None of her fellow priestesses were paying her any particular attention. She and Myril took up their parts of the chant again and again as the hours stretched on through the year’s shortest night. Although they were deep within the temple, Darna sometimes thought that she heard the sound of revelers on the streets outside. She hoped that Iola would live to see Midsummer again, to come back to this place at the next turning of the year, and that she would too.
It was getting close to dawn when Myril touched her elbow, breaking the spell.
“I think we should go see Iola,” she whispered.
“Will they let us in?” Darna wondered. After all, they were no longer full priestesses, and the ambassadress was closely guarded, especially at crossing times.
“She’ll want to see you, I think. I heard Sun
