Blood-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book I ]

19

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.