Chapter 33
Audra had changed into her training outfit and sprinted like her life depended on it, but still arrived minutes late to the sparring field, timepiece chiming, burning a painful ring into her wrist. Then, she’d proceeded to fail the second time that day—unable to focus, she’d repeatedly dropped her staff, failed to block even the slowest, most predictable blows, and had even snapped at Lottie, who had simply inquired if she was alright.
Then, right before dismissal, Vrenn called her pathetic in front of the entire guild and ordered her to clean up all the training supplies and reset the entire muddy sparring field by herself. Wilder and Lottie both offered to help, but Vrenn had overheard and forbidden it.
Audra hadn’t arrived back at the dorm until well after nightfall, fingers and toes numb from the frigid night temperatures, muscles screaming from training, bones like jelly, jaw aching from clenching it so tightly …
She’d barely managed to wash the mud from herself and extract her sore, protesting body from the tight training outfit before falling asleep face down.
She’d been too exhausted to even worry about whether she would see the demon and the temple of horrors in her dreams before she’d fallen asleep.
Luckily, he hadn’t appeared, and her dreams had been nothing more than the usual kind.
She hurriedly got ready for the day and raced to the dining hall so her timepiece would register that she’d “attended” breakfast before slipping back out the door before any priestesses noticed and demand she eat.
As she braced for the cold and pushed open the double doors at the rear of Central Main, Audra wondered if the priestesses were fattening the initiates to be eaten later, before remembering that for that to be true, the priestesses would have to eat in the first place.
Or maybe that was it … they only ate initiates.
Early morning light poured through the elaborate stained-glass windows as Audra walked through the temple’s atrium with a deliberate slowness; this visit must appear casual, a mere social call of an initiate to her appointed opinante.
The temple, a hive of activity during Sanctum mornings, was eerily still. Audra’s footfalls echoed through the atrium, a jarring intrusion upon the silence.
Corridors branched out from the central chamber like skeletal limbs, leaving Audra disoriented.
She realized with a twinge of guilt—she knew little of Twyla’s daily routine beyond the rigid schedule enforced by the identical timepieces they both wore, grim guardians that governed their every minute.
She spun in a circle, feeling suddenly foolish.
How was she to even find Twyla when she appeared to be alone here with only the hulking stone visages of foreign gods for company?
She considered leaving—Sanctum was tomorrow; she would surely see Twyla then—when a young acolyte, her tawny cheeks round with youth and dark hair spun neatly into twists, entered, clutching a watering can that dwarfed her small frame.
The acolyte offered Audra a fleeting smile before tending to the vibrant flowers that adorned the sun god’s altar.
Audra had seen her before—she was Cersha’s opinante. But what was her name? Oh!
“Pia!” Audra called across the chamber, wincing as the abruptness of her voice shattered the silence. She cleared her throat, walked closer, and spoke more quietly. “I was wondering if you might assist me.”
Pia set the watering can down. “Have you come to pray? It’s nice to see, your lot doesn’t usually come for devotion unless it’s your Sanctum session.”
“Oh.” Audra wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
If given the choice, she would never set foot in the temple at all, and she definitely wasn’t here to pray.
Though she hated that she would have to dash Pia’s hopeful expression.
“I was actually hoping you could direct me to Twyla, my opinante. I require a word with her.”
Pia nodded, like this request made more sense to her than an initiate choosing to pray, and placed a hand on her chin while she thought.
“I believe Twyla is with Mother Brula right now. Initiates aren’t allowed in the inner chambers, but I can inquire if she might be spared from her duties to speak with you. ”
“Thank you, that would be very helpful.”
Left alone, Audra found herself drawn to a thorny vine that encircled a statue of an unknown deity.
She leaned forward and inhaled the decadent scent of the flowers.
Their cascading petals were a breathtaking shade of purple, almost, but not quite the exact hue of periwinkle.
She imagined changing every flower on this vine, its delicate petals transforming to Noxolo Danyi’s cobalt blue.
But she did not have the incra memorized, and the color wasn’t the right shade, anyhow.
“Audra!” Twyla’s voice carried across the chamber; the lilting voice of the acolyte fit here in this space, coalescing with the ambiance of the temple as Audra’s had not.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you until the end of the week.
It seems the goddesses have smiled upon me today!
” Twyla skipped toward her and pulled Audra into a hug.
“It’s good to see you too,” Audra murmured. “I hope I haven’t interrupted your duties.”
“Oh, please,” Twyla replied, her laughter light and carefree, “you saved me from polishing every piece of silver in the temple. Preparations for the Heir’s celebratory feast are in swing.”
Audra tried not to let her smile falter. Already? Did they expect to find the Heir so soon? “Perhaps I’ll visit more often, then. Just in case they find any more silver.”
Twyla tugged at Audra’s sleeve. “Let us retire to one of the private prayer rooms. They are typically reserved for personal contemplation and devotion, but I believe it should be fine if we talk quietly.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Twyla led her down a long, arched corridor lined with a multitude of doors.
Some stood ajar, revealing stacks of cushions, candle sconces with unlit candlesticks, and, to Audra, what seemed to be an altar for every possible deity.
Audra was just about to ask how much farther when Twyla entered a room.
“Harva, the god of autumn, should do nicely,” Twyla announced.
“Few pay homage to him until well into summer. So deep in winter, who can think of autumn at a time like this? Of course, Mother Nyrah would insist that one of an acolyte’s most sacred duties is to pray to the gods who may be neglected by the populace, lest they, in turn, forget us. ”
Harva, Audra was glad to see, was not one of the more formidable ones—not like the sun god, Valric, whose multiple statues in and around not just the temple, but the school grounds as well, made the hairs on the back of Audra’s neck raise and her pulse race.
The sun god, always depicted as the largest, most wrathful, and judgmental of all their gods, was terrifying.
One statue was too many—yet he seemed to be everywhere.
But, if Harva’s round-bellied effigy was anything to go on, he actually seemed quite charming—a kind smile carved amidst a curly bearded face, a collection of mushrooms sprouting from an upturned hand, a basket of root vegetables clutched in the other.
A cheerful, plump hedgehog perched on his broad shoulder nuzzled a pointed ear in perpetual affection.
While Audra studied the statue, Twyla retrieved two pillows from the stack and placed them on the floor. “Shall we?”
“Oh, yes.”
“The hedgehog is precious, no? Leyol is one of my favorite sacred companions; it’s his little nose and round body.”
“Quite endearing,” Audra agreed as she plucked absently at the unbreachable clasp of her timepiece. How to broach the subject without drawing suspicion?
“But you didn’t cross the grounds in the cold to discuss sacred companions. What can I help you with?”
“Well, I came to inquire about the Heir.”
Twyla grinned. “I was wondering when you were going to ask me! Most of the other opinantes have already had many discussions with their initiates.” Twyla gazed at Audra, appraising, her expression playful. “You wish to know if you might be our Heir.”
Audra almost choked and hurriedly barked a laugh to cover it up.
She wished to know the opposite of that, of course, but she couldn’t let that be known.
Better to play along, see if she could broach her questions organically.
“What are the chances that I am?” She reached out and ran a finger over a drip of hardened wax on a candle, praying she sounded mildly curious and nothing more.
“I should quite enjoy a basket of gold.”
Twyla’s expression turned wistful. “Could you imagine? The honor of serving not just the gods in the most sacred of all rituals, but to restart the Cycle itself, liberating the entire earth from the travesty of winter.”
Audra latched on to that. “The highest of honors. And so many perks.” She placed her hands in her lap, forcing them to cease their fidgeting. “Actually, what is the ritual? So many mentions of ‘the ritual,’ but no one says what it is.”
Twyla laughed. “If I could answer that question, I would be one of the revered few of the elite Chorus, not just an acolyte. There are only seven hundred at any time, you know—out of tens of thousands of priestesses from all corners of Zenaida.”
Audra’s hopes plummeted. “So, only the members of the Chorus themselves are permitted to know what the ritual actually entails?”
Twyla nodded, her expression earnest. “Well, them—as they’re the most devout of us all—our queen and high council, the gods, and, of course, the Heir themselves.”
“Right, of course.”
“It’s always been one of the most sacred of secrets; in fact, it’s forbidden by not just the gods but Zenaida law even to speculate, let alone investigate, the particulars of Jelishaam, the Cycle rite.”