Star. Not part of a cluster. Or the one that lit up the sky at noon. But an angry, earthbound sparkle; blazing like a crystal in the Kingdom of the Sun.

  Enough for Alicé to put a hand in front of her face until Clareweather slipped the star - no, crystal - into a drawer. Out of which emerged a deep green file and two pads of paper. One rose pink; the other pale ultra. Although the need for two pads escaped Alicé.

  “Now, let me see,” Clareweather began as she opened the file. “Alicé Sain-Florengal, Mardanhi-Bleu de Ciel.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” said Alicé.

  “Eh?” Clareweather said, looking at Alicé.

  “You said my name.”

  “Name? Not even the half of it.”

  Got that right, Alicé wanted to say, but didn’t want to be held in the air again for cheek.

  “Quite right,” Clareweather replied. “Alicé Sain-Florengal; Haymarlen Lia-Naythune; Kei-Avra-Lysuraya; Mardanhi-Linrosair Bleu de Ciel.”

  Eighteen years, Alicé grimaced. Eighteen years and she still didn’t know why she had that many.

  “Even the Princesses of the House of Rose Viola don’t have names to match yours; and if anything comes close, it would be the King’s titles.”

  “You’d have to ask my mother; both grandmothers; my father, aunts and uncles for that, My Lady,” Alicé explained. Never got a full answer from any of them; except that it was in reference to a multi-realm heritage.

  “For you not being part of the Violet House?”

  “For my names, Your Grace. Why couldn’t I have Alicé, a middle name, Bleu de Ciel, and be done with it?”

  “Something that you can treasure? See as being unique. Sister Urania would call it a constellation. A constellation you can be happy about; just like your results…”

  “You mean,” Alicé said, almost standing up. “I survived?”

  “Goodness, it wasn’t a battle,” said Clareweather; a sheet of paper rising from the file and floating across to Alicé. “Although they aren’t a bed of feathers and petals.”

  Alicé had to look at the window; the bookcase; the engraved glasses and matching jug. Pass, pass. A needs more work and more passes. Plus one or two-

  “… Distinctions,” she said aloud. “But my mocks were toast.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Clareweather said, pouring herself a glass as a second, full one landed on the table next to Alicé. “Surprised one or two of the Sisters who had given you up for lost. ‘Gifted in Painting and Illumination’ according to one. ‘A remarkable grasp of the pivotal events of Maysine-Enslet’ by another.”

  Alicé put a hand to her head. Grasp? She just went for it on the papers of the ‘Unification of Maysine and the Seven Seasons of Enslet’. Especially when - with Maysine - she only knew that there was a County and a Duchy because she was from the latter; and Enslet had four seasons, not seven.

  “I dare say that Sister Margaret will be hunting you down soon enough,” Clareweather continued. “That and your affinity with Celeslaysian is like a light to a moth.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Still didn’t register now, Alicé thought, looking at one of Clareweather’s books. To most, the script on the spine would be a delicate flow of shapes and patterns. Yet Alicé knew that it said ‘The Finer Points of Celeslaysian’ almost without thinking.

  “And haven’t been taught a word of until you came here,” Clareweather added as Alicé nearly fell out of her chair. “Just as you could touch the Stream in two lessons.”

  “Stream?” Alicé coughed. “It tried to drown me.”

  “Often does on the first connection,” Clareweather said as the book floated across from the shelf. “Like putting your finger on something that was always there; but could never quite explain and it’s very happy to see you.”

  “That’s one way of putting it…”

  “The words of Linaversa, no less. A Sister you should be aware of.”

  How could Alicé forget. Donna-Maria Linaversa. One of the earlier Prophetesses who - along with Anne-Marie Mayfloradon - founded the Joint Order of Virgo-Andromeda. Although Alicé wasn’t sure if Linaversa was from Maysine and Mayfloradon was from Enslet; or was it the other way round?

  “Other way,” sighed Clareweather. “And your namesake was from Maysine and Alloura from Enslet before you get into a bundle over that too.”

  “Forgive me, Your Grace, but Alloura was a songstress and Clarioncloud was an abbess,” said Alicé.

  “Not Clarioncloud,” said Clareweather. “The prophetess you’re named after: Naythune.”

  The sombre winter moon to the summer sun that was Jaylinsa Alloura, Alicé grimaced. Who spent more time up west beyond O-Ince-Cidel-Cloud than in the Two Maysines. Quite how they had worked together to find the Last Heir and get him crowned at May-Ensletia Abbey was nothing short of-

  “A miracle,” Clareweather continued. “Since this Abbey was under siege and things were starting to go ill. But did you know Naythune could converse with the Elves of Lyoness in their own tongue? A tongue born from Celeslaysian.”

  “You mean, I can speak Elvish?”

  “You would have to accept your gifts to find that out. Long have been the years since any of our order have taken the path to the Meadows of Cranes and the Land of Lions. And yet their invitation remains. That a Sister, with the same gifts as the one who came and spent time with them, will be always welcome. Sisters who appear usually once in a generation. Sisters like you, Alicé.”

  “But I’m not a Sister yet, Your Grace,” Alicé began. “Plus, isn’t there only supposed to be one prophetess a generation. In my case, Meldannon.”

  “True, there’s been one a generation since the Darkristen Wars,” said Clareweather, as the pages of the book turned of their own accord. “But sometimes, Creativity has a party. In this case, two. At an earlier point, three. But the presence of you and Elena - within a year of each other - it will not be without purpose.”

  “But I’m leaning towards - the Scriptorium, Your Grace,” Alicé continued. “I like translating books - uncovering things thought lost. And the colours and metals that they use - it makes me want to illuminate letters too.”

  “Sure it’s not a library,” Clareweather replied, as the book rose and faced Alicé with a sketch of a book she recognised in a blink. “With a certain book. About a certain place? Sister Margaret may grant your wish in time and, you could be a blessing there. But, doesn’t a part of you want to see where the Stream takes you? To be a blessing to many rather than a few?”

  “I don’t get - them - anymore,” said Alicé, looking away from the sketch of the book with the name Insline. “Not in dreams, anyway. And each time I touch the Stream it gets - stronger.”

  “But you won’t be alone, Alicé. I will help you and so will Elena. Plus, when the time comes, every priory, abbey and library will clamber over each other to offer you a residency.”

  “Sounds like I’ll be a prize.”

  “Elena said the same thing, yesterday. Two caskets of wine, three hampers. A trip to the isles off the coast of Gelervindon. The abbey in Farrislarhne sent me a flock of chickens. Really, Alicé, chickens. And some of their descendants are still at Three Meres Farm and the aviary in Mira-Enness. There are some who believe that having a prophetess on the premises makes the rain clouds go away. But there is far more to it.”

  “I would have to think about it, Your Grace,” Alicé said, glancing through the window at a passing flock of doves. “I know you would welcome me here, but I need some time.”

  “Something needed by most of us in such decisions,” said Clareweather, writing on a paper from the pale blue pad. “Including Sister Maria. But remember Alicé, Clarity can come like sunlight through an open door. Or a gentle breeze across a meadow.”

  “My namesake, Your Grace?”

  “The Abbess whose Crozier you found in the cathedral tower. Or did it find you…?”

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