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“Is it your… replacement?” I asked.
She raised her head. “Oh, no, my lady. Of course not!”
“Then what…” My stomach churned. “It has to do with me, doesn’t it?”
“Mayhap, miss. But I don’t think you’ll like the answer either way.”
The air was no longer refreshing but filled with a dull silence, an impending omen of something I knew I didn’t want to hear.
I faced her, my arm still in hers. She was taller than I was by a head, but she always seemed smaller to me, like a waif or a scarecrow. And as much as I gave her enough grief to last her well beyond the grave, I truly did hold her in friendly esteem. I had enough sense to know I was a handful, that being my watcher would challenge even seasoned ones.
“Tell me, Lucinda. Who is this guest of Father’s?”
“A Servant of the Owl.” It was barely a whisper, and I had to lean forward after the first syllable. When my mind processed those words, a coldness that could rival any winter day in Providence enveloped me.
Lucinda knew my fear of the robed Servants, a fear that had been with me since I was a young girl. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to tell me.
Did this visit have something to do with me, though?
My eighteenth summer had only been weeks ago. Gods knew my relief when I hadn’t heard one hint of gossip in my father’s house about my possible future husband. Father and Mother had never broached the topic, not once. At what I thought at the time was relief, that my inevitable nuptials weren’t in the forefront of my parents’ mind, had now, at this moment, turned to curiosity, if not downright suspicion.
I pulled my hand away from her as if her skin had become hot metal. I turned around, my arms wrapping around me as my gaze traveled north, where the Basilica, the Owl’s order, perched at the western foot of Great Mountain. And from there, my gaze lifted higher still. Even though it was too far to trace on the horizon, my mind’s eye quickly sketched it in, outlining the distant clouds with the heavy, harsh strokes of an invisible stick of coal.
A place I’d dreamt of far too many times to count, dreams that had started in my childhood, waking me in a cold sweat and with shaking limbs.
Goth Mor Helle. The ancient seat of the Ongahri, warriors who hadn’t resided there since my grandparents’ time, leaving their home only to disappear into thin air. Well, so the legends said.
I quickly ran through all the possible reasons why Father would have a Servant of the Owl at our home, weeks before the autumn festivals.
I was the daughter of a Constant; my father having had the role since I was in swaddling clothes. And not only that, he was the Constant of Providence, one of twenty-five of the most populated villages on Titus, and its importance in trade set it apart from most. Not just any husband would do for my station, my breeding, my education. Of course, I knew that—had known it all my life! Could my betrothal be related to this visitor? Maybe a future Constant?
But who on Titus would be connected to the Owl, a religious sect of virginal old men and spinsters, well enough to be the go-between for my betrothed?
A touch of contrition touched my heart, reminding me to be wary of insulting the Holy Basilica and its Servants. Embedded in me since I could walk, the power of the Owl was a real thing. But as if the feeling were an annoying moth, I waved that away as well.
Yes, politics and religion sometimes intermingled, not often, though. Especially with recent village gossip of rebels in the Western Plains. But Father had nothing to do with any of that. Being Constant of Providence wasn’t that worldly. His dealings were with the people of this village, not in other arenas or global intrigue.
Still, a visit from the Owl was unusual, albeit not rare. Every few years the Owl graced Providence, mostly to remind the elders of the county that the Basilica was still to be feared and worshiped, to never forget. They were more than a religious faction, having weight and influence all over Titus. I had nothing… personal against them. It was more a distrust in a group of people that followed a creed that made society more important than nature. I wasn’t one to trust things that were unnatural; I lived by my senses. A man’s will would never win a battle against nature’s wild elements. To even think we had that power was the ultimate arrogance.
It also didn’t help sway my opinion of them when, as a child, a Servant had tried to persuade my father in taking me to the Basilica to be fostered for a few years, as some children of prominent families had done in the past. Luckily, my father had put his foot down. Not to mention that incident with that horrid Servant a year afterward. I had ended up sleeping under Tamis’ bed for three nights in a row during his stay.
Shuddering at the memory, I willed myself to take a deep breath.
Maybe they just happened to be traveling through Providence on their return from some errand in another village? Or perhaps the Servant had been invited as a guest for the autumn festival, some kind of religious ceremony or something. That would make sense. But the festival was weeks from now.
No, it wasn’t for the festivities.
I looked away from the north and instead, glanced down the hill to where I could make out the silvery tops of my home, the seat of Providence. There was no reason for me to be concerned about myself and my future.
No, whatever the reason for the Owl’s visit, it had nothing to do with me.
Feeling much more at ease and no longer that curious, I faced my watcher once more.
Her eyes looked their fill, as if looking for any signs of upset or oncoming hysterics. “Are you all right, my lady?”
I smiled and took her arm once more, kicking a bit of dirt with the toe of my boot. “I’m fine. Just… it’s not every day the Owl comes to see Father.”
“I know nothing other than we were told to prepare for his arrival later tonight. We will likely be in bed by the time he’s announced. I tried, my lady, to find out more, but—”
