"What you will be is yet unknown--" their voices echoed and re-echoed from the arching walls of the cavern that men called the Womb of Sharteyn, as if the spirits of all who had ever pledged themselves to the goddesses of the Shrine were joining them.

Shanna shivered, but not from the chill in the air. The weight of stone above her, the weight of years during which this place had been sacred to the people of Sharteyn, the weight of expectation laid on a daughter of the princely house, all oppressed her, and no holy voice spoke to set her free. She pressed her forehead against the time-worn rock of the cavern floor as if she could force it to respond to her.

"Your bodies are the vestures of the Goddess--"

Shanna pushed herself upright, the hard muscles of her forearms and shoulders flexing visibly, and sighed. She had built those muscles through patient, painful hours spent lifting the round shield and swinging the wooden practice sword. What goddess had such muscled arms? But even her brother, who had taught her swordplay, would have been shocked if she had asked to dedicate herself to a god.

She shook back her black hair rebelliously. She should be with him now--with him and their father, who was leading his inadequate levies against the rabble of that master of bandits, Kintashe, somewhere beyond the forests that surrounded the Shrine.

"Your spirits are Her secret shrines--" the priestesses sang.

The other girls knelt around her with demurely bowed heads. After a week among them she could catalog them like one of her father's bards--Martiella of the laughing glance who was clearly marked for the service of Ytarre, and her friend Kima, as shy as a quail; plump Talia, who had stood Shanna's friend when the other girls jeered at her lean height and strong arms; Jori, a landowner's daughter devoted to Kera by birth and character; Danilla and Alise and Sirenne. They all knew already which goddesses would claim them, why was it so hard for her?

"Open your hearts and She will surely come to you!"

The chanting faded into a rustling silence as the other girls got to their feet, but Shanna remained still, searching her inner darkness for some Sign.

"My lady Shanna, you must come now!" the sharp voice of the priestess of Kera made a mockery of the respectful words.

Shanna nodded and got smoothly to her feet, forcing herself not to slump. She was uncomfortably aware of their stares--disapproving or bored or amused, like the remote scrutiny of the goddess images enshrined in the walls. Artamise, Hiera the Queen, Hekaite and all the others were worshiped here, even Yraine, Lady of Stars, whose only image was the perpetually burning altar fire. Its fitful light struck fire from golden vessels and canopies of silver filigree, glowed in the hearts of jewels that were the fruit of centuries of tribute to the Shrine.

And tomorrow I must dedicate my life to one of them, she thought, and no one will know it is all a sham but I....