Chapter 3
Three
We buried Rift Mother on a lush hill on the outskirts of the city, where we laid all of our dead to rest. The hills offered a view of the city, but closer were fields of white flowers, symbolizing rebirth, and a grove of pine trees in the distance.
It was all symbolic, a picture of peace, a final resting place away from rituals and routines.
Numbness held me as I followed the dancers, tossing a handful of dirt over her grave and whispering words of blessing.
For a moment, I couldn’t feel the ground beneath me, couldn’t recall walking to the graveside at all.
Then it passed, and a hollowness consumed me, for she was gone and we were left to deal with what had happened.
Even now, with the grit of fresh earth still on my palms, the memory of green eyes rose unbidden, the low sureness of his voice and the uncomfortable heat that filled me.
Shame filled me as I pushed it away. This was a burial.
I had no right to be thinking of a stranger’s mouth while standing over an open grave.
A cough tickled the back of my throat, that same weakness, still lingering, the recovery taking longer than normal.
Most of the people in the city had come to pay homage, for she was revered like a saint, like one of the gods I gifted my dance to in the amphitheater.
I kept to the edge of the mourners with Verena at my shoulder.
Silent. Betta—one of the Vestals—approached me.
She was in her fifties and worked alongside Rift Mother, taking care of the dancers, teaching and training us, ensuring we repeated our morning and evening rituals and memorized the correct dances.
The Vestals served as our guides, and many of them had danced before retiring, never marrying but staying in the Sacred Palace, taking in the lost, the orphaned, and those no one wanted, giving them purpose.
Our gifts were given to the gods, to preserve the city.
Even though we were free to leave, to choose a different life, most rarely did.
Why seek the unknown when we were secure in our path?
“Betta.” I nodded at her.
She frowned, dark eyes sharp and solemn. “You know you’re next in line, don’t you?”
My brow creased. A sudden panic raced through me. “For what?”
I already knew before she confirmed it.
“Rift Mother. I know we have to wait for the vote, but you’ll have to make some decisions.”
Cold settled through me, and Verena stayed silent beside me, listening, not offering a word in response.
“Decisions about what?”
“Everyone is frightened, worried. We need to show strength here. They want to know who did it. If it was…them…if the dance is failing. We need to restore faith and ensure this never happens again. And word must reach Sacred Mother. A death on holy ground, on the one night we are meant to be untouchable, she will not let it pass unanswered.”
Sacred Mother. I had never set eyes on her. She dwelled far off, beyond the mountains, a person who seemed more of a fable than someone real.
“Where were you that night?” Betta asked quietly.
She looked at me, openly assessing, and something else flickered behind her gaze. Concern. But why would she be concerned for me if she wanted me to take control, to lead? Was I up to the task?
I straightened, a plan forming. “We should go to the rift and ensure the seals held. Then have the Wardens search the catacombs. I thought I glimpsed something when I was down there last.”
Betta squeezed my arm. “I will pass on the word. Do you want me to come with you to the rift?”
“Do you mind? It’s uncomfortable to go down there alone.”
“I’ll come too,” Verena whispered.
“Thank you,” I responded.
Betta frowned again, as though I’d spoken out of turn. “Keep this quiet, though. We search, we investigate, we find out who did this, no more.”
I nodded. “I found her. I’ll take responsibility.”
“We’ve already buried her, but people will want answers soon. Time is short; we only have a few more days until the quiet whispers become a clamor.”
“Fear is a weapon,” I agreed. “We must not let it be used against us.”
And even though outwardly I might look strong, I felt anything but.
I felt like a dry leaf in the wind, used up, hollowed out, as though I might fly away when the next gust struck.
I wasn’t sure if I was up to the task. I wasn’t sure I could do this, but I knew what had been done to Rift Mother, and I recalled what I’d seen.
My thoughts slid, unbidden, back to him.
The man who’d named himself the Hollow King.
It would be better if he were captured and put in chains in the city prison.
I dared not mention the words, nor discuss what I’d seen in front of Betta and Verena.
I didn’t know why, but I wanted to keep his presence a secret, to visit the Hall of Records and see what I could discover about creatures other than demons who were trapped beyond the rift, and whether the Hollow King showed up in stories of old.
If it were a legend, we’d long since forgotten it.
And then there was the mark I’d seen on Rift Mother’s hand, another unfamiliar symbol. I needed answers of my own before I could lead the Rift Dancers.