The Light of the Oracle by Victoria Hanley Read Free Book Online

the day before, Dawn had told Bryn that the protocol instructor, Alamar, would expect her to know the correct bow for greeting him. “Show me your bow of respectful greeting,” she'd said.
    Bryn had reluctantly stopped watching the ripples of water where fish were splashing. She'd bowed as Dai had taught her, eyes cast down, hands meeting, body bending at the waist.
    Dawn clicked her tongue. “Might pass in the outer world but not here in the Temple. You aren't holding the bow long enough. And when you hope to receive knowledge, curl your thumbs toward your palms like this.” Dawn pulled her thumb joints back and pointedher thumbs inward. “Turn in your toes to show you have no status.”
    They had practiced until Dawn was satisfied. Now Bryn's bow would be put to the test.
    Once inside the classroom, she and Dawn stood at the back of the room. Alyce and Clea were there, bowing to the instructor, a thin, dry-looking man in gold-embroidered robes, who wore crystal spectacles.
    Clea's shimmering robe accentuated her graceful bow. The instructor pointed her to a seat in the front row of chairs.
    Dawn stepped forward and bowed: duenna introducing her ward to the instructor of protocol. “Sir, meet Bryn Stonecutter. Bryn, meet Alamar, a priest of the Oracle.”
    Bryn bowed. She knew as she straightened that she had been too hasty, had not shown full respect.
    Alamar's face remained impassive. “Sit in the tenth row, beside Willow,” he said.
    Dawn looked annoyed. She guided Bryn to a seat and left her to go to her own place several rows away. Willow, a girl near Bryn's age with olive skin and mild eyes, gave her a shy smile, but Bryn's cheeks burned. It seemed she could hardly take a step in the Temple without treading on her own ignorance.
    She stared about her, feeling small. The windows at the front of the room were taller than the baker's shop in Uste. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling—unlit because the sun shone—and Bryn saw not a single cobweb or mote of dust upon their shining surfaces.
    The rows holding student chairs were tiered, looking down on a circle at the head of the room where Alamar stood. “We will begin today with the gestures that express disdain or respect when bowing,” he announced.
    Bryn blinked. Had she heard him correctly?
    “I need two students to demonstrate the bows,” Alamar said. His eyes searched the room. “Kiran,” he called out.
    Kiran rose from a chair in the back. His acolyte's robe was shabbier than Bryn's—the cuffs badly frayed, the collar sagging, both sleeves stained. As he moved to the front of the room, his large hands bunched into fists at his sides.
    “And our new handmaid, Clea Errington,” Alamar said.
    Clea glided up to join Alamar and Kiran. Everything about her seemed to glow: her light hair, her silk robe, her satiny slippers. She bowed to the instructor—Bryn didn't recognize the bow but knew at once that it was expert—and to Kiran. Muffled laughter rippled through the room. Kiran glowered, the freckles on his face standing out like burnt crumbs.
    “Clever,” Alamar said. “Who can tell me what Clea's bow to Kiran meant?” He pointed. “Eloise?”
    Eloise rose. “That he might be her equal if he wore a new robe.”
    “Indeed,” Alamar answered. “However, Kiran would need to do far more to be the equal of this young lady.” Bryn's stomach turned as she watched Clea preening. “Now tell me, class, the meaning of thisbow.” Alamar bowed to Kiran, and as he came out of the bow, he waved his right hand so that his palm faced backward and his index finger pointed up. At the same time, he lifted his right foot, scraping it slightly against the floor.
    This time he called on one of the young men. “Gridley.”
    Bryn saw only the back of Gridley's head. Neatly trimmed brown hair touched his neck; his rich robe draped his shoulders smoothly as he rose. “ You said Kiran walks in manure because he can't learn to be civilized,” he answered in