Chapter 19
Lorali
B lank pages sat beneath her quill. She begged for ink to fill them, for her hand to move. To craft the prayers and rites that must be given as Veridian approached. Everything was planned to perfection; all that awaited was this. The devotion. Her devotion. Each year was unique in the blessings sought from the goddess, no two the same. Each rite as personal to the liaison as a fingerprint. It was an act of devotion to breathe life into words, birthing them anew. Creation in its purest form to offer the divine.
Lorali pushed back from her desk, quill settled within the inkwell, and rubbed her eyes. Wynter Solstice was fast approaching, with its falling snow marking the start of months filled with purification rituals, cleansings, and candlelit vigils that would guide the goddess through her darkest night until spring dawned upon the earth once more. Something she had dreamed of doing since her arrival at the Order all those years ago .
She remembered her first Wynter vigil, mere months after her arrival. How the candlelight glowed within the temple halls, the radial crown bursting forth like the sun from Sage's pale hair as their fervent prayers for the goddess’s safe return echoed throughout the night. Her hollow chest beginning to fill with hope that the darkness within her own life might fade with Ostara’s guidance. Perhaps if she, too, devoted herself, she would know peace.
A lump formed in her throat and, within this sunless basement, she wondered if this is what the goddess’s journey felt like. Hopeless and grey as the dim glow from the lucernas ensconced upon the wall. Arms folded upon the table, she rested her head. Eyes closed as she tried to sort her mind, clear it of any distractions, and keep the threat of stinging tears at bay. There was work to be done. She pushed her thoughts to the farthest corner of her mind, willing them to pass. If they lingered, she feared she would fall apart.
It might have been moments, it might have been hours, but when the sound of a throat clearing echoed throughout the basement chamber, Lorali shot upwards as if lightning had struck her. She found the familiar, pale gaze of Sage taking in the papers strewn across her oak desk, the cup of day-old tea that left stains on the ceramic coaster they had given to her as a Veridian gift years ago. To put an end to the plague of tea rings on my documents, the note had said in Sage’s scrawling hand. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at the state of things.
“Archcleric Sage—” she scrambled to stand and bow at the same time, her knee knocking the table. She bit back a string of curses that should never be uttered in the archcleric’s presence.
“At ease, High Cleric Wynmar,” they said with a staying hand, the angles of their face softening with a smile that did not reach their eyes. “I came to see how you were.”
“Preparations for Veridian are going well, I am working on the devotion for the Wynter vigil as we speak.” She couldn’t help her downward glance at the woefully blank paper that stared back.
Sage nodded, but she could see the way their lips pressed together and knew she hadn’t said what they wished to hear. “That is good. Though, I asked how you were doing—not about preparations. The autumnal equinox was over a week ago; it has now been seventeen years since your arrival. I understand that this time of year can be… difficult for you, but I wished to honor you for another year within Ostara’s embrace.”
Lorali felt her chest freeze beneath the words, unbidden memories of the biting chill of rain dampening her clothes creeping out of the darkest corners of her mind that she kept them relegated to. Her heart ached, and not due to the pull of that tether within her chest. The High Cleric smiled with a nod. “Thank you, Archcleric Sage.”
“Just Sage will do in private, Lorali. We have known each other for a long time. You are one of the brightest stars in all Athera, perhaps even all of Euphedos.”
She dared not move as Sage neared. Their fingers brushed against Lorali’s pale tresses as they regarded her, the ever-present hint of disappointment peeking through in their soft, murmured words.
“It is rare for one’s hair to change as ours has. It signifies power—being chosen by the goddess. You have a gift, Lorali, one I hate to see wasted when you are destined for greatness. How long will you ignore your goddess-divined path?”
She swallowed, pulse quickening. It had been foolish to think that Sage had moved on when she declined their initial offer to begin training as the next archcleric this same day the previous year. Living within the Order for the rest of her days and working within Ostara’s light.
“Perhaps—” she swallowed, breathing steadily as she kept her shoulders square. “Perhaps someone else would be better suited for this honor.”
Agonizing silence spanned the distance between them. She thought perhaps she hadn’t said it. Didn’t get the words out, that they were still stuck within her, or she had said them too softly.
“The position of archcleric is one I offer to you and you alone.” Their pale eyes, so similar to her own silver, were piercing. Sharp. Impossible to look away from. “No one else within the Order has shown as much promise. It is the reason I have mentored you personally throughout the years.”
A frown lined their face, that hidden disappointment becoming even more apparent. “I would not have permitted you to divert your attention from Ostara to dabble with the other godlings if I had known you might one day not return to her light.”
“I have not strayed. But I’m not ready—I have so much to learn.” Her voice was firm, but a whisper of doubt tangled within her, her resolve faltering.
But hadn’t she? Here she was, a high cleric, having thoughts of a life outside the Order. A life with someone, a desire to love. It had her rejecting the highest honor of the Order: to teach a new generation of Ostara’s benevolence and warmth. The tide of her emotions rose bitterly at the back of her throat as Sage’s lips turned up into a smile.
“So your answer is yes, but not now.”
Lorali’s word’s were stuck within her, unable to disagree .
“I will give you until after Veridian—when your gallows bond with the thief is complete, we will discuss the next steps. That should be plenty of time to feel more... prepared .”
“Yes, Archcleric Sage,” she said with a bow, the words twisting inside her like a knife as she let them decide her fate.
***
The grey of autumn did little to extinguish the fiery leaves that burned the trees, bright as they were every year when the ground was damp and the nights cold—even in the slanting light that faded into dusk and settled into night. Lorali found herself on the upper hill’s crest, the city she called home to her back and the northern road beyond that she had last traveled down seventeen years ago. That she had started with her parents and ended alone. Unable to go home, but not wanting to be anywhere else. Would her parents be proud of who she had become? The wind whispered through the leaves without answer.
Seven days past the autumnal equinox. Seventeen years. That was how long it had been since she arrived in the city of Athera. Since she had last seen her parents. Her throat tightened and it wasn’t just the stinging wind that brought tears to her eyes. A dam had been broken since her trip to Juelton, her emotions welling to the surface unbidden and unable to be pushed back beneath the dark waves of her thoughts. They floated, buoys on a raging sea that marked the deepest channels carved within her heart. Attached to something within the depths that she could not dare to broach for fear of never returning to the surface.
She did not turn as she heard familiar footsteps crunching purposefully through the fallen leaves to make her aware of his presence.
“I thought I might find you here,” Eldric whispered.
She did not move, glancing up at him with his heavy cloak and two mugs that steamed in the chilling night. Her silence was approval, and he sat down. She wordlessly took her green mug from him, trying to let the floral scent clear her mind, to bring about thoughts of brighter days. He fit into her silence, staring out across the northern road of packed down dirt alongside her.
“My parents died today. Right over there, by that tree.”
Her throat was charred as she pointed at the old oak that had continued to grow, much larger than it had been on that rainy day.
“I know,” came his soft reply.
“Did Heinrich tell you?”
Eldric’s voice was hesitant, scratching within his throat .
“If you’d like to be alone…”
The offer was there, unspoken. He would leave her to mourn them in private, quiet and silent as she had for so many years. Wouldn’t ask, wouldn’t pry. He’d let it be.
“I think I’ve been alone on this day for long enough,” she finally whispered.
“Whatever you need,” he promised, opening his cloak with an arm.
It was an offering she was too weak to resist. Just for now, she would be someone without promises to the Order. She’d pretend that he cared and that she was allowed to care in return. That she could share her burden and that his arm over her shoulder wasn’t a temporary thing, but forever.
“We were moving to Athera,” she started, giving a whispered prayer of thanks when she didn’t feel his gaze.
“I remember the stars were out. They were so bright when we left Korinth, my mother would point out the constellations and tell me their stories from the back of our wagon while my father drove. I loved sleeping beneath the stars, the feel of my bare feet in the grass any time we stopped. There was a new life ahead I couldn’t wait to explore. As we neared the northern gate, we stopped to offer someone a ride into the city, to help them get out of the rain. Then he attacked my father and—” Lorali closed her eyes, glad that this part of her memory was fuzzy. She did not know if she could live if she remembered it all.
“There were flames. My mother told me to run to that tree, to hide and not come out until someone found me. So, I did. I sat. I waited. I cried. Quiet, so no one would hear. Then the screams and shouts turned silent. And I keep wondering, if I had just helped, if I hadn’t hid, would they still be alive?” She gave a dry laugh, sniffling into the chilled air. “I know it’s stupid—I was nine, what else could I have done?”
The stars were hidden by overcast skies and only the final sliver of moonlight illuminated them. He rubbed her arm, soothing her wound that had never closed right, the stitches never fully healing before it was ripped open once more.
“And that’s how you ended up with the Order.” It wasn’t a question. Eldric’s lips pressed together into a thin line as she nodded in answer.
“A guardsman took me.”
Glimmers of golden magic dance at the edges of her mind, the outline of a young guardsman, gangly with teenage years, pressing her parents’ wedding bands into her palm.
One day, you will want these , he’d promised. Silence was all he received in return before they sent her into Athera. She could only remember the sway of a horse beneath her. The scent of petrichor surrounding them. The solid warmth of a body and the back of the guardsman’s cloak draped over her in an attempt to stave off the cold rain, despite her being drenched to the bone. She had pressed her face into his shirt and cried, pretending it was the rain seeping in as she clutched the metal bands tight within her palms. He had let her.
“I’m sorry,” Eldric said, his voice creaking. As if her pain was his own.
“It’s history,” she said, her eyes adjusting to the fallen darkness. “Sad, yes, but history nonetheless. I would not be who I am without it. I certainly wouldn’t have met you.”
Lorali made to move, the vulnerability of the moment gnawing at her core, demanding she move on. Not linger. If she did, she might not get back up. But Eldric took her hand, holding her there, his eyes meeting hers.
“Don’t do that. You don’t need to pretend your pain is not there for me. I will be here for you. I will sit with you in this darkness until our tea runs cold and the wind rattles our bones. However long you need, I am here.”
Her hands flexed around the embossed mug. Those familiar grooves and ridges she had traced many times before and would trace many times more. And she sat. Leaning back into his embrace, draped in his cloak as she had been another’s on this same day so many years ago.
This time she did not hide her tears, pretending they weren’t there.
This time, she let them fall.