Ahead, several Royal Guardsmen had stopped to talk in the middle of the road. None looked at her or the boy as they passed. From ahead, out of sight beyond where the road bent about the great temple onto Soros Square, there came the ringing of trumpets and the echo of drums. An audible cheer from a large gathering. There were no nobles on the streets because they were all at the ceremonies. It was well, then, that she did not look too important…
She ascended the great temple stairs, scanning up from within her hood to see the four guardsmen at the entrance, two halberds and two swords. Above, Ambellion's four great spires towered against the fast-moving clouds. Daryd nearly tripped on the stairs to see that sight… and Sasha suffered a flash of memory, as a little girl, spinning on the steps whilst staring upward, for that glorious vertigo of motion and dizziness… The tallest structures in Lenayin, they were, pronouncing Verenthane glory to the lands for many folds around.
The near guardsman was Goeren-yai and she stopped before him. "I wish to see the king," she said evenly.
"Sorry, lad, there's no admittance outside of service. You'll have to wait." Sasha pulled her hood back a little and lifted her gaze so that the soldier could see his mistake. He frowned… and blinked. Very few men of BaenTar knew her face by sight, there were no portraits of her adorning the palace walls. But then, there was only one woman in Baen-Tar who dressed and wore her hair as she did…
"Daughter to father," she said firmly, "I must see the king." The guardsman blinked again. Sasha took advantage, grasping Daryd's hand and walking past. The temple's huge doors towered overhead, left partly open to admit one at a time. Sasha went through, Daryd following behind, and progressed straight across the atrium. Guards here stood alert on the stone floor, many-coloured windows spilling light upon vases of blue ralama flowers. Flanking the main doorway ahead, two statues loomed-Saint Ambellion on the right, in flowing robes with a blessing palm upraised, and King Soros on the left, tall and armoured, with a Verenthane star emblazoned on the pommel of his sword.
The main doors were open and the central aisle between pews stretched invitingly ahead. For a moment, Sasha dared to believe that it might indeed be that easy. Then she heard a rattling footstep as a soldier came through the gap behind. "M'Lady! M'Lady, stop!"
From beneath the statues, guards sprang to life, blocking the way with hands on hilts. Others closed in on her side, and the guards from outside closed at her back. Sasha turned to face the man behind, but that man looked over her head. "Lieutenant," he said. "Sashandra Lenayin, she claims."
Sasha turned again, this time taking Daryd about with her. The lieu tenant stared down at her, eyes narrowed beneath his gleaming helm. Sasha pulled back her hood and met his gaze. "M'Lady," said the lieutenant. "The king is at prayer."
"I know," said Sasha.
"It is a serious thing to disturb the king at prayer." The lieutenant's face was free of tattoos, but his hair seemed to have a little length beneath the helm. A single gold ring hung in his left ear. Her hope flared. It was not a great display by any means, but she knew from experience that one should never judge the depths of a man's feelings by the nature of his appearance. "With what emergency would you disturb the king's holy contemplation?"
"This boy," said Sasha, placing her hand upon Daryd's shoulder. The lieutenant's gaze dropped to regard Daryd. Daryd stared upwards, unflinchingly. A good, common lad might drop his gaze, confronted by a man of rank. Daryd's stare was defiant. "He is Udalyn."
The lieutenant's eyes flashed back to Sasha's, with sharp alarm. She could sense the disquiet her words had caused, in the stiffening poise of the guardsmen. Breathing seemed to cease. "Udalyn," said the lieutenant.
"A refugee," said Sasha. "From Ymoth. The Hadryn attacked it barely eight days ago. I would speak with my father, Lieutenant. The boy rode without halt from Hadryn lands day and night for that purpose. He's earned it."
"Lieutenant," said one man, in a low, alarmed voice, "we should alert Prince Koenyg." The lieutenant stared at him, displeasure in his eyes. Beyond him, Sasha caught a glimpse of a priest advancing up the long central aisle, to check on the commotion. The lieutenant seemed unconvinced. He stared back down at Daryd, convictions battling in his eyes.
"Daryd," said Sasha to the boy, urgently. "Speak, Daryd." And gestured to her mouth. Daryd spoke, proudly, in a high, clear voice. Complete sentences, precise and formal. The high, stone atrium echoed with foreign Edu vowels, unheard in this place since its construction. For a moment, Sasha fancied that the grim stone statue of her great-grandfather Soros might have flinched for shame.
The lieutenant squatted opposite Daryd and stared the boy in the face. Daryd completed his little speech and stared back, eyes blazing. And the lieutenant, for the briefest moment, appeared to battle against some powerful emotion.
"Go," he said then to Sasha. "The king's daughter has privileges much unused. Make it brief."
"But sir!" gasped a soldier. The lieutenant gave him a sharp glare and rose. Sasha fancied that his eyes were a little moist.
"Brief, I say," he snapped. Sasha grabbed Daryd's hand and edged quickly past. The priest approaching down the aisle changed directions as she marched by, hurrying to keep up.
"M'Lady Sashandra," he said, cool yet urgent at her right shoulder, "the king is in private chambers. His meditations are deep, he is not to be disturbed."
"So stop me," Sasha retorted, striding fast, little Daryd half-running to keep up.
"M'Lady," said the priest in worried exasperation. His robes were black and plain, and the top of his head was shaved bald, where the rest of his hair was short and straight. A large golden star bounced from a chain about his neck as he strode. He refrained from touching her. Priests and women, Sasha thought sourly. In her particular case, the dislike was mutual.
The temple aisle was long. Many wooden pews crossed the floor beneath an impossibly high ceiling. Coloured windows rowed the walls high above, the morning sun spearing low, angled rays across the stone. The light indeed seemed heavenly, and the temple air hushed and serene. Sasha had not chosen the ways of the Verenthanes, yet even she could feel the awed magnificence in every silent step across the floor. At her side, Daryd stared upward and about in silent incredulity. He made the spirit sign repeatedly. Sasha hoped the priest did not see.
Ahead, an altar rose on a broad stone platform with carved railings. Above were draped two vast curtains of crimson with gold trim upon which there was embroidered the great wooden staff of Saint Ambellion that he had used to walk from Torovan to Lenayin more than three centuries before, and then across all of Lenayin, preaching to those who would listen. Few indeed, it would have been back then, in pagan, Cherrovan-ruled Lenayin.
It was only then that she caught sight of a dark figure kneeling upon the raised space behind the altar, hidden from the central aisle by a lectern. He knelt on a cushion before a pedestal, upon which hung a Verenthane star on a gold chain. Across the wall behind was a huge wooden star, inlaid with gold and silver, and set into the very stone of the wall.
Sasha stopped as the priest scurried about the steps and whispered reverently in the kneeling figure's ear. The figure wore a communion shroud on his head, like a black, silken handkerchief, blocking out the physical world, so that he could focus entirely upon the spiritual. Sasha felt her heart gallop in gathering alarm and dismay. She had not known that her father wore the shroud at prayer. Such things were for the especially devout, and the penitent and fallible.