40. Selis
Selis
Hours slide by like blood under a closed door—slow, unstoppable. The kind that stains.
The alcove is cramped, shadows clinging to my back like a second skin. I barely breathe, barely shift. The cold from the stone seeps into my bones, but I don’t move.
I’m used to stillness. Waiting is just a different kind of violence.
But my mind, traitor that it is, won’t still.
Lior haunts me. His laugh, ragged and gold-edged. The way he used to steal pears from market stalls and leave them in my coat. His eyes the last time I saw him.
I didn’t get there in time. All I had left was the ash and the weight of what I couldn’t do.
But Naera’s not ash yet.
I can still get to her . Still tear down the walls that would keep her caged.
And the others—fuck… the others. The ones like her. Soft-spoken and glowing, raised to think obedience is grace. Maybe I can save them too.
Maybe.
The light in the temple shifts. Afternoon fades, and the stained-glass dome above dims. The moons and saints lose their gleam. In their place, night gathers .
It’s strange, this twilight—hushed, almost reverent. As if the whole temple is holding its breath. Shadows lengthen, and every breath I take tastes like something’s about to happen. The lantern’s breath against my ribs pulses again—slow, steady. Like it knows night belongs to us now.
Footsteps echo.
I tense.
Two people enter from the southern corridor, robes brushing the floor, voices low and sharp with purpose.
“Everything’s been prepared?” one asks.
Priests then.
The other, younger by the sounds of it, says, “Everyone has been anointed. After the sacrifices are set, all we will need is the vessel and the moon.”
They walk toward the altar.
The older man’s voice cuts through the hush, low and certain. “We’ll put her there. We’ll begin when the moon’s nearly overtaken.”
Her.
Every part of me goes still and burning.
They’re bringing Naera here.
Soon.
The urge to move— to kill —rises hard in my throat. I could be on them in three steps. Slice clean through. Dye this place red before they ever knew what hit them.
But I don’t move, not yet. Because if they’re walking her to me, if they’re that arrogant, that certain—they’re delivering her straight into my hands.
Let them…
A sound cuts through the priest’s murmurs.
Soft. Broken. A whimper .
My pulse jerks. I strain toward it, muscles tight, ears sharp.
Naera?!
I shift, slow and silent, until I can lean just enough to peer through the narrow sliver between column and wall.
It’s not her.
The breath I’d been holding sours in my chest.
It’s a girl.
Bound at the wrists and ankles, gagged and pulled along by one of the priests, is a girl. Her head is bowed, silver curls half-hiding her face, but I can see the tremble in her shoulders. The glow bleeding soft and unnatural from her skin.
She can’t be more than fourteen.
And she’s glowing .
Like her.
It hits me sideways—seeing that light on someone else. That gentle, otherworldly shine. For a split second, I almost think it is Naera. But no. She’s much younger, and though she glows and her hair is that same silver sheen, that is where the similarities end.
Still… the glow makes my teeth ache.
That girl’s scared. Terrified. And still wrapped in moonlight and silk like a present for a goddess. The priests don’t look at her much. One of them drags her closer to the altar, movements efficient, dispassionate. He kneels, fastens the bindings to a ring set into the floor.
“Are the others ready as well,” the old priest asks, matter-of-fact.
The other hums. “Yes. We’ll place them here. And remember, no marks. They must be unblemished when we send them to the moonmother. Just as the vessel must be. ”
A pause. Then… “We cannot fail. The eclipse only comes once every thirty-seven years. We miss this, and the cycle’s broken.”
They’re talking about Naera. The vessel. I feel the rage bloom before I can stop it—hot, full, no space left for air.
They’re still going to do it.
Still going to kill these children even though Naera gave herself up. Even though she came here glowing and terrified and willing.
Fucking bastards.
They were always going to kill the rest too.
I press my fist to my lips and breathe through it. There’s a scream in me, a blade wanting to rise. I shove it down.
Not yet.
But gods, when I move—
When I move, I’ll make them feel it. They’ll wish the eclipse never came.
I stay still, stay hidden.
Even as they bring in more. One by one.
None of them her.
None of them Naera.
They get younger with each arrival… A twelve year old—tall for her age, narrow in the shoulders, lips pressed thin. She walks on her own, barely, head bowed but defiant. The next—ten, maybe—stumbles.
Then an eight-year-old. Then six. Then—
Gods.
Two.
A toddler. Pale hair and blank eyes. She’s not crying. She probably doesn’t know to. She blinks around like she’s expecting a story, like someone’s going to tuck her in and hand her a stuffed doll .
The six-year-old, though, she’s crying. Silent. Stoic. But her tiny fists are balled and her cheeks are wet and red.
She’s glowing, too.
They all are.
Like little stars pinned up for slaughter.
The priests move through them without fuss. No prayers. No ceremony. Just quiet efficiency, like setting the stage for a performance. They don’t even speak much now. Just adjust bindings and nod to one another like this is just what’s done.
Like it’s fine.
Each child is guided—no, positioned —around the main altar. Their wrists and ankles are tied to rings that look nailed into the floor, like anchors sunk into stone. The cords are silk. Beautiful. Ceremonial. Which somehow makes it worse.
“She’ll need the offering powders,” one priest says, brushing nonexistent dust from his robes. “And the petals. Moonblossom and shroudroot. No substitutes this time.”
Then the priests leave.
Just walk out like they’ve placed candles in a temple, not children on a butcher’s block. And after that—nothing.
Silence.
Just one girl sniffing, breath hitching every now and then, and the occasional rustle of fabric as someone shifts uncomfortably in fear.
And me.
Curled in the alcove. Breathing through gritted teeth. Sweat cooling down my back. The fire in my cloak pulses, but even it seems to hold its breath.
What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
Where is Naera ?
I press a hand to the wall beside me. It’s cold. Real. I need something real, because this feels like a nightmare wrapped in silk and moonlight.
I should leave them … The thought slithers in, sharp and venomous.
Find Naera. Get in. Get out. Burn the place down.
That was the plan. They weren’t part of it. Not truly. These girls? They were a detail. A passing guilt. A fleeting shape of something noble. Something I told myself I’d save if I could. A promise I made to no one but Naera’s soft, stubborn hope.
But now they’re real. Flesh and eyes and fear. Breath hitching. Limbs trembling. Too fucking small to be here.
I should leave them.
But the words don’t land as hard this time. Because fuck—Naera wouldn’t forgive me. And maybe worse…I don’t think I’d forgive myself.
Even if I could double back later, what if later was too late?
After what feels like a lifetime crouched in stone and shadow, I force myself to move. My legs scream. Pins and needles crawl through my thighs as I stand. Every joint aches like I’ve aged ten years in a single breath.
The silence breaks as my boots hit the temple floor. Soft. Steady. No blades drawn. No fire yet.
Just me.
And six terrified little stars.
As they notice me, they blink at me like I walked out of a storybook. They’re gagged, of course. Not with cloth, but silk. Moon-pale, delicately embroidered. Nothing so crass as rope. No—this place likes its cruelty wrapped in beauty.
The eight-year-old sees me first. Wide eyes. Glowing skin gone pale. She stiffens, but doesn’t make a single sound .
Smart.
I raise a finger to my lips. A slow, deliberate shhh .
“I’m not here to hurt you,” I whisper.
Then I step forward and undo her gag. Her mouth stays open, lips trembling. She stares at me like I just descended from the stars myself. It’s not fear. Not really.
There’s something like awe in her face. Like she’s waiting for me to glow too.
It weirds me the fuck out.
“Hey,” I say, softer now. “Focus. Where’s Naera?”
She doesn’t answer.
Just blinks.
Still staring.
Still glowing.
Fuck.
“Right. You’re useless,” I mutter, and move on.
The next one—slightly older, maybe ten—looks like she wants to talk. Eyes darting between me and the others. Calculating.
I undo her gag, slow.
“Let’s try this again, shall we? Where is Naera?”
She looks to the older girls. The oldest one gives the smallest shake of her head. Barely a movement. But it’s enough. Enough to plant doubt like a weed.
And that’s all it takes.
The kid draws a breath—wide, shaky—and for a flicker of a second, I think I’m finally getting a fucking answer.
Then she opens her mouth and starts to scream.
Fast reflexes save me. My hand’s over her mouth before the sound can fully split the air. Her eyes go wide, her body jerks, but I don’t let go. Just lean close, low enough for her to feel every word .
“Don’t do that again,” I growl under my breath. “Seriously.”
Her breath hitches against my palm, eyes still huge with fear, but she nods. A tiny, frantic nod.
I wait one beat. Two. Then I let go.
She doesn’t scream again, just stares like I might still bite.
Maybe I should regag that one. It’d be safer.
I don’t.
I’m trying not to scare them, after all… which is starting to feel impossible.
I straighten, adjust my cloak, and address the room.
“Look. I’m not here to hurt you. In fact, I’m trying very hard to help you.” I force a smile that probably doesn’t do me any favors. “But I need to know where the fuck Naera is. Because if you want to live—and I assume you do—I need to find her now. ”