Chapter Thirteen
The afternoon had been quiet, perfect.
Everything I wanted when I would daydream of the living realm.
I hid tucked away in a corner of the library with a stack of books, reading through them with the voraciousness of an attention-starved demon.
Works of fiction, collections of poetry, play scripts…
written by both humans and fae alike. Books I would never find in the hells.
Reading for pleasure offered me a sense of peace I’ve never experienced before.
I spent my time alone, in silence, where no one paid me any mind and left me to my own devices. It felt like the hells, but lighter, easier, and I nestled into that feeling fully.
What I’d give to go back to this afternoon and that feeling.
Instead, I find myself in a situation directly contrasting what my afternoon had consisted of. Once again in Artemise’s office with five sets of eyes staring at me, waiting for my answer on whether I’ll feign my pledge or actually pledge myself to my mother.
It’s a small office, much smaller than I’d expect her to have. And having six bodies in it feels crowded. Especially since the Priestesses stand against the wall behind me, and I stand before Artemise at her desk.
“Entering into her service will grant you protections against Netharis,” Artemise says, lowering herself into the seat.
It’s not an extravagant plush thing as Netharis’ had been. Instead, it’s a humble wooden chair with a high back and armrests. She folds her hands on the desk, braiding her fingers together.
“You’ll be protected outside of the temple,” she says, “It will not stop him from sending demons to hunt for you, but being claimed as one of Celesta’s own grants you other protections.”
“He can’t appear out of thin air and pull you to the hells,” Eve says rather flatly and I appreciate her candor. “Or at least, he can’t without upsetting the pantheon of gods. And he’s already dealing with Gaia.”
Turning to Eve as my brows crease, I ask, “What do you mean?”
“My associate,” with this she grins, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes, “informs me your escape has unearthed some long-standing problems between Gaia and Netharis.”
Zuriel must have made it back to the heavens.
“Netharis has his hands full dealing with Gaia for the time being,” Eve finishes, leaning against the wall, careful not to knock into one of the paintings hung close as she shoves her hands into her robe pockets.
“And if I join, what is to stop Celesta from using me as Netharis has?” I turn my cold stare to the High Priestess.
“Celesta will make what she needs from you known as she does for all of us,” Artemise answers, but her answer doesn’t fully address what I’d asked.
I sigh. “Is it a contractual agreement? Will I be compelled into obedience?”
Faces around the room grow concerned, brows creasing, brackets around lips appearing.
“No,” Artemise says gently, shaking her head. “Your dedication to Celesta is wholly voluntary. There is no obligation aside from what she may ask of you to serve her. And even then, should you so choose, you can leave her service at any time.”
And potentially earn the scorn of yet another god.
I draw a deep breath.
“None of you are bound to her?”
“No,” Artemise pauses. “Well, none other than myself.” She shifts in her seat to cross a leg over the other.
While it may take time for Netharis to deal with Gaia, I cannot spend my entire life within the walls of the temple.
I don’t want to spend my life here. There’s so much to explore within Ollora and beyond.
And if having Celesta’s protections enable that, I would be daft to disregard it without proper consideration.
If there isn’t a contract, if Celesta cannot compel me… there is no reason to deny entering her service. It will be in namesake only, and I’m sure she will see that.
“And prayer?” I huff a sigh. “I’m expected to participate in prayer to my mother?”
“Joining prayer isn’t an expectation,” Cora answers this time and I glance over my shoulder, meeting her gaze. “Many of us prefer praying together, but it is not a requirement.”
“I’d suggest experiencing it for yourself at least once before you decide on that, Vestaris,” Artemise says, the warmth in her voice palpable. “But Cora is right, joining daily prayer is left to the discretion of the member.”
“Fine,” I give my answer reluctantly, “I’ll join.”
The smile that curls Artemise’s lips is almost sinister.
But I push the perception aside. I’d been wrong all day about Cora, about Eve. I’m likely wrong about Artemise, too. I may come to regret these decisions, but dealing with these repercussions will be easier than standing toe to toe with the god of death.
?????????????
I’m a creature on display.
Along with eight others, I stand in the middle of a line staring at the hooded faces of Celesta’s devoted in the sanctum. Donning the white robes given to me with my hood drawn, I blend into the line of initiates with ease.
Resisting the urge to ferry myself to the furthest corners of Eldoterra, I breathe deep. My innate trembles under the weight of their stares, as do my fingers. I clench the hanging, wide sleeves of my robes in an attempt to still them.
This is a temporary arrangement.
I am not signing a contract.
I do not trust Celesta.
Or any of the gods for that matter.
The thoughts roll through my head on repeat as the High Priestess begins the ceremony. The temple members stand in neat little rows, their hands clasped over their hearts, silent as Artemise starts in prayer.
To my infernal surprise, she speaks in Yggdrasil. Unlike the last time Artemise had spoken the language of the heavens, the words fail to rub themselves raw over my skin. While my stomach doesn’t turn with nausea as it usually would, it remains uncomfortable.
The words strike me in the chest, the power in them sitting heavily like someone stacking stones. At the same time, my innate resonates, as if her words were plucking at my shadows with a curled finger against a string. For the time being, the sensations are not pleasant, but they are tolerable.
Artemise stands radiant in her silver robes, dozens of magelights floating freely overhead, casting slow-shifting shadows across the room.
Raising her hands high above her head, she speaks with a beckoning timbre that fills the space.
If I wasn’t watching her right now, I wouldn’t believe such a voice was coming from a human.
She pauses before speaking in common tongue.
“Sisters, brothers, creatures in kind, we congregate beneath tonight’s celestial canopy to honor our great goddess.” Artemise steps forward, lowering her hood.
“Her light illuminate our heart,” those in silver robes chime in unison.
“Her shadow reveal our path,” the black-robed half of the room answers the call.
“She who embodies both light and shadow, peace and destruction, let her guide us, her children, in all that we do,” Artemise’s voice rings out.
“Guide us through our ever-shifting phase,” the entire room speaks in unison.
“Embrace her ebb,” the black-robed half of the room call out.
“Embrace her flow,” the silver half return.
“We ask that you accept these initiates into your service, great goddess Celesta,” Artemise continues, moving left, lowering her arms.
Eve steps into view, in her hands a silver tray and upon it a silver-bladed dagger. Artemise retrieves the dagger, her slender fingers gripping the black handle tightly before turning to face us.
“May their devotion be as unwavering as our goddess’ celestial body that hangs in the heavens.” Artemise moves to stand at the end of the line on my right, and the mortals offer their left hands, palms upward.
Hastily I do the same.
“Celesta, we ask you to recognize and accept the blood offerings made to you on this night. Their essence for your honor,” Artemise calls out and kisses the flat side of the blade.
“In your light we find wisdom,” the voices of those in silver ring.
“In your shadow we build strength,” the voices of those in black answer.
In a swift motion, Artemise drags the edge of the blade against the first initiate’s palm, wiping the blade with a white cloth before moving to the next, repeating the action.
As she works her way down the line, my heart begins to race.
A strange fluttering sensation that turns my breathing shallow.
Not a contract, but a gods damned blood oath.
My jaw tightens as she draws closer.
The edge of the blade meets my palm, and I grit my teeth at the quick flash of pain. Artemise moves to the mortal on my left, not slowing in her procession.
Lowering my gaze, the shallow cut across my palm is already beginning to heal, but not before a pool of lustrous silver blood forms.
My blood is silver?
I’d expected black, as it had been in the hells.
Or perhaps even red, the color I’ve seen mortals to have.
Not silver.
What kind of living creature has silver blood?
The silver begins to rise, lifting off my hand, floating toward the ceiling. It beads together like water as it wafts upward. Whispers and murmurs begin to rise from the crowd, and I can feel their eyes turn to me.
Glancing down the line, the red blood of the others does the same. Along the line, shapes are formed in blood.
Circles and crescents.
Our placement into the sects, I realize.
Above me, a silver crescent hovers, higher than the rest of the initiates. Celesta has labeled me as one of her witches. The realization pulls a sardonic scoff from my chest.
All the blood evaporates, and the crowd erupts with cheering. Clapping, whistling, shouting—it overwhelms my senses and I grimace, shrinking away from the sound as I pull my hands close.
“Welcome into the fold, brothers and sisters,” Artemise’s voice cuts through the crowd with a surprising ease. “Now let us celebrate!”
As the line breaks and the new members scatter, joining the crowd, Artemise approaches me, a stern look on her face.
“It’s a good thing the Sovereign King isn’t here after all,” she whispers, her voice barely audible even to my fae ears. “I failed to consider you having the blood of a demigod.”
She takes my hand, unfurling my fingers to peer at the silver stain across my palm. With pursed lips, she huffs a sigh.
“Yet another thing you will have to hide, Vestaris,” she says softly. “I’m sorry.”
She lifts her eyes, meeting my stare. “Go wash your hand, and then join us in the garden,” she instructs before stepping away, robes swishing behind her.
With a meager nod, I begin toward the left side of the sanctum, toward the hall leading to the eastern wing where my quarters lie. As the heavy wooden door swings closed behind me, the cacophony of the sanctum falls away, becoming muted.
My racing heart begins to slow.
The hall lies empty, unlike earlier in the day, and I’m reminded of the hells. Despite the bright white marble contrasting the black obsidian of the tower, the emptiness resonates all the same. Unlike the Tower, dread does not weave its way into my chest as I begin forward.
In its place is an unexpected sense of peace. Whether it be a lingering effect of the blood oath or having escaped a room filled with over a hundred mortals, I can’t be sure.
As I approach my bedroom door, voices from farther down the hall catch my attention. A figure darts across the hall at the end, where the northern and eastern wings meet—a flash of silver robes and dark red hair. Excited feminine laughter trails behind as she streaks past.
Seconds later another figure crosses, at a much slower pace. Robed entirely in black, his cloak billows behind them. A fae male, with a rather striking profile. Midnight black hair that falls to his shoulders.
As I watch, he crosses the eastern wing, following his silver-robed counterpart. And as if he could feel my stare, his head turns and for a sliver of time, our eyes meet before he vanishes into the northern wing.
Eyes of ochre?
Perhaps copper. An unusual color to be sure.
Too brief a moment at too far a distance to be certain.
Opening the door to my room, I cross the threshold to the bathing room. Throwing forward one of the small handles to the faucet, I stare at my reflection as I scrub at my hand.
A face so like mine, yet entirely different, stares back at me.
If I had been allowed to live, I wouldn’t have known any other face.
This would be the Vestaris I know.
Not the hells-twisted demonic version reflecting a soul that’s been beaten, tortured, and manipulated for centuries. I would not have become the shadowed and gnarled essence damned for eternity.
Freeing myself of the silver bloodstain, I retreat from the bathing room and move toward the doors leading to the garden.
As I throw open the door, the sounds of the celebration start to reach me.
They’re faint, as they’re more toward the sanctum end of the grounds, but the laughter, music, and conversations can be heard.
Stepping into the garden, the trees hinder my view.
Without hurry, I cross the grass, and emerge from under the canopy.
As I lift my face toward the heavens, the hood of my white robes falls back and my hair tumbles free.
The whole of the universe above greets me, and my heart seizes as I stare in complete and consuming awe.