The remaining Wols packed into the great hall, demanding answers.

"What happened to Neit Wol? Why is our leader dead?"

Scipio Davadas tried to calm them down, assuring them a full inquiry was taking place into Neit Wol's suicide.

At the word suicide, the usually meek and mild-tempered Wols erupted like hot lava shooting from the Great Vulcan’s crater. Their gray cowls fell back, revealing shaved heads red with anger.

Scipio, unnerved by female hysterics, whispered to Flenn Illymium standing next to him on the dais, "Where is your ladyship? She is the one who should be handling this."

"The Queen is resting, your grace. The old Wol's death gave her quite a shock," Flenn grimly answered.

Scipio scowled and ran a finger across his full lips. "Bring her here. And be quick about it," he hissed.

Flenn Illymium bowed and relayed the message to a serving man.

Scipio offered the women wine to calm their nerves. They refused.

"You can't buy our silence with food or drink," one Wol, a petite young woman with a stern face, said, stepping forward.

From his high dais, Scipio gazed down at her as if she were a child, replying patiently, "No one is trying to buy you, my sister. We are as anxious to know the truth as you."

Her confidence growing, the young Wol said, "We know one truth. Neit Wol would never kill herself."

"This young lady is speaking the truth," Hyperia's sweet voice, betraying a hint of fatigue, sounded from beneath the archway. Hyperia wore a coral silk dressing gown, and her black hair was undone, billowing in soft waves to her waist. One arm was draped around Moranna's neck for support.

With a nod from Scipio, Moranna helped the queen ascend the few steps to join the king on the dais. Hyperia settled into her throne chair, took a moment to catch her breath, then addressed the Wol congregation.

"My dearest sisters, protectors of our sacred God Gate," Hyperia began, "whose sacrifices mean more to Oran than you will ever know. You," she pointed a gentle hand at the passionate young woman, "what is your name?"

Softened by Hyperia's feminine presence, the young Wol bowed her head and said, "Genya, your grace."

"Genya," Hyperia said, pronouncing the young Wol's name with a musical cadence. "I do apologize to you, to all of you, for not appearing before you sooner." She pulled a silk handkerchief from a pocket of her robe and used it to mop her moist forehead.

Stolen novel; please report.

Scipio took Hyperia's limp hand in his and said, "Your queen is not well, but she has generously left her bed to answer your questions. This strain has been too much for her." The timbre of his deep voice echoed around the rotunda. "Do you want her to lose the child Illym has prophesied would be the next great king?"

Moranna, standing by the shadowed wall within the marble colonnade, looked down and twisted her apron in her calloused hands.

A hum of humility skittered across the seas of Wols. Their cowls returned to their bare heads. But Genya remained defiantly at the center of the rotunda, her bare feet straddling the Davadas crest inlaid with gold and onyx on the marble floor.

"We only want to know what happened," she said.

Hyperia waved away her husband's protest and said, "Of course you do. And I hope my answer will bring you some satisfaction, some peace, although I am confused about it myself."

"We are listening," Genya said, clasping her white hands before her gray cloak.

"Yesterday, after the court gathering," Hyperia began, "Neit Wol told me she wished to speak to me in private. She insisted we go to the Oran Tower. I asked her why, but she wouldn't say. She was, and I'm sure you will all agree, a good but forceful woman."

The Wols hummed quietly. They couldn't disagree with that assessment.

"When we got to the tower room, I was surprised to see that Flenn Illyminum was not there."

Flenn's violet eyes flashed, wondering if the queen were imparting some blame on him.

"She asked to go to the highest parapet to tell me something important. It had to do with Illym's prophecy, she said. Something about the Zar ... of the coming of the Blue Planet ... the opening of the God Gate."

The Wols buzzed with agitation.

"What about it?" Genya's voice rose above her sisters. "What did Neit Wol say?"

Hyperia dropped her pointed chin and slowly shook her head. "Alas, I never got a chance to hear. She ran ahead of me up the tower steps. I suppose she got so excited that she didn't realize, in her sightlessness, how narrow the turret is, how low the parapet wall." She paused as if overcome with emotion. "When I reached the top, she had already fallen. I screamed and fainted ... that's all I remember."

"Not suicide then," Scipio announced definitively. "But a tragic accident. Flenn Illyminum will record it in our annals as such. No shame will accompany Neil Wol's name, only honor and selfless duty."

He nodded as if expecting to put an end to the matter. He felt restless and fatigued in the dour women's presence, and his stomach was beginning to growl for his dinner.

Genya, however, remained fixed in her spot. "The answer does not satisfy us, but we will accept it nonetheless. We are now without a leader, and, as I am sure Flenn Illyminum will confirm, there is an Ardelym law concerning a Wol's death." Her gray eyes caught the flame of a wall sconce and shimmered with keen intelligence.

Scipio shifted uncomfortably on the hard throne. "Oh, and what is that?"

Flenn cleared their throat and said, "If a Wol dies outside of the Weir, the city environs wherein she passed must sacrifice one of her daughters to the Wol's sisterhood."

"Sacrifice?" Hyperia asked weakly.

Genya smirked. "Sacrifice does not mean death, my Queen. We are not as barbaric as the old lore would have you believe. It means you will give up one of your Oran maidens, to join our sisterhood."

Scipio and Hyperia exchanged a quick glance.

"It shall be done!" Scipio said, pounding his right fist into his left palm.