Hyperia trembled before the final turn of the tower steps, so narrow she had to turn her hips sideways to pass. The flame of a single wall torch cast uneven shadows along the pocked stone walls.

Flenn had taken Hyperia this far, but even the ancient seer was not permitted to receive Illym's message. That role was Hyperia's alone. Despite relinquishing her title when she married Scipio, Hyperia was still the highest-ranking Illymium in all of Ardelym. She had never been called for this sacred duty before, and as frightened as she was, she felt a sense of pride mounting with each step she took up the twisting stairs.

This will elevate my prestige among the people, she thought, lifting her skirts to climb the last few steps.

In her heart sprang a hope she dared not articulate. Perhaps Illym would announce to her what she prayed was true, that she carried Scipio's son and that Davadas rule would continue, unchallenged, for the next Zar and beyond.

Squaring her shoulders, she passed through the tall, wooden archway, studded with star symbols of ancient Mynimium, and ascended the tower steps to face her god.

Moranna waited at the bottom of the stairs, using her apron to mop the dampness forming on her palms. If her mistress should call out for help, should she go to her? She glanced at Flenn for some instruction, but the ancient Illymium had settled into the gilt throne and appeared to be in some kind of trance. His eyes were rolled back in his head so that only the violet-hued whites remained, and his thin, blue lips recited a silent prayer.

Moranna peered up the winding staircase, watching as the queen ascended. Before she had time to think about what she was doing, she had placed one foot on the marble step, then another. This was forbidden for a member of her class, punishable by death, yet she could not help herself. She needed to see what the queen saw, hear what she heard.

After all, she thought, panting with each heavy step she took, Illym is my god, too.

Hyperia stood on the turret, the highest peak in all of Ardelym, higher than the highest iced peak of Kadaar. Gripping the iron-barred parapet with white-knuckled fear, she gazed up at the sky where a star had appeared, a glowing ball of pulsing orange flame, white-hot at its center. It was difficult to keep her eyes open in the face of such brilliance. The heat scorched her thin, Illymium skin. Overcoming fear, although trembling from head to foot, she lifted her chin and opened herself to Illym.

"My Lord," she cried. "Behold your humble daughter. Bestow on her your wisdom and your will, and she will obey your every command."

The orb pulsed and then rotated slowly. The force it exerted weakened Hyperia's brave stance until her grip on the parapet's railing was the only thing keeping her from complete collapse.

At last, the voice spoke, deep and bass, adopting the language she would understand.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"Hyperia Davadas, daughter of the Illymium and Queen of Ardelym." The sound penetrated her body, making her bones quake. "Are you prepared to receive the prophecy?"

"Yes, my Lord," she said, trembling and struggling not to faint in the face of such intense light and vibrational energy.

"Scipio Davadas is a great king, but he will be replaced by an even greater one."

Hyperia sucked in a ragged breath.

"The new great king will be a male child born ..."

Yes? Yes?

"... to your sister, Starlex Illymium."

Starlex! There must be some mistake! What? No!

"Illym!" she cried plaintively, lifting her arms to the sky.

But the glowing orb began to fade along with Hyperia's hope that Illym would speak again and contradict what he had said, revealing to her the truth that she would be the one carrying Ardelym's next king. But each panted breath she took filled her body with bitter realization. She gripped her belly, sure no life grew within her, and throwing herself on the parapet’s cold stone floor, she gave herself over to sobbing despair.

In the shadow of the spiral staircase, Moranna remained flattened against the wall. Hyperia's sobs echoing down the stairs filled her with satisfaction. She had heard every word of Illym's prophecy. Holding that knowledge in her panting bosom, she squeezed her bulk down the twisting staircase to Flenn Illymium's chamber.

When Hyperia had recovered enough to descend, she found Flenn Illymium still seated on his gilded throne, composed with eyes closed and long-fingered hands folded calmly in his lap. Moranna was there, too, seated on a hard stool by the hearth, her eyes tensely locked on a spot on the floor.

"My dearest friends," Hyperia uttered weakly.

Flenn and Morgana jumped to attention.

"Tell my lord and husband," Hyperia whispered.

"Yes, my lady," Flenn said, crossing the room to grip her arm.

"Tell him to inform all the dignitaries from the Four Corners to meet in the high court tomorrow at noon. I will then disclose to them Illym's prophecy."

Flenn sucked in a sharp breath.

"But now." She reached a hand out for Moranna. The servant rushed to her lady's side. "I must rest."

* * *

Carmelle lay in Tylla's arms, breathing in her lover's sweet orange blossom scent. Fueled by the passion of the evening, their lovemaking had taken on a feral urgency that had left their skin raw and glistening with the other’s juices. The smile still lingering on Tylla's lips testified to her satisfaction, making Carmelle happy. But still, creeping anxiety kept her from fully relaxing into the comfort of the silk sheets and the warmth of Tylla's soft body. She knew her mother would be checking her room at midnight. She needed to get back, but it was so hard to pull herself away.

Earlier that night, they had held each other tightly, gazing at the giant red orb floating over Oran tower, wondering what prophecy Illym would decree.

"It feels like the end of the world," Tylla had whispered.

"If it is, I will happily die in your arms," Carmelle fervently replied.

Although Tylla's sweet embrace had ignited her passion, the sign of Illym in the sky had frightened her more than she revealed. It signaled change, which was Carmelle's greatest fear. Change meant an end to her idyll. It reminded her that Tylla must marry a man whom she didn't love, that she would either remain a servant or, worse, return to Nareeza with its red, arid cliffs and its hard people, fated to be nothing more than a miner's wife, or worse still, a Wol.

Anything but that!

With her mother's harsh words echoing in her memory, she kissed Tylla's cheek, careful not to wake her, and slowly pulled herself from the comfort of the feather mattress and silk sheets. Her resentment deepening with each breath, she slipped her gown over her head, and not even bothering to arrange her fiery curls coiling to her waist, she slipped out of Tylla's room and padded along the silent marble corridors to her humble chamber with its small, insufficient window with a drab view of the servants' courtyard and a cold hard bed stuffed with rags.