She didn’t know who Morganen was, but that wasn’t important. It was the dangers and threats his family had just gone through that made her frown in confusion. She looked around the Fountain hall, then back at him. “All these troubles besieging you, yet you trust me—a near-stranger and a Katani, associated by default with the Councillor for Conflict Resolution—here in the heart of your Bower? This close to your Fountain?”
“Of course we do,” Serina answered for him. “You’re a Guardian. You know that the world itself must be your first concern, because of the great power at your beck and call, and the great responsibility your Font demands of you. National boundaries don’t even come into it.”
“Plus, you’re a priest. Even Lady Apista, the Councillor for the Temples, knew to do the right thing when we demanded a sacred bell so we could declare our independence,” Dominor stated. He gestured for them to head toward the corridor. “Now, trusted or otherwise, we do need to get back into the amphitheater. Even with the newly recruited servants trickling in, we’ll still be needed to help welcome and make comfortable all the other holy representatives.”
His comment about doing the right thing made Saleria smile wryly, remembering something Aradin had told her. “Not every priest or priestess would be so altruistic, Guardian. The first pick for coming here as the holy representative of Katan was actually rather anti-Nightfall, according to Witch Aradin Teral—oh, and speaking of them, I hope to get my hands on a recording of the Convocation for them to watch, as well as for the people of Groveham and its surroundings.”
“Groveham?” Serina asked her.
It felt good to know something that someone else—a foreigner—did not. “Groveham is the town attached to the Sacred Wedding Grove, where Holy Kata and Blessed Jinga were wed, uniting Katan into an empire many centuries ago. I am the Keeper of the Grove as well as its Guardian. There is a Prelate—a sort of mid-ranked priest—who tends to their daily spiritual needs, but I am still a member of the community. My work is a bit more broad in its scope, for I tend to the daily stream of petitions from all over the empire. You specialize in mathemagics,” she allowed, “but I specialize in prayer.”
“Which makes you a very apt choice as a holy representative for this,” Serina agreed. The infant in her chest sling started to wake up again, making little grunting noises. The blonde Arithmancer sighed. “Oh, Moons . . . I know that sound. That’s the sound Galea makes when she’s starving. Timoran will follow her lead, too, if I don’t get them settled for a snack . . .”
“Then let’s get you seated,” Dominor told his wife. “Saleria will tend to the crystals, I’ll tend to the incoming priests, and you’ll tend to our children.”
* * *
With the arrival of the last priest, a bound and gagged fellow from the kingdom of Mekhana who arrived in an alarming condition she couldn’t quite catch the reason for, since he was quickly taken to a bench on the far side of the front row from the seat she had claimed, the Convocation was called to order. The incipient Queen Kelly wasn’t the most divinely inspired public speaker Saleria had ever heard, but she wasn’t too bad, either. At least the redheaded woman spoke with enough volume and clear diction to be heard by the roughly three hundred or so people gathered in the chamber.
The moment the Gateway of Heaven opened, Saleria knew it was the real thing. She had felt this pulse of pure, clean . . . magic wasn’t the right word for it, and energy wasn’t, and even light and warmth only circled around the sensation, rather than described it. The touch of the Divine, the holiness of pure holy. Difficult to describe in words, because it was felt with the soul and the heart.
She felt a tiny scrap of it every time she sent off a perfect prayer. Not perfect in its wording, but perfect in its intent and its goodness. Like releasing one of those dandelion tufts into a gentle, warm wind and watching it rise to dance in the blessing of the sunshine before being whisked off to parts unknown. Of course, the first God summoned through the Gateway was not her God or Goddess, but the Threefold God, Fate. Even Saleria, ignorant as she was about many outlander things, knew of the Weaver of Time, the oldest acknowledged and continually worshipped God of the world.
Staring at Fate as They walked toward Their indicated seat, old-young-middle-aged, male-female-neither, was like looking at a blurred ray of sunshine. A quick glance at Etrechim’s face showed tears trickling down his cheeks, his gaze fastened on his ever-changing God, his lips parted on a breathless, beatific smile. For a brief moment, she wondered if she would look like that, too.