About an hour later, the mystic announced the end of prayers. Everyone stood to form an orderly line before the Goddess altar, and they washed the sage from their hands.
The King, as was the tradition, went last. But when the prayers were over, he stood from the obsidian and rushed away from Lyria without a word or a backward glance. Though she felt the tiniest tingling disappointment, she kept her face impassive. Whether or not he did it for show, Lyria knew it looked better if he did not linger.
Duke Greyfur met her at the stone’s steps, holding out a hand to help her descend them.
“I had no idea you were so pious,” he said. “The Goddess will surely bless you.”
Lyria didn’t respond, but she squeezed Duke Greyfur’s hand in a gentle, grateful gesture. They stood toward the front of th
