The Aralel sat back. She picked up one of the scrolls from her desk and set it down again, then ran her fingers through her almost entirely white hair. “You two, go outside.”
Myril stood. She and Sunna went out, leaving Darna alone with the Aralel.
“You’ve always denied that you’re a priestess, and believe me, I understand why. We all feel like impostors sometimes. Even your friend Iola might have had a twinge of worry from time to time.”
“Surely, you don’t,” Darna said. The idea of the Aralel feeling any self-doubt seemed absurd.
“Oh, I do, or at least I did when I was young, before I flew to the heart of the earth.” The Aralel had been ambassadress in her youth. It was sometimes hard to remember that there’d been other ambassadresses before Iola. “When I came back,” the Aralel contin
