The music changed abruptly. Before the golden-haired prince could express his
surprise or pleasure he was politely, but firmly, shoved to one side.
“It is time.”
The Beysa came forward onto a cloth-of-gold carpet laid between the alcove and
the altar. Her first steps were tentative; she tottered between the outstretched
arms of her waiting-women. Her glazed eyes held no power, only simple terror of
the ancient bald priest who waited for her with a delicate glass’ vial and a
knife of razor-sharp obsidian.
Her beynit vipers, tasting the incense and the music, rose from the panniers to
begin their own journey. Shupansea trembled involuntarily as the scales slid
coldly between her thighs- for the cosa was meant for the display and
convenience of the snakes, not the avatar. Three sets of fangs sank deep into
sensitive skin: the beynit did not approve of her anxiety. Venom enough for the
deaths of a dozen men shot into her. She gasped then relaxed as the languid
strength of Mother Bey enveloped her.
She raised her arms, lifting the cosa away from her body. The serpents emerged,
baring their moist fangs and their vermilion mouths. It was her priest’s turn to
tremble anxiously. The Beysib priest summoned Molin to the altar where, without
ceremony or explanation, the ancient, bald man transferred the ritual artifacts
from the old order to the new and ran from the room.
Molin held both with evident discomfort and outright fear. “What do I do?” he
whispered hoarsely.
“Complete the ceremony,” the voice he had last heard in Stonnbringer’s swirling