Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [20]
In this peaceful setting, Larajin could almost forget the fact that a powerful wizard wanted her dead; the Hulorn's men were no doubt scouring the streets outside even now, searching for her. Exhausted from having been up all night, she sighed, wishing that she could lie down beside the pool and be lulled into a peaceful slumber.
When she'd arrived at the temple just before dawn, it hadn't seemed to matter that she was no more than an initiate. While Habrith had a quiet word with the temple's Heartwarder, the clerics had welcomed her, given her their blessings, and clothed her in Sune's vestments: a crimson robe, cut to reveal her midriff, sandals embossed with Sune's winking eye, and a red silk scarf to tie back her hair. They had noticed the locket at her wrist and recognized it for what it was-a devotion to Hanali Celanil-but had just smiled, and commented that it must be difficult to serve two goddesses who were rivals for the same heart.
Yes, Larajin thought, she could happily tarry here forever, safely hidden within these walls. She looked up, and saw the tressym perched on the wall above, intent upon the songbirds. Larajin shook her head, willing the creature to go away. She didn't think the clerics would react kindly to having their songbirds being killed and eaten. The tressym leaped into the air and dived into the courtyard. Larajin tensed-but the tressym bypassed the songbirds, instead gliding to a graceful landing beside the sacred pool.
The tressym bent to sniff the water, then began lapping delicately. Once she finished her drink, she stretched with catlike grace, extended one brilliant wing, and preened red and turquoise feathers with long, sure strokes of her tongue.
"She's a beauty," the young cleric said, pausing in his art to admire the tressym. "Is she yours?"
*
"She seems to think so," Larajin quipped. "Or perhaps she thinks that I am hers."
The cleric laughed. Auburn-haired and long-lashed, he wore the garb of the temple: tight-fitting crimson hose capped by a padded codpiece, and a crimson shirt whose short sleeves revealed finely chiseled muscles. The shirt ended well above his midriff, exposing the deep red lines tattooed into his flesh: the pattern of Sune's lips, symbolically pressed against his belly in a sacred kiss.
He dabbed his brush back in the pot, and paused a moment before continuing his work. "Will your journey be a lengthy one, Mistress?"
Larajin did not know how to answer him. She was about to leave behind everything she knew and everyone she loved. Would she find protection among the wild elves of the Tangled Trees? More than that, would she find family, a new home?
"Mine will be a long journey," she told the cleric, the exhaustion of not having slept-making her words heavy. "One I may be on for the rest of my life."
The cleric applied one last tickling brush stroke, then regarded the finished work appreciatively.
"Indeed? Then may Sune watch over and protect you for all of the days of your journey… and all the days of your life." He brushed his lips against her midriff, sealing his design with a kiss.
Larajin flushed as the warmth of his lips spread up and down her body. The blush spread to her very toes and fingertips-which, she saw, were surrounded by a faint red aura-and prickled through her scalp. When the magic that had accompanied the blessing took hold, it left her feeling rested and refreshed.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"My pleasure, Mistress." He gathered up his brushes and pot of gilt paste. "I hope to see you again, should your journey at last come to an end."
Larajin's eyes lingered on the cleric as he departed the
courtyard-he was very good looking, even for one of Sune's chosen.
She rose and cast a pebble into the pool and watched as ripples spread across it. No answer was given