Talaski touched the bell tree. It produced a quiet, harmonic ring, and instantly the room quieted. Every person turned to look at the door, where a servant carried in a large, steaming bowl. A second servant followed with a large towel draped over his arms.
Soup? Talaksi wondered. Was there enough for everyone?
But when the bowl was presented to him, he found it clear and faintly tinged with lemon scent.
“Dip your hands in the cleaning basin,” the priest whispered to him. “First the left, then the right, then both together. Lift your hands, and let the water drain away from your fingers. And say, as you do, Amay sty venquin, ent alt venay, ala non venay. Then your hands may be wiped dry.”
Power echoed through the words. Talaski wasn’t much of a wizard, but enough of one to worry. “What does that mean?”
“It’s a blessing, your Majesty. A part of the ceremony.”
Talaski pressed on. “Are they a promise? An invocation? A binding? I’m a wizard – what will happen when I say those words?”
Gneara sighed hard. “You will restore yourself to the Balance. The phrase can be translated, ‘So may my heart be cleansed and the Balance righted within me that all may be righted by my presence.’ Everyone will say it, your Majesty.”
Talaski eyed the basin. “I don’t think that there is enough water there to cleanse my heart.”
“It’s a start. And I doubt you are worse than others in your company.”
Blue sparks rose on Talaski’s hands. “Do not speak of Princess in that way.”
Jesland’s voice rumbled from behind Talaski. “Your woman is the best of all of us. He speaks of one he knows far better than anyone else.”
“I spoke of myself,” Gneara added quickly. “Go on, your Majesty.”
Slowly Talaski dipped his hands in the water and recited the phrase. As he did so, sparks danced about his fingers and some immutable force leaned on his soul. Out of habit he pushed back, but the more he pushed, the harder the force leaned. It was immense, heavy, and tireless, and eventually he let it push him to an awkward and uncomfortable feeling, as if he were tiltimg toward an open window.
“Very good, your Majesty,” Gneara muttered as the towel bearer patted his hands dry.
The uncomfortable feeling remained. I think not.
***
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