Chapter 1 #2
The cabin smelled of sickness, and Luzie’s clothes hung loose on her frame. Thank the stars they’d arrived. Liane wasn’t sure how much more Luzie could take.
“I’ll help you in—” Luzie said before retching again.
“Rest. I am capable enough to dress myself.”
She left Luzie and went to their cabin, where she unfurled the veil and robe the Avatheos had provided.
She crinkled her nose at it. The veil was a thick material and would fall down below her breasts, obscuring her face like the priests and priestesses of the Church of Sol.
Liane wasn’t a priestess, and wearing a veil seemed sacrilegious.
“He can’t be serious,” she murmured to herself.
With a shake of her head, she tossed the veil on her cot and compromised by putting on the robes.
When she returned to the deck, the veiled priests and priestesses were waiting for her, along with a green Luzie and stern Ludwig.
The Avatheos turned toward her and raised a hand that halted her in place.
“Where is your veil?” the Avatheos asked, and though she couldn’t see his face, she felt his stare slide up and down her body, sending pinprick chills down her arms and neck. “A piece of the goddess lives within you. The common folk shouldn’t look you in the eyes. It is unseemly.”
“I’ve had the blade for thirteen years. Thousands of people have looked at me.” Liane threw up her arms, searching the others’ faces for support. But none would raise their eyes to meet hers, not even Ludwig or Luzie.
“But that was before they knew. Your image and how you present yourself are crucial. How do you think your mother inspires such love and devotion?”
“Her excellent statecraft?” Liane ventured.
“It is the mythos of wielding the blade. The way she is presented as Cyra incarnate. You are the successor to the blade. You must look the part.”
“I’m not my mother, and I’d rather look the people in the eye if they’re expected to worship me.” Though she had serious qualms with the idea of people worshipping her. She crossed her arms and stared at the Avatheos, waiting for his counterargument.
He inclined his head. “As you wish, your divinity.”
Liane looked around the crowded deck, surprised her argument had worked.
But the sailors shuffled off, avoiding her gaze, as they focused on tying the ship to the dock and lowering the gangplank.
The crowd pressed closer, necks straining to see over the shoulders of the Midnight Guards struggling to hold them back.
Beyond them, carriages awaited to take them to the temple.
The party on the ship lined up, and on instinct, Liane took her place behind the Avatheos, but he glided aside.
“It is not the avatar’s place to walk behind me. You outrank me, your divinity.”
The comment felt pointed, but she decided to ignore it and stepped in front of him, bracing for the unmitigated stares of the crowd.
Their hungry gazes seemed ready to devour her like a succulent piece of meat, and a cold sweat broke out on her brow.
Taking one large breath, she stepped onto the plank and toward the buzzing worshippers.
When she reached the bottom, the crowd surged, pushing the guards until their backs were brushing against her shoulders. The guards made a narrow path out of their flesh, but grasping hands reached through the gaps, pulling at her clothes.
Liane could do this. The carriage was merely a few feet away.
Someone held up a baby, thrusting it over the heads of the guards, as if they’d toss it toward her.
For what? A blessing? What could she possibly give them?
Bile caught in the back of her throat. This wasn’t theater.
These people believed her capable of miracles.
Enough to risk their infant being squashed in this press of bodies.
The horror of it struck her, and she searched their desperate faces—dirt-smeared, bandaged, and sunken. What could she do for them?
Among the press of people, she caught a glimpse of a familiar face moving through the crowd.
She craned her neck, searching for Erich’s gold-flecked brown eyes.
He shouldn’t be here. She moved closer to the wall of Midnight Guards, which was her first mistake.
It emboldened the crowd, who pushed through the guards to reach her.
They grasped her arms, her ankles, her hips, her neck—anywhere they could grab a fistful of fabric, hair, or flesh—and pulled. She was lifted off the ground, yanked, and then dragged into the mob.
Their hands were everywhere; her screams were trapped in her throat.
She couldn’t untangle from the crowd—as soon as she broke free of one person, someone else had hold of her.
They were screaming, pleading, crying, and pressing things into her hands that she couldn’t grasp.
Her scalp burned, and her joints ached as the crowd pulled.
Tears streamed down her face as she struggled in vain to escape.
The guards struggled, but they couldn’t reach her.
Then, from the middle of the fray, he appeared.
He grabbed hold of her, wrapping her trembling body up in his arms and shielding her until she was surrounded once more by a wall of Midnight Guards.
Liane stared in wide-eyed astonishment up at Erich as he cupped her cheek and offered her a crooked smile, saying not a word.
The Midnight Guard beat back the crowd with clubs, and people screamed as they fled. Ludwig pushed through, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her from Erich’s grasp.
“We have to get away,” Ludwig said, his hand at her elbow, guiding her forward.
She turned her neck to call out to Erich, but he’d disappeared into the crowd. Six guards flanked her and Ludwig as he escorted her into the carriage, where the Avatheos awaited her.
Her heart was thumping against her ribs, and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
“They were going to rip me apart,” Liane said, wrapping her arms around her body. If Erich hadn’t been there…
“The veil could have shielded you from it. Perhaps you will remember this next time we venture into public,” the Avatheos said serenely.
She didn’t care if the Avatheos was the head of the church; she shot him a death glare. But he either didn’t see it or didn’t care. Liane pulled back the curtain, hoping for one more glimpse of Erich, but as mysteriously as he’d appeared, he’d vanished once more.