32. Veil
32
VEIL
A day later, I’m back at Mount Pravitia.
Gemini escorted me up to the entrance doors, but Mercy made him turn around and leave. He did, but not before making a show of kissing me goodbye.
Now, I’m deep underground with one of the rulers of Pravitia, trying to convince myself that I belong here when Mercy’s presence is so imposing. I focus on the cadence of her black stilettos on the stone floor as I follow her down a damp, low-lit corridor, chewing on my inner lip and wondering if she’ll ever say another word to me.
“Here,” she finally says, and I hide the small wince upon hearing her voice echo against the walls.
There’s no door to open, just a large threshold beckoning me inside. I glance at Mercy, her face blank and impassive as she waits for me to walk in first. I’m still unsure of what we are doing here, and now does not feel like the most opportune time to ask. So I swallow down the rock in my throat and enter on tentative steps.
The room is spacious. Dark but lit with flambeaus lining the side walls. I startle when my gaze lands on the Oracle, sitting at the far end of the room between two large stone columns.
She appears as still as a statue, her hands in repose on her lap, as if waiting to be roused from a deep slumber. She’s veiled under a gray shawl, her black dress long enough to pool on the ground and cover her feet. Her hair is loose, falling over her shoulders.
I look over to Mercy behind me in a flimsy attempt for some kind of encouragement, but she just impatiently flicks her hand, signaling me onward.
A narrow walkway, flanked on each side by water, leads up to a wider platform, where the Oracle sits. I idly wonder how the water even got here as I warily take my first few steps with Mercy following me close behind.
As I get closer to the Oracle, I realize her eyes are cloaked in a white film. Her focus is nowhere and everywhere, all at once. When Mercy walks up to where I’m standing, the Oracle’s eyes shift, the white film fading, revealing the pale blue underneath.
“Servants,” she declares. She pins me with her stare, and a cold shiver travels down my spine. “Ready, I see.”
Her last words feel far too similar to what Gemini has been repeating to me over the past few weeks. I fight the odd, petulant urge to stomp my foot and ask why everyone assumes to know me better than I do.
Instead, I simply play along and nod solemnly.
The Oracle pauses, shifting her attention to Mercy. “Why are you here, child?”
It’s the first time I’ve seen Mercy flustered, stumbling over her words as she tries to explain her presence here.
“The gods chose me to rule the city,” she manages to say. “Shouldn’t I be privy to such a conversation?”
The Oracle seems displeased. “Then where is your counterpart?”
Mercy fumbles over her answer again, and the interaction gives me a sick sense of satisfaction. It humanizes her, and suddenly, I can breathe easier.
“I thought it best to come alone; he understands.”
The Oracle stares at Mercy. The moment feels infinite before she slowly lifts an arm and points to the corner of the small platform. “Stand there and do not utter another word.”
This shouldn’t be a humorous moment, but a manic wave of laughter bubbles up my throat, and I flatten my lips, trying my best to hold it together.
When the Oracle’s steadfast gaze settles on me, I revert back to seriousness, clasping my hands behind my back and straightening my shoulders.
“What do you seek, child?”
The question momentarily confounds me, and I take a few moments to respond. “I know nothing,” I finally say. “I lack even the questions to lead me to the right answers.”
Somehow, the Oracle seems pleased. She nods and appears to be thinking before speaking again.
“You know more than you think.”
A small Oh? escapes me before the Oracle continues, “Even banished, you couldn’t stay away; your god has always beckoned you close.”
I try my hardest to decipher her words but fall short.
“I’m not sure what that means …”
“Where did you live in Corutio?”
“The neighborhood?”
She nods.
I chew my bottom lip. “I lived in the Larcine District.”
She hums as if I’ve revealed information that should mean something to me.
“And whose district was that?”
It dawns on me where she’s trying to lead me to. I feel foolish, not realizing it sooner.
I’m now the one fumbling over my words. “I never?—”
“Paid much attention?” she interjects.
I swallow hard. “Correct. But what I meant to say was, I never participated in the city’s traditions; one neighborhood didn’t matter over another.”
“You never participated in the city’s traditions because Corutio was not your birthright — Pravitia is,” she says solemnly, “but it did not prevent you from ever straying far from the god of thievery. Larcine is another one of its servants.”
I blink. A bizarre irritation simmers inside my chest. “Is there a point to this?” My words come out a lot harsher than I expected, and I sense Mercy shifting in place to my right. I pretend my heart isn’t racing and hold the Oracle’s piercing gaze.
“What is your sigil, child?” she asks.
My first reaction is to blurt out I don’t know , but realize I must know if the Oracle is asking me that question. I take a long inhale and close my eyes. It feels absurd not to recall such an important detail of my daily life in Corutio, but my memories are so blurry that it makes me wonder if I was even awake or dreaming.
Until I returned to Pravitia.
Now every memory is as vivid as the day I lived them.
Opening my eyes, I find the Oracle staring back.
“A hand holding a key.”
I can almost discern a small smile on her lips as she nods, folding up her sleeve to reveal my sigil tattooed on her arm, just above Gemini’s and two others I don’t immediately recognize. It looks fresh on her skin, as if she was expecting me all along.
“Welcome home.”