The Guild of the Cowry Catchers, Book 1: Embers Read online

  Chapter 9. Mine

  The High Priestess of Wefrivain is a mysterious, but stable figure for most of her subjects. She is ageless—as beautiful and terrible as their grandfathers remembered her. Some believe that there have been a long line of High Priestesses, each chosen in great secrecy. They point to the fact that she does not often appear in public, and some say that her appearance has differed over time. Others claim that she is deathless—a personification of the will of the gods, not a true person at all. A few claim that she is a wyvern shelt, although those who have worked with her closely swear she is a grishnard. Her life and work are surrounded by secrecy, and while her Sea Watch or Police may perpetrate atrocities, these acts are rarely attributed to the Priestess, who is supposed to spend most of her time in communion with the gods. The minstrels of the old school (of whom very few remain) call her a servant of the Firebird. This is curious, as the wyvern-gods of Wefrivain have completely eradicated all monuments to that ancient deity.

  —Gwain, The Truth About Wyverns

  Alsair met Gerard on the Temple steps. “I’ve never seen a wyvern pick up a shelt that way. I thought perhaps they’d sacrificed you.” He nosed Gerard this way and that, as though to make sure he was all in one piece. “Lamire came out looking like he’d just eaten a live eel, which gave me a bit of hope.”

  Gerard sighed. “Silveo probably hates me more than ever for earning him a reprimand from the Priestess.”

  “Oh? Does our silver tadpole fear something, then?”

  “Loves and fears, I think,” said Gerard. “But neither will stop him from trying to kill me after what I said on the deck of the Fang in front of his officers and crew. I should not have lost my temper.”

  Alsair shrugged. “I wish I’d said it for you. Don’t worry; I’ll kill him before he gets another shot.”

  Gerard took a fistful of Alsair’s ruff. “No, you won’t. You’ll stay out of it. Please, this is already too complicated.” He was feeling more and more confused by the Priestess’s behavior, and he hated feeling confused. Perhaps I am just tired. He’d slept less than a watch last night, and it was already late. Thessalyn would be worried.

  Gerard told Alsair the gist of what had happened in the Temple as they flew back to the inn. He did not say anything about Morchella’s kiss.

  “We have to go to Sern?” whined Alsair. “With those conniving sea rats?”

  “You don’t have to go,” said Gerard. “In fact, I’d be pleased if you’d stay and help Thessalyn settle into the house.”

  “Oh, no. No offense to your lady, but my place is with you—now more than ever.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me, Alsair.”

  The griffin made a mock whimper. “You wound me!”

  Gerard refused to be drawn. “Silveo has an order not to kill me. He has no such order about you.” Or, he thought with a chill, about Thessalyn. “Can we go any faster?”

  When they reached the inn, Gerard tore up the stairs three at a time and unlocked the door to his room. “Thess!”

  She sat up in bed, her golden hair tousled and gleaming faintly in the stream of light from the hall. “Gerard? What’s wrong?”

  He sagged against the doorframe. Everything. “Nothing.”

  “Yes, it is,” she insisted. “Are you hurt? Please come here.”

  He shut the door and came to her in the dark (it made no difference to her). “Your heart’s beating like a bird’s,” she whispered. “What happened today? Did someone hurt you?” Her hands were running all over him in a very distracting way.

  “No one hurt me. I had a fight with Silveo. We almost attacked each other. The Priestess interfered. I thought Silveo might think of hurting you to get at me.”

  “No one has bothered me, unless you count asking me to sing “The Tale of the Maiden’s Pearl” eleven times. I suppose that could count as harassment.” Gerard smiled. Thessalyn was undressing him with expert speed. “What were you and Silveo fighting about?”

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he said, and then growled in her ear, which had the usual effect of making her try to crawl inside his shirt.