Dienna’s days were becoming busier as the Midsummer Festival approached. She spent the last week before the festivities holed up in her room, practicing the myriad of speeches she had prepared for different parts of the ceremony, convinced she was saying something wrong or leaving something out. She had written them all herself, and although she was proud of her work, she was terrified of mucking them up.
Her practice was often interrupted by visits from Meredith, whose presence brought a welcome relief from Dienna’s hectic schedule, and by the occasional novice knocking on her door to declare the arrival of one important person or other. These were less welcome interruptions, though Dienna bore them with as much grace as she could muster. Noble lords and ladies had been crowding the Godskeep for the past few days—arriving in their large, finely-decorated carriages, pulled by teams of ornamented horses up the Holy Road and through the open gates of the Godskeep. There were hardly any empty rooms left, and the influx of Dorneldia’s most ancient and noble families was only increasing.
The noble house of Pendleton, the noble house of Koothe, the Everynnes, the Brandishklans, the family of Tarne, the house of Bredect, the Moniphsons, the Morinsons, the Maniphsons, the noble house of Touring, she had to greet them all. She would meet them outside the Hall of Ceremony, where newcomers inevitably gathered to marvel at the beautiful structure, and welcomed them to the Godskeep on her father’s behalf. The nobles always struck Dienna as odd. The way they spoke to Dienna invoked both respect and haughtiness. She had been most confused when welcoming one Lord Remette Touring and his wife, Lady Bellia.
“I hope you find the Godskeep inviting,” Dienna had said diplomatically. “The Hall of Ceremony is always open to meet the needs of the Faithful.”
The Lady Touring had replied with a sniff, “That is most inviting, yes, but do show us to our rooms, sister, and that would serve our needs better.”
Dienna could not abide their way of dress either. In the Golden Valley, those who were not priests or acolytes dressed simply, wearing linen or wool in pleasant, inexpensively dyed colors. The women typically wore shift dresses that came to the ankle over a blouse or a chemise, and occasionally they wore frocks or skirts embroidered with flowers and other pretty designs. The younger women even wore men’s breeches, especially if they were workers of the fields, and tunics. The noblewomen, however, wore nothing less fanciful than a gown with a train and sleeves that brushed the floor in colors rich and vibrant. Beading, metalwork, lace—all adorned their sartorial possessions—and with their elegant clothing, they wore elegant hairstyles. Though hidden during the day by elaborate veils, night would reveal complicated coifs twisted and molded and braided info fashionable designs. The men were no plainer, wearing lavishly decorated tunics, well cut and tailored, over sumptuous silk or velvet breeches. It was also the fashion for men, particularly in the Port Cities, to sport fancy canes with gold or silver heads. Dienna found it silly. A priest may wear fine things to strike awe in the hearts of worshipers, and thus increase their piety, but no layman, wealthy or not, need parade about like such a peacock.
There was one peacock that took the proverbial cake—none-other than Prince Fucian. The King and Queen were never expected to attend the Midsummer Festival themselves, indeed, the last time Dienna recalled the King visiting the Godskeep had been for the Night of the Thousand, Thousand Stars when she had been barely old enough to remember such things. Instead, the royal family typically chose a delegate to represent them. Sometimes they sent a royal cousin, sometimes a royal aunt, but this year they had sent the King's son. Prince Fucian was known throughout Dorneldia for being a surly, ill-tempered young man, and Dienna thought he quite lived up to that reputation. The first things he had done upon arriving at the Godskeep were to complain loudly of the long journey and demand a glass of wine.
“My Prince,” Dienna had said, aghast. “You have traveled a long way, to be sure, but there will be ample time for relaxation after you have presented yourself to the gods. The next worship starts in a quarter of an hour. My father will be expecting you.”
“Hang your father,” the prince had said with a lackluster expression belying his words. “I'll have a bottle of wine and a good long bath, and then we'll see about your bloody worship.”
He was gone with a swing of his brocade cape, a troupe of servants following after him as he ordered them about in bored tones. Dienna had dreaded telling her father of his unfriendly behavior, but he had only laughed when she finally did.
“I had the displeasure of meeting Prince Fucian when he was still a boy,” Lord Mayrim said. “He was a disagreeable, flimsy child with a look as if he would rather be in the darkenworld than sitting through my service in the Hall of Ceremony. I gather that he hasn't changed much.”
It was wearisome work. Dienna felt the physical and mental toll of constantly having to leave her room and her studies to welcome those newly arrived—showing them to their quarters, assuring them that they would be comfortable, and receiving dubious thanks in return. Of course, some of the nobles came every year, and were much more appreciative of Dienna’s time. Dienna was always glad to see these familiar faces, and she looked forward to having the opportunity to visit with them at the welcoming feast the eve before Midsummer.
The day of the feast arrived sooner than Dienna had expected. Before she knew it, she found herself rushing to the great dining hall at the North end of the Godskeep to commemorate their new arrivals and to thank them all for making the long pilgrimage from the far corners of the kingdom. There was ham and mutton and fish for all, along with fresh baked bread, apples from the orchard, oranges and mangoes imported from the North, clotted cream and biscuits, herbed carrots and green beans, and berry tart for dessert. The lords and ladies tucked in, approving of the fine selection, and everyone, priests and nobles, seemed a bit more at ease thereafter.
Dienna went straight to her quarters after the feast, along with her mother. Sitting on a tall stool, Lady Grenna was standing behind her, rolling Dienna's wet hair into place with strips of fabric and tying them up neatly at the top of her head.
“Are you sure this is necessary, mother?” Dienna asked irritably. Her stomach was threatening to burst from all the biscuits and cream she had eaten.
“Well I would not say that it's necessary,” she replied, not ceasing in her work. “But you did say you wanted to make a good impression.”
Dienna snorted, “So I need to curl my hair?”
“It will make you look a bit more comely, my dear” her mother said evenly. “It is a special occasion, and all eyes will be upon you. You should look your absolute best.”
Dienna grumbled, “I suppose.”
“Be sure to wash your face well tonight. You’ll be glowing tomorrow,” her mom turned Dienna's head gently to face her, giving her a warm smile. Dienna turned away.
“Do you think I did well on my speech tonight?” she asked anxiously. She had given a short address at the end of the feast, and had led them in prayer. While Dienna had done this sort of thing plenty of times for the residents of the Godskeep, there was something distinctly unsettling about speaking in front of the nobility. Something about the uninterested way in which they examined her made her feel like she was nothing more than a particularly odd looking insect that had been placed before them for their amusement.
“For the hundredth time, yes!” her mother scolded lightly. “You were wonderful, darling, and you’ll do an excellent job tomorrow.”
“I hope you’re right,” Dienna said quietly.
She had not yet had a chance to tell anyone about who she had seen in her father’s chambers. Her time between studies and attending to guests was always brief and hurried. This was the first time she and her mother had had a chance to be alone since the throng of guests had begun to arrive. Dienna fought with herself once more about whether or not she should tell her mother of the experience she had had at prayer. The burning, the scar. Dienna had searched every text that had been available to her in the small spaces of time that she had between her other priestly duties, and she still had not come across any record of an encounter such as this with the gods. She heaved a heavy sigh.
“Is something the matter, darling?”
“Lady Artima of the Plains,” Dienna replied sullenly. At least her mother may be able to help with that issue. “I saw her in father’s chambers, awaiting his counsel.”
“Lady Artima,” her mother breathed sharply. Her hands resumed their task, “She is known to be a powerful practitioner of magic, and a consort of ogres...what business could she have with your father?”
“I don’t know,” Dienna said, feeling frustration arise. “I asked him about it, but he said it didn't concern me. He apparently was late for a meeting with her. I don’t know if he's seen her since.”
Her mother replied evenly “If she is here at your father’s invitation, I wouldn't be worried,” she said slowly. “I am sure she means us no harm.”
Dienna said nothing in response. Mother and daughter fell silent until, at last, all of Dienna’s long, straight hair was done up in knots. She walked over to her mirror and grimaced.
“It looks a mess,” she complained.
Lady Grenna just smiled, “It will look better when you take them out tomorrow, I promise.”
Dienna made no response, but there was no hiding her fear from her mother. Lady Grenna moved to sit on Dienna's bed, motioning her to do the same.
“I remember when I was to marry your father,” she started.
“Mother—”
“And I was so nervous the night before our wedding,” she continued, ignoring the interruption, “that I tried to escape the Godskeep through the postern door in naught but my slip.” She laughed, a wistful expression on her face. “It was a great honor for the Grandbecks to wed into the Darpentus line. We are a proud, god-fearing family, and have been for ages, but I was so frightened of disappointing them—my family and your father's—that I thought it might be better to run.”
Dienna was silent, her own fear making her stomach churn.
“As you know, I stayed and married your father,” her mother continued, “but do you know why?”
“No.”
“I remembered my lessons from when I was a girl,” she answered plainly. “I remembered our family priest telling me about the Chosen Mother; how the gods, having been robbed of their own mother by death's icy grip, vowed to one day choose from among us mortals a new mother to take her place. Even knowing that no mortal woman could compare with the heavenly being that gave them immortal life, they knew that they needed a mother,” Lady Grenna's eyes were glossy as she beheld her daughter. “I may not be the Chosen Mother the gods select to take Her place, but I thought of the children I would someday bear, and I knew they would need me, and if I ran away, they might never be brought to life. The followers of the Way are your children, Dienna,” her mother continued, taking her daughter’s hand. “They need you as sure as a babe needs its mother, as sure as the gods need theirs.”
“The Chosen Mother is just a parable, mother,” Dienna said, flushed at her mother's caresses and her praise. “The gods are all powerful. Most of us doubt they had a 'mother' to give birth to them at all.”
“Well most of you priests are wrong,” Lady Grenna replied bluntly. “You will understand when you have children of your own. You will see, and you will rise to their needs.”
“Rise to their needs,” Dienna repeated quietly. “I hope I will.”
“You will have to,” she continued, giving her daughter a kiss on the forehead. “A mother does anything for her children.”
Dienna nodded, and her mother stood to gather her things. They parted that night with a short embrace, before Lady Grenna left for her own room. Dienna contemplated her mother's words, but there was no helping it. When she thought about tomorrow morning, she was terrified.
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