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with emotion.
“For more than half of my life I hid my secret from the offworlders and my own
people. The offworlders lied to us all about the true nature of what we do.”
    “We are a part of something much greater than we ever
dreamed,” Moon said, moving forward, all her hesitation gone now. “A part of a
network created by our ancestors, before we even came to this world.”
    The sibyls in the crowd pulled their homespun clothes and
kleeskin slickers closer about them, staring at her with every face among them
showing a different emotion. “But, Lady—” someone began, broke off. “But how
can the Lady ...” He looked down, speechless, shaking his head.
    “The Sea Mother is still with you, in you, all around you,”
the Queen said, forcing into the words a conviction that Jerusha knew she no
longer felt. Her time offworld had taught her more than one truth; and it had
taught her that no truth was a simple one. “She has blessed your ways, because
you serve Her selflessly, as sibyls everywhere do—”
    “Stop this blasphemy!”
    All heads turned at once, as the voice echoed down the entry
hall toward them.
    Jerusha stiffened as she saw Capella Goodventure stride into
the Hall of the Winds. “How the hell did she get in here’.’” Jerusha muttered.
The Queen had ordered all the Goodventures, and particularly their elder, out
of the palace after their last bitter theological argument. Jerusha had
directed the palace security guards to make certain it was done; but some of
the palace guards were Summers, and the gods—or their Goddess—only knew where
their loyalties really lay. Someone had let her pass.
    Jerusha took a step forward, her face hardening over, and
pulled the rifle strap from her shoulder. Miroe caught her arm, stopping her. “Wait.”
He looked toward the crowd, as Capella Goodventure showed herself to them. Jerusha
nodded, lowering the gun. She moved forward more slowly, only watching now.
    “This woman who claims that she speaks as one of you is telling
you lies!” The Goodventure elder’s voice shook with anger. “She is not a true
sibyl; not even a true Summer! She wears Winter’s face, and Winter’s ways. She
has tried to keep me from speaking the truth—but I will speak it!” She turned
to face the Queen. “Do you still deny me my right to be heard? Or will you
order your offworlders to drag me from the hall? Because that is what they will
have to do—”
    Jerusha stopped moving, looking toward the Queen.
    The Queen glanced her way, looked back at Capella Goodventure.
“No,” Moon said softly. “Say what you must.”
    Capella Goodventure deflated slightly, her defiance
punctured by the Queen’s easy capitulation. She took a deep breath. “You all
know of me. I am head woman of the clan that gave Summer its last line of
queens. I have come to tell you that this woman who calls herself Moon
Dawntreader Summer has brought you here to fill your minds with doubt—about
yourselves, about the Lady’s place in your lives. She would strip away the
beliefs, the traditions, that make us Summers. She wants us to become like the
Winters—miserable lackeys of the offworlders who despise our ways and butcher
the sacred mers.”
    She turned, confronting the Queen directly. “You do not
speak for the Sea Mother!” she said furiously. “You are not the woman who was
chosen Queen. You have no right to wear that sign at your throat.”
    “That isn’t true,” Moon said, lifting her chin so that all
the watchers could clearly see the trefoil tattoo that echoed the barbed
fishhook curves of the sibyl pendant she wore.
    “Anyone can wear a tattoo,” Capella Goodventure said disdainfully.
“But not just anyone can wear the face of the Winters’ Queen. There is no Moon
Dawntreader Summer. You are the Snow Queen, Arienrhod—you cheated death and the
offworlders, I don’t know how. You stole the rightful place of our queen, and
now you desecrate the Mother of Us All with this