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

the stables, Bryn. May we both be wiser than manure and not step in it too often.”
    Kiran met Renchald's opaque gaze, trying not to show how uncomfortable he felt in the Master Priest's sanctum. From the wall, a tapestry of a gyrfalcon glared at him. To his left, on a pedestal, stood a heavy statue of a vulture wrought in black marble.
Temple of the Oracle, where the bird of curses is second only to the gods
. Kiran knew that the Temple's vulture-chosen priest had died without a replacement.
Who will perform the Master Priest's curses now?
he thought grimly.
    Renchald did not invite him to sit. Instead, the Master Priest sat unmoving, his green eyes boring into Kiran's. When at last he spoke, he wasted no time on pleasantries. “Alamar showed me the bow you performed today,” he said. “Ironic, isn't it, Kiran, that you would use what you learned from him to insult him as a teacher?”
    Kiran didn't answer.
    “If you had a grain of wisdom,” the Master Priest went on, “ you would know that unspoken words are even more important than words said aloud.”
    Kiran folded his arms.
    “Protocol can be a siege or a sanctuary, a weapon or a peace offering, depending upon how you use it.” Renchald's voice became louder, yet he didn't change expression. “The role you've been playing—that of un-teachable oaf—cannot continue. I didn't take you from the slums of the Eastland to allow you to flout the customs of the Temple. Don't forget, I can easily drop you back in the gutter where I found you.”
    Kiran's fingers curled within his palms, tension spreading from his arms into his back and down his legs.
    The slums of the Eastland.
Why did it bother him to hear such words? They were true. When the Master Priest had discovered him at the age of twelve, he
had
been living in the slums. With his father, Eston, a man overly fond of whisky. Kiran had too many memories of his father—unable to stand, being kicked aside by lords who might have given him a place training fine horses if he had only been sober.
    Eston had eagerly accepted Renchald's offer to take Kiran off his hands. Kiran's beloved mother had died years earlier in a riding accident, so there was no one else to consult.
    “To atone for your disrespect,” continued the Master Priest, “ you will make a bow of perfect apology to Alamar during every protocol class until he releases you from the punishment.”
    It doesn't matter
, Kiran told himself, squeezing his fists behind his back.
It's only a gesture. Means nothing to me.
    He bowed, and the red threads of the carpet matched the color of his anger.

Six
    Alessandra, Queen of Sorana, and Princess Zorienne, heir to the throne, arrived at the Temple of the Oracle and were installed in a sumptuous suite of rooms in the guest wing. During the previous weeks the senior handmaids and acolytes had been cleaning and trimming and cooking in a frenzied bustle of preparation.
    Not only for the queen. Another suite had been made ready for Lord Bartol Errington and his son, Raynor, a remarkably handsome youth eighteen years old.
    “Why has the queen come here?” Bryn asked Kiran as they filled feed buckets.
    She couldn't quite read the look he gave her; it almost appeared that he pitied her. “Prophecies,” he said. He put a hand on her shoulder. Bryn was so distracted by his warmth she had trouble listening to his words. “You know the Princess Zorienne is ill?” he asked.
    “I heard the rumor, yes.”
    Kiran took his hand away. “Perhaps the queen hopes to learn of a cure for her daughter.”
    Bryn shook oat flakes into a bucket. “Dawn says that if Princess Zorienne dies, the succession will pass to Raynor Errington.” She looked up to see him nod. “I don't understand why. Even Clea only claims to be a
distant
cousin to the queen.”
    “True. No close cousins, though, you see.”
    How did he know? “Why wouldn't Lord Errington be the king, then?”
    Kiran shrugged. “Errington enjoys the position he has