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others laid their napkins on the table to signal completion of the meal. She copied them.
    “Trying to teach the quarry rat manners, Dawn?” said a voice at her shoulder. Turning, Bryn saw one of the young women who had been sitting with Clea. Wispy eyebrows lifted into the girl's high forehead, and her full lips were gathered into a sneer. The satiny sleeves of her blue robe looked as if they hadn't seen a day's wear.
    Dawn didn't look up. “Find someone to teach
you
manners, Eloise.”
    “How touching that you would stick up for your rat. But for gods' sake, give her a bath!” And Eloise moved away, surrounded by a group ofsniggering handmaids, all of them dressed in fine robes.
    “Don't listen to her,” Dawn said. “She's chosen by the woodpecker, which means she has a tireless beak.” She smiled grimly. “I'll show you the grounds now.”
    Her long legs set a rapid pace through the hallways as she led the way to an outside door. She bowed to a guard standing by. He wore a helmet of beaten brass; red cloth was embroidered with gold over his breast-plate in the insignia of the Temple soldiers; a sword and dagger hung at his hip, a bow at his back.
    “What do they guard against?” Bryn asked as she followed Dawn out into the sunlight.
    “Didn't anyone tell you that the word of the Oracle is very valuable? What if prophecies meant for Queen Alessandra or Lord Errington fell into another's hands? The Temple has some of the most skilled warriors in the world. They pledge their lives to safeguard the prophecies and protect the priesthood.”
    “Oh.” Bryn felt ignorant again. She looked over her shoulder at the guard's bristling weapons.
    Dawn led her past immense gardens where young vegetable plants climbed upon trellises and poles. Broad beds of flowers patched the garden like a colorful quilt. Several acolytes and handmaids tended the plants.
    Dawn explained that the Temple grew produce and kept flocks of sheep, chickens, and geese to provide for its members. A vineyard and dairy were attached to the grounds as well. “Come on,” Dawn motioned.
    Scurrying a little to keep up, Bryn began asking questions. “ You said Jacinta was chosen by a dove? Why isn't she one of the Feathers, then?”
    Dawn snorted and waved her slender hands. “Jacinta's a poor tailor's daughter. Feathers call her ‘Pigeon' and coo in a nasty way when she walks by. You need more than a choosing bird to become a Feather—you must have a wealthy family. Clea's the first one they've accepted
before
she's been chosen by a bird.”
    “How does Clea know she'll be chosen by the vulture?” Bryn asked.
    Dawn shrugged. “Some claim to know their choosing birds beforehand, but most are wise enough to keep quiet about it. Nothing more humiliating than saying a certain bird will choose you and then being chosen by a different bird or by none at all.” Dawn's black hair set off startling azure eyes as she peered at Bryn. “I've always admired the heron, but people are seldom chosen after they are sixteen. I'm nearly eighteen, so this year will be my last chance.”
    Bryn thought the heron would suit Dawn precisely and hoped the elegant bird would choose her.
    Chickens squawked as they approached a large coop. Dawn jumped when a big wolfish dog suddenly appeared round the corner of the coop, but Bryn dropped to her knees beside the dog, stroking his speckled black and white coat. He looked at her through mismatched eyes, one bluish white, the other nearly yellow, then put his muddy paw on her shoulder.
    “ You'll have to wash your robe,” Dawn said,hanging back. “Jack isn't normally so friendly with strangers.”
    “Jack?” Bryn was fascinated by the dog's intelligent expression. “Hello, Jack.”
    The dog whuffed at her and pawed her shoulder gently, giving her a strangely human grin.
    Just then a young man strode out from behind the coop. Slightly taller than Dawn, he had shaggy reddish hair. Freckles sprinkled his skin as if someone