The regal young princess who had been crowned Tah-Va-Shee only that afternoon in Poseidon's temple stood by the infant's bed. Her great abundance of red hair hung loose.  The chief night nurse held the glow closer so the Supreme Priestess could see the baby clearly.The girl was small and perfectly formed, light red hair covering her small round head; she was squalling lustily and her face was contorted by it.

     Tah-Va-Shee, with no child of her own, felt a warmth for this baby that she hadn't known possible.  But she only said, “Prepare her.”  The nurse, having calmed down from her hysteria, set about wrapping the baby in linen cloths.  After a few minutes, she placed the squirming infant into the Supreme Priestess' arms.  Tah-Va-Shee cradled the swaddled infant, who lay docile.  She drew herself up in her gold-shot ivory night-robes, clasping the child as if it were her own.  Lingering still, delaying a little, Tah-Va-Shee scanned the babe's small indeterminate features, seeking some strong resemblance to the priestess caste, and a sob rose as she looked.  “Oh, One, give me a sign.  If this infant is acceptable to you, show me she will be equal to her great destiny.”  But there was no sign, except that it seemed that the baby looked directly into her eyes and smiled.

     The nurse's face scowled when she saw that Tah-Va-Shee intended to take the new-born out of the House of Birth in the middle of the night, but the Supreme Priestess checked her with a gesture.  At last, raising her face proudly, Tah-Va-Shee moved to the door.  She breathed slowly and steadily to loosen the coldness that seemed clasped about her mind.  “And the other one?” the nurse persisted.

     “When the mother awakens, you'll place hers in her arms.”

     And so Tah-Va-Shee went forth, the young child in her arms.  Her step was steady; her reluctant feet did not betray her terror.  She felt the baby's hand touch hers in a feathersoft clasp.

     Guilt lay deep within her.  Her thoughts were barbs of self-reproach. Shalimar (as Tah-Va-Shee found herself calling the child, for her mother was an Eastern gypsy) whimpered protestingly, and the Supreme Princess realized that she was clutching her too tightly.

     She walked on, across the vast mosaic floor, slowly, seeing absent-mindedly the torch-lit tapestries, the towering statues, the high arches and pillars.  Rows of sentries bowed low in homage as she passed.  She pulled the swaddlings closer about the child's head in the cool night air, and Shalimar rested safely in her arms.

     With every step, she left her remaining youth a little further behind.  Yet, after a time, the bewilderment of thought and feeling cleared, and she found herself able to enter Archpriest Lothar-Tu!'s forbidding rooms.  She trembled a little with the realization of the significance of opening that bronze-carven door.  Now there was no return.  She realized in her deepest self that from the moment the hysterical nurse awakened her, there hadn't been any.  She whispered in desperate prayer, “Help Me, O One, help Me.”

     Lother-Tu! sat in his great throne-like chair, a white eagle of carven stone above his head.  His pale robes gleamed silver as with frost.  Although he was ancient, he rarely needed sleep.  His remorseless eyes and dazzling white hair and great gifts proved him a formidable figure, although Tah-Va-Shee's powers in time would exceed his.  She raised her hand in the ancient Sign of Honor.  His salute was courtly, ritualistic.  His magic glass lay on his desk.  “The night skies are murky,” he said.  “I can see the configuration of the stars too dimly to read their meaning.”

     His face shadowed with sorrow.  “I regret that Emperor Kurzad did not attend Your Crowning Ceremony yesterday, Tah-Va-Shee,” he said.  “He has scorned the tradition of centuries.  I hope his neglect is not a bad omen for Zohr's future.”

     As Lother-Tu! bent over the child, he felt a peculiar vibration, but he brushed it aside.  No one knew better than the Archpriest that fragments of memories of previous lives can appear to one as forebodings of the future.

     He raised his hand and made an archaic gesture and then in his deep and resonant baritone intoned:  “This is what I give to you, Flower-of-the-Sun.  O Child of Poseidon's Blood Heritage, you will know power and wisdom.  The One will speak through you, and you will show the Zoran people the way to rise in light, to rise in brightness.”  He touched the child.  “You will speak with the power of the ancient gods; you will keep Poseidon's temple a sanctuary of wisdom and purity.”

     Then Lother-Tu! and Tah-Va-Shee chanted together in the Ancient Language: “Hail Tah-Va-Shee-to-Be!  Hail, Babe Clothed With Light!  Hail Flower-of-the-Sun!”

     The following morning they would both make solemn declaration of the purity of lineage of this babe, and the child would be bound in the High Priestess' Path of Light.  The Temple Elders who investigated and ascertained all matter pertaining to the place assigned each one born within the Temple jurisdiction would name the babe Shalimar, Tah-Va-Shee-to-Be, without further investigation.

     As Tah-Va-Shee took Her leave of Lother-Tu!, she knew that only one person could dispute that lineage.  Who knew what a weak-minded nurse might do?  Or to whom her loyalties lay?  Or how much bribe might loose her tongue?  Or even drunkenness in an unguarded moment.

    She returned the baby to the House of Birth, to the nursery, to a young nurse who would have her exclusive care as befitted one of Shalimar's high station.  Then she gave orders for the Chief Temple Guardian to report to her.  He appeared within minutes, clothed in his white mantle, holding his gold-hilted sword.  He sank to his knees before her and did homage.

     “You may rise, Chief Temple Guardian,” she said.  “My matter concerns a night nurse at the House of Birth.  She is a threat to the security of the great Sea-Empire of Zohr.”

     “Yes, great Tah-Va-Shee.  How soon?”

     “At once.  And we only shall know of this.”

     Relief she now felt because the scornful Palace would never be able to bring down the Temple with this dread secret; but another part of her knew despair because even the best of motives can ensnare one in webs.