As the weeks went by Misa found the palace routine fell into place.  She soon knew which doors led to which classrooms, where the best reference books were in the library, and could find her way to the royal gardens on her own if she wanted to take a walk.  One thing she didn’t know, however, was where Dawn disappeared to in the evenings.

Madame Whitcombe had declared that evenings were to be spent on the other activities that made a court lady a courtly lady.  Misa found she didn’t mind it very much.  She was rather enjoying expanding her embroidery skills.  They had stalled after her mother and Lady Lucinda died many years ago with no lady in the household to continue to teach her.  Madame Whitcombe would often look over her shoulder and nod in approval.  Those were the evenings that Dawn was most scarce.  In fact, in the month she had been at the palace, Misa could only count three times she had seen Dawn with a needle in her hand.  Once a week Madame Whitcombe had a musician come in to teach them to play the lap harp and sing.  Dawn was a lovely singer, she had more confidence that Misa could imagine.

Today, once again, Dawn was missing from their privy chamber.  Madame Whitcombe threw her hands up in exasperation and gave Misa permission to go to the gardens to walk rather than sit and work on her embroidery.  Misa was grateful.  There was much on her mind tonight, more than usual.

It was in their religious class with Priest Luka that day that had her so distracted.

“While the descendants of Aelar watch over us all, they take special interest in those of their own blood,” the priest had said.  “There is a special connection between you and your ancestors, Lady Misa, a connection you will feel very soon.”

The Ritual of Ancestral Acceptance, a small ceremony that would officially mark Misa in the running as an heir-nominee.  And it was just a few days away.  Priest Luka wouldn't tell her anything more about the ritual, meaning she couldn't prepare herself.  The priest promised her that there was nothing to fear, she needed only to follow directions on the night the ceremony would take place.  Of course, this hardly did anything to calm Misa's nerves.   With nothing to prepare she found herself wondering what would happen if she failed.  Could she fail?  Would she be sent back home with no more fuss?  Misa almost hoped that might be the case, to return to her father and his painting, the garden he had so carefully planted and the house he meticulously planned to remind him of his home and to teach Misa where half of her heritage came from.  It was earthy and warm there, so different from the Crownspire and Asteryn with its white shine and cold presence.

Misa quickly cast her mind about for a different line of thought.  It had been over a month at the palace and she was almost used to the throbbing home sickness that settled in her chest in quiet moments.  But the longing she felt now took her by surprise.  Instead she looked forward to their lesson with Ser Edric that would come tomorrow.  Misa found that she was embarrassingly ignorant of the most basic of Aelorian politics, unable to match any of the hanging pennants to the Great House they represented, much less recite mottos and the names of the lords and ladies.

“House Valenhart,” she whispered to herself as she left through the side doors to the gardens.  “Silver stag, green field.  House Raeburn, green boar, brown field. House Drakelor, bronze dragon and shield, red field. House Silvarn, silver fox and scales, blue field.”  She took a breath and started again, trying to get all four out in a single breath.

She was making her fifth pass on the recitation when she heard a familiar voice and stopped.

“Someplace near the vegetable gardens, I think,” Dawn was saying.  “I'd bet a gold coin Whitcombe wouldn't try to find me there.  And that way you don't have to be caught being somewhere you shouldn't.”

“You just want to be near where the kitchens are,” a second voice replied, teasingly accusatory.

“Well, maybe, but the other things are important, too.”

Misa hesitated, torn between looking to see who Dawn was talking to so casually and being thought to be an eavesdropper.  In the end, her curiosity won out and she peeked around the bush that hid the other children from sight. 

Dawn's back was turned to her, curly blonde hair as wild as ever and across from her was a boy in servants’ clothes.  His brown hair was cropped and messy, his cheeks smudged, and his brown eyes widened in surprise as he realized Misa was there.  Dawn, seeing the alarm on her companion's face, whipped around.

“Oh!  Misa!”

“I'm sorry,” Misa blurted out, her cheeks flushing.  “I didn't mean to overhear, but I was curious and–” She twisted her fingers together.  Dawn didn't seem the type to get angry at much of anything, certainly not a little snooping, but Misa couldn't help the anxiety she felt over possibly losing the only friend she had in the palace.

“S'alright,” Dawn assured her.  “I was thinking of introducing you to Tomas soon, anyway.”  She motioned to the boy whose face had gone pale.

He dropped quickly into a bow.  “M-my lady,” he stuttered.

“Oh for goodness sake,” Dawn huffed, rolling her eyes.  “Between the two of you I'll always be the one carrying conversation.  “Misa, this is Tomas, my friend.”  She emphasized the word.  “And Tomas, this is Misa, also my friend.  There, now the two of you can also be friends and we don't need to bow or use titles or anything like that, okay?”

“I don't know if I should,” Tomas whispered.  “I mean, she's royalty.”

The way he said it made Misa suddenly aware of herself in a way that made her uncomfortable.  “It's okay, Tomas, I really--are those jam tarts?”  At that moment she spotted the food sitting on a bench.

Dawn's face split into a grin.  “Yes.  Tomas smuggles me food from the kitchen and I smuggle him food from our table.”

“That's why you've been pocketing the sweets!” Misa exclaimed.  “I've seen you do it, but you never seem to eat them.”

“I eat some of them,” Dawn admitted.

Things warmed after that and Misa soon found herself sitting on the bench and talking with both Dawn and Tomas as if they had been friends since she’d first come to the palace.  Tomas, she learned, was a servant boy who spent most of his day running errands around the kitchens and other ground floor areas.  He and Dawn had met the first day that Dawn had come to the palace when she had searched for the kitchens for a snack.  They often met now, usually here, at a spot in the gardens that was close enough to the serving halls that most people didn’t bother coming close.  The conversation Misa had accidentally interrupted had been about finding someplace warmer as the weather turned chilly.

Misa had just finished a tart and was licking the juice off her fingers when a shape came around the corner of the shrub that kept them hidden.

”There you are,” Madame Whitcombe’s sharp voice cut through the peace of the little alcove.  Her steely eyes stared down at the three children with clear displeasure.  She looked at the remains of the tarts, at Tomas who had leapt to his feet and edged away towards the exit, at Dawn’s defiant expression, and finally on Misa, sitting on the bench with a spot of tart jam on the sleeve of her dress.  “Is this where you’ve been running off to when you’re meant to be bettering yourself, Lady Dawn?”

Dawn’s pale cheeks flared with color, her pale green eyes blazing.

”Since Lady Misa is usually where she’s meant to be, I must assume you spend your free time in the company of this…boy.”  She barely glanced at Tomas as she referenced him, but Dawn visibly bristled.

“Go on, Tomas,” she said.  Tomas glanced between her and Madame Whitcombe, large brown eyes showing panic.  “It’s okay, I’ll take care of this.”  Tomas nodded and backed away from Madame Whitcombe’s glare before turning and scurrying away.  Dawn turned back with her hands on her hips.

Misa watched with her mouth slightly open.  She had never seen Dawn so…well, ladylike in the way she spoke with such confident clarity.

“Lady Dawn,” Madame Whitcombe said, her voice just as hard as Dawn’s.  “Do we need to have a discussion of why you ought not be seen interacting with a servant boy behind bushes?”

”Tomas isn’t a servant boy,” Dawn retorted.  “He’s my friend.”

”He is a servant and a boy,” Whitcombe snapped.  “From now on, Lady Dawn, I will be supervising your time outside of classes.”  Dawn opened her mouth again, looking ready to start a true argument, but Madame Whitcombe overrode her.  “I understand that at home you were allowed to be more…you had more freedoms with who you associated with.  But you are at the Crownspire now, you are the companion to an heir-nominee, one of the four most important young people in all of Aeloria.  Your reputation matters.  Your influence matters.”  At this she glanced over at Misa.  Misa wished she could melt into the bench she was sitting on.  “We are going back upstairs and you will sit with me in the nominee's privy chamber.  I don’t care what you do while we are there, but you are not to be out of my sight until you’ve proven that you can be trusted to comport yourself as you should.”

Dawn’s eyes were bright and her cheeks surely couldn’t get any redder. 

“And you, Lady Misa,” Madame Whitcombe said, finally turning her attention to Misa.  Misa was twisting her fingers in the skirt of her dress, dreading what was coming next.  “You should be preparing yourself for the Ritual rather than eating stolen pastries in the garden.”

”Y-yes, Madame Whitcombe,” Misa said, her voice small to her own ears.

Dawn looked at her, but mercifully didn’t say whatever was going through her mind.

The next few days passed in a stoney silence.  Dawn seemed to be in a perpetual state of sulking, slouching in her chairs and ignoring every attempt to try and get her to sit up.  A small act of rebellion, as Madame Whitcombe was as good as her word and came to escort them to and from each class, keeping them both confined during their breaks to either the dining room or the library, shadowing every step from breakfast until they were safely in the bed chambers.

This did nothing to help Misa’s nerves over the Ritual of Ancestral Acceptance.  The silence only gave her doubts room to grow and every time she wanted to talk about it to either Madame Whitcombe or Dawn she found herself put off by hard eyes and thin frowns.  Even the tutors seemed to know something was wrong with the nominee household and lessons were, for the most part, quiet and studious.  The day before the ritual, Priest Luka asked for Misa to stay behind as Madame Whitcombe came to take Dawn to the library.

”You’re nervous about the ritual tomorrow?” Priest Luka asked as Misa sat back down.  She nodded.  “Of course, that is completely understandable.”  He tucked his hands inside of his sleeves, arms resting on his belly.  “Let me assure you, Lady Misa, no matter the outcome of the ritual you have learned much during your time here.  You have grown a lot in the last months.  Your work ethic is impeccable and I see a love of learning in you.  There will always be a place for you in the world, even if it is not on the throne of Aeloria.”

Misa felt her face warm at his words.  She looked down and asked, “Do you think I’ll fail tomorrow?”

”Fail?” Priest Luka asked.  “My dear, you cannot fail a conversation with your ancestors.  If they do not give you the blessing to continue it is because they see your potential elsewhere.  Ah, but I see that isn’t giving you the comfort you need right now.”  He closed his lidded eyes and nodded slowly.  “Well, I believe you are more than a worthy candidate for the throne.  And I do believe your ancestors will agree.”

When Misa went to her chamber at night she found Dawn sitting on her bed.  “Misa,” she said, getting to her feet.  “I just wanted to say I…well, I’m sorry,” she blurted.  “What happened in the gardens, getting you in trouble like that.  And I know that you’re worried about tomorrow and I’m sorry that I’ve been so wrapped up in being angry.”  She grasped Misa’s hands and looked earnestly into her face.  “I really think you’ll do well, tomorrow.”

Misa squeezed Dawn’s hands.  “I am nervous,” she admitted.

”I’ll be with you, no matter what.  As long as they’ll let me.  And when you come out of it, no matter what, I’ll still be there.”  Dawn’s face showed her determination and Misa found herself grounded by the strength of it.

Misa wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what their lessons were about the next day.  Master Hale droned on just as he always did but Mistress Thorne seemed far less sharp than usual with her criticisms with Dawn and Misa’s attempts at walking like ladies.  Back and forth, a curtesy at the end and repeat.  Misa found herself with no appetite at lunch and dinner, picking at her food.  Dawn and Madame Whitcombe were being perfectly polite to one another now, carrying on conversation about nothing in an attempt to distract Misa from the fast-approaching ritual.

And then the sun was down and the stars were out.  The moon was in its new phase, the only light coming from those shining stars, the stars of Misa’s ancestors.

Dawn and Madame Whitcombe escorted her to the private royal temple, taking the sheltered path that led from the royal quarters.  Madame Whitcombe walked several steps ahead but Dawn remained at her side, gripping Misa’s sweaty hand in her own.

“This temple is very rarely used by anyone other than King Theodren and those he chooses to pray with,” Madam Whitcombe said in a hushed voice.  “But it is where all heir-nominees come for the Ritual of Acceptance.”  She opened the doors of the temple and stepped aside so Misa, still gripping Dawn’s hand, could step inside first.

The chapel was quite small, with five ornate, carved wooden pews with plush cushions facing an altar that was draped with a pure white cloth with intricate stars and constellations embroidered in dark blue.  A silver bowl stood upon the altar.  The chapel was lit with candles, but the windows near the ceiling were large and wide.  During the day it must have been flooded with sunlight, but right now a map of silver stars shone through the glass.  The centerpiece of it all was the stained glass mural behind the altar and pulpit. On the left side of the canvas of glass was Aelar, the great ancestor of the Aelarian line.  Misa’s ancestor.  A star who came to eart and brought peace, founding the kingdom of Aeloria, giving up his home in the shining sky to help the humans he had only seen from afar.  Across from Aelar was the Veiled One in their shroud.  Above and below was the earth and sky, the bodies of the two primordial gods, the Eldest who created the very world in which they lived.

Misa, Madame Whitcombe, and Dawn stopped inside the doors to give their respect to this emblem of their history.  Misa pressed her hands together, eyes squeezed tight.  Please, please help me get through this, she prayed silently.  She certainly didn’t expect Aelar to come and lead her through this ritual himself, but she did find a small amount of relief in her chest, as if the prayer leaving her mind lifted a weight. Glancing to the side she met Dawn’s eyes.  Dawn had her hands together, but rather than her head bowed and eyes closed she had been watching Misa.  Dawn gave her an encouraging grin.

Priest Luka was waiting for them on the dias with a woman standing next to him.  Though they each wore the robes of priesthood, navy with a sash and trim of silver, the woman held herself in a way that commanded authority, entirely unlike Priest Luka’s familiar form.

”Lady Misa,” Priest Luka greeted her, bowing his head. “This is the Crown Priest Verna.”  His soft voice echoed in whispers on the walls.

The Crown Priest stepped forward with a courteous bow of her head.  “Lady Misa.”  The candlelight played with shadows across her face, making it hard for Misa to make out what age she might be.  “Are you ready to present yourself to your ancestors?”

Misa nodded, her throat too dry to speak.

“Dip your hands in the cleansing water,” Priest Luka told her.

The water was cool on her fingers, somehow feeling cleaner than normal washing water.  It made her hands tingle in a cooling and pleasant way.  She dried them on the towel next to the bowl.

”Lady Dawn, Madame Whitcombe,” Priest Luka said, “if you’ll wait here, I’ll deliver Lady Misa safely back into your hands once we’re finished.”

Misa looked back to where Dawn had sat down on one of the plush benches, Madame Whitcombe standing next to her.  Dawn smiled at her and held her hand in a small fist of encouragement.  Misa tried to smile back, but her lips were shaking.

The inner sanctuary was a small, circular room.  There were no candles here, but none were needed with the open ceiling and blazing stars.  Taking up the center of the room was a black, circular altar, the flat surface carved with stars and constellations that seemed to glow, reflecting the night sky back up to itself.  In the center sat a silver lantern.  Priest Luka placed a gentle hand on her back and indicated a midnight blue cushion before the altar.  Misa knelt down upon the cushion.

The Crown Priest stood on the other side of the altar and spoke, her voice clear without the crack of age.  “Reflect.  Connect with your ancestors,” she said.  “Remember why you are here and ask for their judgement on your role.”

Misa pressed her hands together.  Silence filled the room.  Misa furrowed her brow concentrating on what the Crown Priest had told her, but all she seemed to be aware of was her own thudding heart and her still tingling fingers as they interlaced each other.  Was she supposed to feel something? Hear something?  Just as she felt the panic building in her chest, Crown Priest Verna spoke again.

”We call upon you, ancestors of Aeloria, to turn your light and your gaze upon your descendant.  We asked or your wisdom and your judgement in our search for the one who will lead our people when King Theodren comes to reside in your splendor.”

Misa recited the words she had been repeating to herself for the last couple of days.  “By your light I seek my path.  By your wisdom I accept my fate.”

Crown Priest Verna handed her the silver lantern.  It felt cold and heavy in her hands.  Misa held it tightly, waiting with baited breath.  Seconds seemed to last for minutes.  She cast her eyes up to the open sky, at the stars in familiar patterns.  She remembered again the way her mother had projected those patterns on the bedroom ceiling, a slender arm outstretched, pale fingers spread open, Misa curled up against her father’s side, Lucinda laying back next to her mother, all sharing stories of the stars.

Maybe if the ancestors rejected her she could go home to her father.  Maybe Dawn could come to visit from time to time.  She could go back to a quiet life, only worrying about some distant future where she would rule their small holdings rather than an entire kingdom.

Suddenly light exploded from the lantern, blue flames licking her fingers, but they didn’t feel hot.  The light shown on Misa’s face and cast starry shadows on the walls.  The intensity of it made her close her eyes, but even then the insides of her eyelids were painted blue.

Slowly the flame dampened, burning dimly but stably within the lantern.  Across from her Crown Priest Verna still stood, and Misa could see her face clearly in the blue light.  Middle-aged with fine lines around her mouth and brows, her hair looked white in the light.  She nodded.  “The ancestors have given you their blessing,” she said.