On the following day at noon, the representatives of the Four Corners waited in the rotunda of the great hall to hear Illym's prophecy. The room hummed with anticipation, and although most of those gathered tried their best to hide it, fear marked its presence in shifting feet and nervous glances. The oculus centering the domed ceiling revealed a gray, overcast sky; if any message from Illym lingered there, it was impossible to read it.

Like any tragedian who played in Oran's great amphitheaters, Hyperia kept her audience waiting. She hadn't revealed the prophecy even to Scipio, who now paced the antechamber bordering the rotunda like a bull in a pen. He could only hope the message was favorable to his future kingdom, but he could find no hint of its contents within Hyperia's composed features. Only her violet eyes glittered with the secret knowledge only she possessed.

She had chosen for the occasion a lavender gown with the Ilymium star crest embroidered in pearls and silver threads across the high-cut yoke befitting her imperial dignity. Today she was more than Queen of the Four Corners; she was the direct link to their god.

In the outer courtyards, a crowd of Oran citizens had gathered, mingling with the Nazeers, lower status Wol apprentices, and rough-and-tumble Skaard warriors. The country folk who had seen the comet scintillate the sky had dropped their hoes and brooms and packed up their carts to head for the palace environs to learn of Illym's prophecy.

Hyperia timed her entrance perfectly. After Moranna had arranged her mistress' gown and hair for the umpteenth time, Hyperia, at last, stood before the gilded double doors. Scipio took her arm, and with a nod of her head, two servants slowly opened the doors to a dramatic drumbeat provided by the palace musicians.

An audible gasp fluttered over the crowd when Hyperia appeared in her shimmering gown. The flames from the candle sconces lit the violet highlights in her black hair. Scipio, wearing a cloak of scarlet and gold silk, marched in lockstep beside her before taking his place on the dais.

"My people," she said, opening her white palms. Her rings caught the light, sending bedazzling shafts of blue and silver around the room. "Illym has spoken of the future of Ardelym."

Nargos Nazeer strained on short, stubby legs to see over the crowd. This was the moment he had waited for, a sign from Illym that his people would soon reclaim Oran as their own. The Nazeers, with their forged steel blades, had defeated the ancient Illymium regime and ruled unchallenged for two Zar. But it all ended when the slave tyrant, Corellas Davadas, conquered Oran with his war tactics gleaned from the Blue Planet. But he would have never taken full advantage without the Nazeer queen betraying her people. The Nazeers had been paying the price for her lust ever since.

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"Never again would I allow a woman to rule," Nargos growled under his breath as he fixed his hateful gaze on Hyperia. A few of his surrounding henchmen heard his remark and chuckled.

Seated within a gray cluster of Wol women, Neit Wol heard the remark too. She turned her rheumy blank eyes toward Nargos, sniffed the air, and grimaced as if something foul had entered the room.

Starlex stood in a marble-columned gallery shouldered between Tylla and Rigel. Like everyone else, she was anxious to hear Illym's words, recalling how she had lain on the beach the previous night, watching the great red orb in the sky and marveling at its mystery. Had Illym heard her breathlessly uttered prayers for love and happiness?

She scanned the crowd, and her gaze landed on Bonn Skaard. He caught her eye with a flash of blue. Unable to sustain the intensity radiating from beneath his thick eyebrows, she flicked her gaze back to her sister, whose bosom, adorned with ropes of iridescent pearls from the Mynimium treasury, rose and fell with each shuddered breath.

After milking the suspense for several beats, Hyperia slowly floated her gaze over the crowd and, in a trembling, theatrical voice, announced, "Here is Ilym's prophecy ..."

The crowd instantly silenced. No one dared breathe.

"Scipio Davadas is a great king ..."

Scipio's dark eyes flashed with something close to rage.

"But he will be followed by an even greater king ..."

The thrum of racing heartbeats vibrated through the crowd, growing in intensity.

"Who? Who?" Nargos Nazeer muttered through clenched teeth.

"And that king will be ..."

Scipio's hands clenched into tight fists.

"The child I am carrying." Hyperia turned and faced her husband. She knelt before him and cried, "The male child of Scipio Davadas."

Scipio released a great sigh and placed his hands proudly on his hips. His muscles rippled tautly beneath his cloak.

"Hail, Davadas!" Dolceto Davadas, Scipio's lead henchmen called. Grabbing an attendant's flag bearing the Davadas red and gold colors, he hoisted it high over his head and shouted again, "Hail, Davadas!"

The cry passed from mouth to mouth until the cry echoed throughout the hall. "Hail, Davadas of Oran! Hail, King Scipio, our great leader!"

Nargos Nazeer uttered a curse, turned, and pushed roughly through the crowd. His four henchmen followed him outside to a veranda where Nargos commanded a servant to bring wine and be quick about it.

With a nod from Flenn Illyminum, the palace servants flew to the kitchen to retrieve libations for the spontaneous celebration. The Master of Song waved his hand, and the drummers, joined by a flute and tambourine, played a lively melody.

The Wols kept quiet during the happy bustle with their heads gently bowed beneath their gray cowls. But Neit Wol's blind gaze remained fixed on Hyperia Davadas. Using her other, finely tuned senses, she observed Hyperia, still lying prostrate at her husband's feet.

Scipio reached down to pull his wife off the floor, and then, folding her into a tight embrace, he kissed her, eliciting cheers and ballyhoo from the crowd.

Hidden from view in the colonnade stood Moranna, still shaken from what she had just witnessed. Panting wildly, she leaned against a cold marble column to keep from collapsing. She was the only one who knew the truth—that Hyperia had lied to the people of the Four Corners. Queen or no queen, to blaspheme Illym was the ultimate crime, punishable by torture and death.