The Light of the Oracle Read Online Free PDF Page B

she was making “adequate” progress. In fact, he frequently scowled at her, bemoaning her lack of understanding.
    Fortunately, Nirene didn't wait for a reply. She marched away. Dawn saw her approach Alyce's curtain and pitied Alyce, guessing she was to be duenna for the other handmaid, the conceited one. Strangelyenough, Alyce wasn't bird-chosen either. Ah well, who knew why the Sendrata did what she did? Her orders could not be questioned, only obeyed.
    Pulling aside the curtain around the bed that had been Selid's for so many years, Dawn wondered again what had become of Selid. Chosen by the red cardinal and said to be the most talented prophetess in the Temple, Selid had treated everyone with the same distant kindness. She'd been close to becoming a priestess when she left.
Will I ever find out what happened?
    The wake-up gong was still several minutes away. Dawn kneeled by Bryn's bedside. She would wake her now and show her where to wash before the other handmaids rose.
    Untidy strands of chestnut-brown hair spilled over Bryn's pillow, and her face was streaked with grime. Her dress was stained and threadbare, torn at the hem and one of the shoulders. Lifting one of her hands, Dawn felt calluses on the palm and fingers.
    Bryn opened alert golden-brown eyes. “Water,” she whispered.
    “Sorry about the old robes and scuffed shoes,” Dawn said after she'd given Bryn water and taken her to the dispensary for clothes. “It's the penance for being poor. Wealthy handmaids get their robes sent from home—more fancy every year.” She snorted. “So much for being ‘sisters' here at the Temple.”
    “These are finery to me,” Bryn said, but Dawn thought she looked very shabby. When they reachedthe dining hall, Bryn stared about her with great eyes, awed by the length of the room, the deep windows on two sides, the well-varnished tables, the senior handmaids who served those who were eating. She handled the dishes as if they might break at her touch. Dawn, a weaver's daughter, remembered her own first day in the Temple, and how elegant the glazed pottery had appeared to her, how soft the linen napkins, how clean and smooth the granite floors.
    Once the grace had been spoken, Dawn introduced Bryn to the other young women who often shared an eating table. “This is Jacinta. She's dove-chosen.” Jacinta's glossy braid was wound with blue ribbons. Her robe fell in elegant lines, and her skin glowed. She greeted Bryn with gentle friendliness.
    “And here's Alyce,” Dawn said, pointing to the young woman sitting across from her. Alyce had straw-colored hair and darting blue eyes. “Did Nirene make you duenna to the other new handmaid?” Dawn asked her friend.
    Alyce tossed her braid behind her shoulder. “Oh yes. Clea.
Lord
Errington's daughter, as she made plain within seconds.”
    “Descended from King Zor,” Bryn put in.
    Alyce laughed. “Pity me. I'm her duenna, but she can't bear to be seen with me; she must have smelled out that I'm nothing but a baker's daughter. How will I endure a year with her as my ward?” She pointed with her fork at the table behind Dawn. “Look. The Feathers have accepted Clea before she's even set foot in the Ceremony of Birds.”
    Turning, Dawn saw Clea seated next to Eloise in the group of bird-chosen handmaids known as the Feathers. “Naturally,” Dawn said acidly. “She probably met Eloise when they were both little nibbies crawling through their papas' castles, long before they wanted to be Feathers.”
    “Feathers?” Bryn asked, puzzled.
    “Bird-chosen snobs,” Dawn explained. “The girls who keep sneering in your direction. They call themselves the Feathers.” She hefted her mug to her friends. “How we'll laugh if no bird chooses Clea.”
    “She thinks the vulture will choose her,” Bryn said. Dawn had just taken a drink of milk. “Vulture?” she spluttered. Across the table, Jacinta and Alyce froze. “May the gods forbid,” Dawn said.
    Bryn watched as the