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priestess
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Did it matter if the priestesses didn’t show up for training?
That the music of the priestesses had lulled her into a trance, that her own bones and the stone of the mountain surrounding her had been her scrying tools, and she had drifted to this place …The Harp gleamed in the darkness, as if it possessed its own sun within the metal and strings.
” She nodded toward the railings where the priestesses had been.
That this moment, with these priestesses watching, was pivotal, somehow.
The mood hadn’t been helped by a rare red star blasting across the sky one day—an ill omen, Nesta had heard the priestesses muttering.
She laid a hand on it to find it was only an illusion, and she passed through it, down another long hall, beneath the mountain itself, and then she stood in a cavern, almost the twin to the one the priestesses sang in, as if they were linked in song and dreaming.
In the sunlight, the color of her hair was extraordinary, strands of gold glinting, and her teal eyes were a near-perfect match to the stones the other priestesses wore.
Two more priestesses passed by, and apparently the presence of one of them was enough to send Gwyn launching to her feet.
“The priestesses?
”“The priestesses might not even be able to stomach having me present.
The priestesses who’d been watching launched into movement again, their whispering filling the library.
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