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“The ceremony is not horrible or terrifying. It is sacred, blessed. You will soon be re united with the man you love.”

Xydis put a fatherly arm around Aylaen and led her over the threshold.

Treia and Raegar were about to follow when Treia tightened her grip on Raegar’s hand and pulled him close.

“You are sure this will go the way we want?” she said in an undertone.

“The Spirit Priestesses know their business. And so does Aelon,” said Raegar in a whisper. He squeezed her hand in warning. “Now we must be silent.”

They entered cool darkness perfumed with incense and the smell of melting wax. Tall, slender, wrought-iron candlesticks formed a large circle in the middle of the floor. A Spirit Priestess stood in the center of the circle, gazing at them without expression.

She was an older woman of perhaps fifty years. Her face was seamed with the marks of age and was an odd contrast to the skin of her shaved head, which was smooth as a babe’s. Her eyes were large and calm and mild. She was there and not there. She saw them and yet she didn’t. Or rather, she saw them and was not much interested.

“After one hears the voice of the god,” the Spirit Priestesses were wont to say, “all other voices are as the cawing of crows.”

She had no snake tattoo. Instead, three large diamond crystals were embedded in her flesh—one in her forehead and the other two on her cheeks. Raegar’s eyes opened wide when he saw her. He drew in an awed breath.

“We are highly honored. She is Semelon, the Head of the Order,” Raegar whispered.

The diamonds marked Semelon’s high ranking. Those of lower rank were given semiprecious gems. Slaves, like Skylan, made do with pulverized quartz. Semelon wore a plain white tunic that fell from thin shoulders and was belted around the waist. Her feet were bare, and she gestured to all of them to remove their shoes and leave them at the entrance.

She did not speak, but made a gesture of welcome, extending her hands as if she would embrace them. A sense of peace stole over everyone, a quieting of the soul, an inner calm. Aylaen quit shivering and drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. Xydis gave a slight inclination of his head to indicate their readiness.

Semelon looked from one to another. She asked no questions, spoke no words. Gliding forward, she took hold of Aylaen’s hand and drew her into the circle of light. Aylaen went without hesitation, no longer fearful, no longer doubting.

Semelon lifted two of the lighted candles from one of the candlesticks. She handed one candle to Aylaen, kept the other candle for herself. Semelon knelt on the floor in the middle of the circle and tilted the candle, causing the molten wax to drip onto the floor and form a small pool. She placed the end of her candle into the pool and gestured for Aylaen to do the same, indicating she was to place her candle about twenty paces from Semelon’s. She took two more candles and, giving one to Aylaen, put these on the floor at right angles from the others, forming a square within the circle.

Semelon led Aylaen out of the square and, keeping hold of Aylaen’s hand, touched Aylaen’s fingers to the diamond in the left cheek and held it there. Semelon closed her eyes. Her lips moved in an incantation. They could not hear her words.

A ghostly figure appeared in the square formed by the four candles. Treia sucked in her breath between her teeth and dug her nails into Raegar’s hand. He swallowed and backed up a step.

“Garn!” Aylaen murmured.

Tears filled her eyes. Semelon placed her hand on Aylaen’s mouth, cautioning her not to speak. The ghostly figure was wispy, wavering, like morning mist rising off the water. Semelon strengthened her incantation; they could hear her words. Her tone was insistent, commanding.

The ghost became more substantial, flesh and bone. Garn’s wrists were chained, as were his feet. His face was bloodied and bruised, as though he had been struck repeatedly.

Aylaen gasped and put her hand to her mouth.

Xydis cast a sharp, questioning glance at Semelon. She remained calm, impassive.