Even the restless movement of the ocean was more beautiful at the feet of the Holy City of Karelin.
Mhera watched the walls rise up before her, hazy through the thin fabric of her veil. The small vessel in which she had sailed was manned by the Haven's boatman, a grizzled ancient with a faded tattoo on his left cheek. He was tasked with bringing their weekly supplies and, when they made their rare visits home, ferrying the Daughters of Zanara across the narrow strip of the Tyrrian Sea that separated them from Penrua.
The boatman's oars dragged at last against the sandy bottom, causing the vessel to shudder. Mhera, who had been watching the pennants on the high ramparts of the city flapping in the wind, fell against the side of the boat. Her trailing sleeve slipped down into the water.
"Forgive me, Sister. Please hold on," said the boatman. He climbed out of the boat, sloshing up to his waist in the water. Mhera clung to the side, ignoring her soaking sleeve, and waited until the boatman had dragged their small vessel onto the sandy shore. She then accepted the man's outstretched hand and allowed him to help her from the boat.
With her, Mhera had brought only a change of clothes and a comb. The boatman handed this small parcel to her and then bowed reverently, his hand pressed to his breast.
"I shall return in a week's time," Mhera said, her gaze lingering on the boatman's marke. There were no Arcborn at the Haven; seeing him put her in mind of palace servants she had known in her childhood, and it put her in mind also of the reason she had come to the Holy City: to see the Rebel Queen relieved of her head. A queasy feeling settled into her stomach.
"And I will meet you here, Sister, to see you safely home again," the boatman replied.
Home, Mhera thought. She turned away from the boat and looked up at the high white walls of the city. This is home.
The port was bustling. Being the imperial seat of a realm that included not only Penrua, where Mhera lived, but also the southern continent of Narr, Karelin was a hub of trade and travel. Merchants came from farther to the south of Penrua over land, but others sailed from the lush island country of Myori to the northwest or from the icy tundra of Tyrria to the northeast, making port in Karelin to distribute their wares. Far along the sandy shoreline there were half a dozen ships in the harbor, each being loaded or unloaded by teams of men. Mhera had stood on this shore only once before, when she and her uncle had prepared to sail to the Haven the first time.
Looking toward the city gates, Mhera noticed a force of imperial guardsmen in their pale blue tabards marching toward her; there were six of them, one carrying a pennant and the rest of them armed with spears and shields. She gathered her skirt and walked over the sands to meet the men halfway. As one, they knelt and placed their hands over the red roses embroidered upon their tabards.
"Sister Mhera," said the captain, "May the Goddess light your waking hours."
"And watch over your sleep," Mhera replied. The words felt strange on her tongue. It was a formal greeting, one reserved for priests, priestesses, and the Daughters. She had never spoken it to laymen before, having not been off the island since her reception there so long ago. The exchange reminded her how different she was, how set apart from the world she had known.
The guardsmen had been expecting her. Mhera had sent word with the messenger that she would return to the Holy City. Had they not known she was coming, they would not have known her from any of the other sisters. To an outsider, each sister looked the same: veiled and garbed in gray, the mystical embodiment of the divine, not a sliver of flesh bare to the eye.
"Please permit us to escort you to the palace." The captain rose, and his soldiers followed suit. "His Grace eagerly awaits your return."
The thought of seeing Korvan now after so long apart turned Mhera's heart cold. He might have been kind and conciliatory in his letters, but surely he could not welcome her back with open arms. Not after she had been so cruel in her disregard. She had felt justified when she thought she would never return home, never see his face again. Now, on the brink of going back to the palace, she was overcome with guilt.
As Mhera followed the guards to the gilded city gates, passersby smiled at her. Many paused and gave the same gesture of respect to Zanara, pressing an open palm against their hearts and bowing their heads. It was a special thing to see Haven sisters on shore. Mhera tried to give a nod of acknowledgment to each of the supplicants, feeling like a pretender in her holy woman's clothes, but it was difficult to see through the gray haze of her veil. Eventually, she turned her attention inward.
It was summer, and the day was warm. Mhera began to sweat, her hair dampened and stuck to her temples beneath her veil. Her long-skirted gown and trailing sleeves were symbols of her spiritual detachment of the world, but in practice, the unwieldy clothing so detached her that it was nearly impossible to navigate the sand beneath her feet. The crowds parted to permit her armed escort to pass, and Mhera focused on walking without tripping over her clothes. As they passed into the gates of the city, an unwitting guard trod on her sleeve, causing Mhera to stumble.
"My lady—Sister Mhera, forgive me," said the horrified guard.
"No matter," she said, attempting a reassuring tone,but the words came out more coolly than she intended. She was tired and frustrated, and she did not relish the reunions ahead.
It was quite a walk to reach the palace. Had she still been a noblewoman, the guards might have brought a litter to ease her passage through the streets, but as it was, such a luxury would have been completely inappropriate, and behind the veil, Mhera felt invisible. Although they showed the deference that was the Goddess's due, none of the Karelinian citizens would recognize her as Lady Mhera, niece of the emperor of Penrua. With a pang of guilt, Mhera pushed away her resentment at this enforced anonymity.
They walked through market square, where tailors, vintners and blacksmiths plied their trades. Most were respectable, wearing either the rich clothes and ornaments of the upper class or the simpler garments of middle class tradesmen. There were others, though, in plainer clothes—the street-sweepers, tanners, butchers, laundresses, and shoe-shiners. The meaner the occupation, the more likely the worker was to bear a tattoo of varying design on the left cheek.
A dazzling array of wares was on display, both mundane and magical: beautiful works of pottery and glass; leather gloves and boots; woolen and velvet cloaks; fruits, vegetables, ale and wine; charmed necklaces and toy birds that really flew. With passing interest, Mhera noticed a merchant selling printed books alongside hand-illuminated books of prayer, which were forbidden to be printed with a press. Many of these were copied at the Haven, although Mhera had never turned her hand to such work.
Never had Mhera felt so alone in the city of her birth, even surrounded by her uncle's men. The streets, the buildings, the tall spires topped with spirit lamps—everything seemed foreign to her, distant. She had rarely gone into the city proper, having spent most of her life on palace grounds, and she could not orient herself as they traveled through the streets; she had no way of knowing how far they were from the palace. Mhera walked for what seemed an eternity within her moving armored wall. Before long, her feet and her legs were aching and her head was beginning to pound. At last, just when she was considering whether she should ask for a rest, they came upon the Sovereign Square.
Here, the crowds thinned. At the center of the square were the tall, slender forms of the Blessed Sovereigns, artfully crafted of alabaster and standing together on a plinth of obsidian. The Chosen One, Katyander, held a staff surmounted with a sphere of glowing lavender crystal. Her consort Broycan also clasped the staff. Mhera paused for a moment to gaze at their serene faces, remembering all the times she had walked through this square as a child in the company of her late cousin or her governess.
She wondered whether Katyander had desired her gifts. Had she chosen her path, or had it been thrust upon her, leaving her with no recourse but to follow it, no matter how painful it might be?
To Mhera's right was the Imperial Temple, the largest in the city, with its massive golden dome and a spire that seemed high enough to pierce the very heavens; beyond were the expansive gardens, hidden partly from view by an iron gate. On the other side of the statues, the palace rose before her with its white walls, shining towers, and jewel-bright roofs. The sight of it dazzled her starved eyes. There was a flight of broad marble steps sloping up toward high, golden doors which were currently closed to the world. Three guards flanked the doors on either side, solemn in her uncle's livery. They snapped to attention as Mhera's escort came into view.
Once they were at the foot of the stairway, the guards surrounding Mhera parted, turned toward her, and bowed their heads. Mhera, not used to such attention and formality now, was at a loss.
"I thank you all," she said, peering through her veil at the captain. Then, she gathered her skirts and began to climb the steps. She struggled to present an outward air of grace and self-containment, but the heat was making her feel nauseous and she had to take tiny steps to avoid stumbling over her own garments. Sweat trickled down her temple and her neck. Decidedly impious thoughts crowded her mind.
As she gained the gate, the guards made the gesture of respect in unison, their hands starring out over their chests.
"Good afternoon," Mhera said breathlessly.
"Welcome home, Sister Mhera," said one of the men. He made an effort to look serious, but a broad grin warred with his solemnity. She recognized his face dimly from her childhood. Perhaps he had spoken to her once, when she was small. It was an unexpected relief to see him, although she did not know his name.
The men stood aside and two of them moved to open the heavy golden gates. Mhera entered alone.