Chapter Divya’s Gift
Divya’s Gift
The Lovers’ Home was not so much an organization as it was a stepping stone. It was a place of charity, where those in need of an escape or a helping hand could receive meals, a safe place to sleep, and assistance.
But it wasn’t just worshippers who benefitted from it.
When she chose to leave the Lovers’ Refuge, where she’d been raised as a foundling and expected to take on the life of a priestess, it wasn’t an option to simply walk out the door and into the real world. Not because it wasn’t allowed but because the real world was an alien one.
She didn’t know how to exist there.
Luckily, she wasn’t the first foundling to leave the nest, as it were, and that meant there were systems in place to ease her transition.
The Lovers’ Home had the structure she’d always known, but it was situated in the bright, pulsing heart of a city.
She still served in the name of the goddesses, but she was paid for her work.
She still lived among acolytes and a Head Priestess, but she could socialize outside of the confines of a Refuge’s walls.
And beyond the Refuge’s walls was… everything.
Divya marveled at the sight of Times Square decorated for the start of Burden’s Moon. All around her, workers set up massive, glittering displays and towering screens flashed with color. Cars drove smoothly by on what she’d learned was an m-grid while people streamed over crosswalks.
She hadn’t been raised completely ignorant of technology or media, but truly experiencing the energy of a city was incomparable to anything she could’ve imagined.
The sound, the scent, the movement — Divya felt as though she was standing in the eye of a storm. She hadn’t decided if it was a storm she enjoyed yet, but if a lifetime of worship had taught her anything, it was to appreciate the majesty of the overwhelming.
And when she tilted her head back to behold the gleaming tower that dominated the skyline, she was certainly overwhelmed.
Truthfully, as much as she enjoyed the glitter of the holiday decorations and the rush of Times Square, neither were the reason she came there at least once a week.
Shielding her eyes from the glare, she held her breath and counted the winged figures silhouetted against the sky.
Today there were four. There’d be more at lunchtime, when the Isand’s staff took off from the roof, and again at dusk, when the business day ended.
Occasionally she was lucky enough to catch them flying overhead at the Home, but it was a rare sight.
When the last dragon landed on the jutting platform at the top of the tower, Divya sighed and wandered in the direction of the Home. Tucking the sides of her white coat against her body, she traced a familiar path to the tiny cafe the acolytes had introduced her to.
She’d never had much of a fascination with dragons before, but she’d never known them as anything other than solemn worshippers. Now that she was in one of their capitals, she found their glamor and flashy colors as eye-catching as jewels.
Even the old couple who ran the Blue Flame Cafe were objects of quiet admiration.
Both were variations of crimson that deepened into black at dusk, and when they stood together behind the counter, their tails twined in a sinuous display of affection.
Divya loved to watch them, and she was infinitely grateful that they’d taken her under their wing, so to speak.
“Minu kingitus,” Marika called out, “close the door! You’ll catch your death if you stand in that cold any longer.”
Divya hurried to do as she was told. The warmth of the cafe was almost oppressive compared to the frigid temperature outside. It seared her cheeks and the tip of her nose as she bypassed the handful of tables the cafe boasted in favor of the formica counter and vinyl-topped stools.
She came to the cafe whenever she had a free moment, and although they protested, she often found herself helping clean tables, organize condiments, and stack mugs behind the counter. Divya didn’t know much about socializing or making conversation, but she could be useful.
It was lucky for her that Marika and Jaan didn’t seem to mind her silent hovering or awkwardness.
They’d “taken a shine to her,” according to the High Priestess.
It was hard to deny when they liked to drag her up to their roost for hearty dinners and kept trying to introduce her to their grandson, who’d recently been promoted to the Isand’s Wing.
Not that she would deny it. Divya basked in their affection, and she thanked the goddesses at noon and midnight every day for their kindness.
“Good morning,” she murmured, offering Marika a small smile. “Have things been busy?”
“Oh, always, always.” Marika set a steaming mug of tea down in front of her without asking.
Clicking her tongue, the old dragon eyed the thin coat Divya wore with clear disapproval.
“What have you been doing, wandering the streets in that? It’ll snow tonight!
I woke up and smelled it in the air. Didn’t I, Jaan?
No, this won’t do. You need a proper coat. ”
Divya gratefully accepted the tea. Wrapping her numb fingers around the warm ceramic, she said, “I’m used to snow. The Refuge was on a mountain, and this is the coat I wore there.”
“No, no, not good enough! The ocean air is colder than mountain air. Your skin is so fragile, and that coat looks old enough to be from my generation.” Turning to holler through the square hole in the wall that opened up into the kitchen, she asked, “Jaan, where did I put our kingitus’s kingitus?”
“In the drawer by the register, my Chosen,” Jaan called back.
“Ah, that’s right.” Wings flexing, Markia bent at the waist with a grunt to retrieve a paper-wrapped package from beneath the counter.
Setting it in front of Divya, she explained, “I planned to wait until Moonrise, but I had a feeling you wouldn’t have a proper coat, so… Go ahead, kingitus. Open it!”
“It’s… for me?” She stared at the package with wide eyes.
Jaan’s weathered face appeared in the hole in the wall. Bushy eyebrows raised, he rasped, “Who else would it be for? You act like you’ve never gotten a gift before!”
Divya flexed her fingers nervously around the mug. In a small, wavering voice, she admitted, “I haven’t. We didn’t give gifts in the Refuge. Charity was—”
“No gifts?” Marika’s proud nose wrinkled. “Ridiculous! Open it now, kingitus, so you can start to catch up on everything you’ve missed!”
She stared at the package with a deep, painful sort of longing — and no small amount of guilt. “But I shouldn’t…”
“You will!” Jaan crowed, pointing an arthritic claw in her direction. “Or we’ll be offended!”
“We will,” Marika agreed.
“Oh.” Divya flushed. Fingers uncurling from her mug, she delicately skimmed them over the shiny silver paper, feeling its creases and folds like she could memorize them.
There’d never been a ban on gifts, necessarily, but they also hadn’t been done. The Refuge was a place of worship and service. For those raised there, things like individual wants and possessions just weren’t considerations.
To have a gift, a thing purchased just for her by someone who had no reason to do so other than kindness… It was a different kind of overwhelming.
Divya bit her lip and gently slid her thumb under the paper’s seam to tear the tape without harming the paper. She wanted to keep every part of the present, and she could already imagine what she’d do with the beautiful paper.
But all thoughts of crafts and keepsakes escaped her when she beheld the crimson coat hidden within the wrapping.
Spreading it over the counter, she stared at the silver embroidery and tasseled belt with awe.
It was heavy in her hands, far heavier than her thin white coat, and appeared to be handmade.
Divya had never seen anything so beautiful in her life.
Eyes stinging, she brought the coat to her face like it was her prayer cloth. Her first gift meant just as much to her as that cloth, which was the only thin connection to her mother she possessed.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
A warm hand squeezed her shoulder. “You’re welcome, minu kingitus. Now, let’s see it on!”
Jaan smacked what sounded like a spoon against a pot. “Fashion show!”
Divya laughed, her tears soaking into the heavy wool. Thank you, she silently prayed. Thank you, goddesses, for the gift of these people.