Book 3: Prologue

The woman who called herself Mara gazed into the steaming washbasin at an image of a blonde girl in a snowstorm. When footsteps sounded behind her, she banished the vision and turned to greet her husband.

Otho looked upon her body with desire in his eyes. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” he asked, pulling her to him with a smile and kissing her forehead.

Mara laughed. “I don’t know, so you’d better come up with something soon.”

He grinned down at her. “Perhaps we should take a real bath, and you can give me a chance to come up with something right now.”

“Then we’d miss Tullia’s party. Go get dressed. I’ll be out soon.”

With good-natured grumbling, Otho left the bathing chamber. Mara stared after him for a moment, her smile slipping. She’d enjoyed her time with him, but her current self was rapidly approaching thirty-five years of age, and she hated seeing herself grow old. It would be time for her to go soon, leaving behind another grieving husband.

They’d met fifteen years earlier, when she was posing as one of her own priestesses. She’d just created the new body after spending several years away from the mortal realm, mourning her previous self’s husband. Devlin had only been a farmer, but he'd also been a good man, and his death from infection had been difficult for her. He’d been too young, and their time together had been much too short. Mara’s previous self hadn’t been a priestess, so it was against the rules to save him. She’d left their newborn daughter behind with their closest neighbors and vanished into the woods, shedding her mortal self.

When she’d returned as Mara three years later, Otho had been the first man to greet her in the temple, and it hadn’t taken long to seduce him. He’d been new to lovemaking, but he was an apt pupil and learned quickly. A month later, he’d proposed, and Mara, a priestess who’d had no other identity besides her name, had become a member of Valara’s high society.

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It was the life she was accustomed to, but she still missed her little farm cabin with Devlin.

She sighed. She would miss Otho too, but unlike Devlin, he was alive and young enough to marry again. With his wealth and position in the city, he wouldn’t have any problem finding another wife. Mara would have to hold back her jealousy, but she’d done that before. And soon, she’d find another lover for herself, and would eventually stop missing her old life. With a few notable exceptions, she’d always been good at choosing new men.

A shadow grew over the room and a deep voice sounded in her head, interrupting her musing.

Arodisis, the voice said.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed. “I can’t talk! My husband’s in the next room!”

Your human toy can’t hear me. I need to know where you stand. Whose side are you on?

“I’m not on anyone’s side,” she said, keeping her voice low. “What you’re doing is dangerous. What she’s doing is dangerous.”

I’ve changed the ritual. I can prevent another Burning, but if you’re not with me, you’ll be left behind with the others. If you join me, you can rule at my side.

She quickly cast a ward against listening, then raised her voice. “If you want me, then tell me why Zachal died that day. Was it because he was the only human among us? Or was it because he was sharing my bed?”

You’re accusing me of killing one of our own? Pallisur asked, avoiding the question—just as he had in the past.

“Herasis lived, and she was new. She had no idea what she was doing. Irisis lived. Why did Zachal die?”

I won’t dignify that with a response.

“Then I’ll keep my own counsel, as I always have.”

A lack of a decision is still a decision. You’ve made your choice.

Pallisur’s presence faded from the room, and Arodisis composed herself. Herasis and Pallisur were spending all their efforts on their secret plans and machinations, while never seeing the truth that was right in front of them. Events wouldn’t happen the way they expected. Nor would they happen the way Arodisis expected—there was too much interference to see clearly, too much manipulation of potential futures.

She summoned the vision of the blonde girl again. What would her role be? Would she prevent any of the less desirable outcomes? By herself, that wasn’t likely, but she wasn’t the only pawn in the game.

The vision faded and Arodisis became Mara once more.

She’d have to dress quickly or she’d be late to the party.