatherings could be a kind of defence。
Until that fear became so deep and cold a terror that it became the very reason for their peril。 Galbert de Garsenc seemed to have crossed over that line one day or night in his own past。 His fear of the women of Arbonne； his hatred of Rian and all the goddess meant； was the reason there was an army in the mountains in the midst of winter； whipped into a killing frenzy by the High Elder of Corannos。 They would be out of the mountains by now； Beatritz corrected herself； her heart aching； a slow； cold dread moving through her like a poison in the blood。
She didn't know what to do。 That was the worst of it。 She could pray； gather everyone on the island under the temple dome to offer hymns and incantations all day and night； seeking some access to the goddess； invoking her intercession。 Rian could not be pelled； though。 That was the oldest； deepest law； she was capricious and inviolate； and death was a part of her dominion…it was； in fact； one of her incarnations。 She was mother； she was br