Chapter 13
It was a relief that the majority of the journey from Vytanos to the monastery was through the forest. By the afternoon, the sun was relentless, and as she trekked the final few hills toward the sprawling stone and red clay roofs, the air was thick with an impending thunderstorm.
The last thing Corinne wanted was to get stuck on the road in the rain, so she pushed her horse as much as she could without tiring her out; she also didn’t want this poor mare to feel as miserable as she did.
The Goddess was with her in that regard, at least. She made it to the gates of the monastery just as the first droplets of rain began to fall. The sounds of training, of shouts and shuffling feet, and the feeling of belonging greeted her the moment she stepped into the main courtyard. She was home.
As the sky opened and the deluge began, she handed her horse off to an attendant and darted for cover. She’d be expected by Mother Creita, she assumed, so she made her way to the side entrance of the sanctuary.
“Corinne.”
Priestess Chala approached her, dark hair hidden beneath her white hood. Corinne crossed her arms over her chest in a show of respect, bowing her head.
“Come with me.”
Corinne ignored the whisper of dread in her gut. This wasn’t meant to be a lighthearted visit; she was here to report on what happened last night and receive instruction on how to proceed.
Chala took several turns Corinne didn’t expect, heading for the dim back hallway behind the sanctuary’s chancel.
They weren’t headed to Mother Creita’s study, but rather the Hall of Mothers.
Corinne swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat when Chala stood back, directing her to enter through the old wooden doors.
The Hall was lit by torches placed at even intervals along the limestone walls.
There were no windows here, only murals of High Priestesses who had come before Mother Creita.
Once Corinne stepped inside, Chala followed, closing the doors behind her before stepping around Corinne.
She took her place in one of the four chairs placed in a semicircle in the center of the room.
A richly woven red and gold rug was placed in front of them all.
The other Priestesses looked up at Corinne, white robes shifting, and Mother Creita beckoned her forward.
“Come, child,” she said, her voice low and soothing.
Corinne approached and removed her sword belt, placing the blade beside her as she knelt upon the rug. She’d been in this room only once before, shortly after her arrival when she was a child. Today, though, something about it made her nervous.
“Tell us truly, Corinne Anastos, what happened two nights ago?” Mother Creita asked.
“Prince Aryel and I were attacked in the streets of Vytanos,” Corinne said, her palms growing sweaty on her lap. “Two men, one with dual blades and the other with a sword. I subdued them quickly and escorted Prince Aryel safely back to the castle.”
Mother Creita stood from her chair, taking a few steps forward. “Is that all?”
“Yes, Mother Creita. I sensed no presence of Arytalis on them, only human malice.”
“That’s a relief, at least.” Mother Creita began to walk again, her bare feet padding lightly on the little carpet surrounding Corinne. “And before that? Why were you and Prince Aryel in the streets of Vytanos at that hour?”
Corinne’s heart stuttered in her chest before taking off. “He snuck out of the castle and I had to follow him.”
“And how long were you absent from the castle?”
Tears began to sting Corinne’s eyes as shame took hold. “For several hours.”
“And what, might I ask, were you doing all that time?” Mother Creita’s footsteps halted after she’d fully circled Corinne. “Why did you not return the prince to the castle at once?”
The guilt would destroy her if she lied. Her tears fell in earnest now, a gasp falling from her lips.
“Forgive me, Mother Creita,” she said, bowing her head. “There was a gathering in the woods, and I let him go. I sat amongst them and consumed wine. I let my judgment lapse and faltered in my purpose.”
Silence met her confessions, anticipation heavy in the air.
“I have been ungrateful,” Corinne said hurriedly, as if saying it faster would make it less egregious. “I have been selfish and lost sight of our vow.”
“Oh, Corinne,” Mother Creita said, heaving a sigh. She lifted Corinne’s chin with a delicate hand. “Thank you for being honest.”
She turned away, and two other Priestesses, Bria and Ronna, stood and walked toward Corinne, helping her to her feet. Corinne sniffed, her heart lighter after admitting her wrongdoings.
“Have you been in this room before, child?” Mother Creita asked, looking up at one of the murals on the wall.
“Only once, Mother Creita,” Corinne said, her voice thin.
“Of course,” the High Priestess said, nodding to herself. “I recall now. We had such hopes for you even then, newly freed from a home full of corruption and shame.”
Corinne’s throat constricted. Mother Creita’s left hand lit up with her magic, the warm, yellow light casting a brighter glow than the torches around them. She took a deep breath.
“I hope you’ll remember the honor bestowed upon you in this room all those years ago,” Mother Creita said. “When we took you in, after Helaera spared you.”
When she turned to Corinne again, her face was pained.
“And I think you know this must not go unpunished,” she said, closing her eyes.
Bria and Ronna took hold of Corinne’s arms, the latter shoving her sleeve up past her right elbow.
Out of pure instinct, Corinne flinched, but they held her firmly.
Ronna forced her right arm out in front of her just as Corinne sensed the heat Mother Creita had summoned to her palm. No. Her mind seized with panic.
“No,” she said, her voice breaking. Not this. Anything but this. “Mother Creita, please, I—”
“You strayed from the path, Corinne, and this is the consequence,” Mother Creita said, taking a step closer, and Corinne flinched again, fighting the hold the Priestesses had on her despite her better judgment. “Chala.”
The third Priestess joined them in restraining Corinne, forcing her to her knees. Corinne’s breaths came in rapid gasps.
“Please,” Corinne sobbed. “Please don’t. I’ll do anything—”
“You strayed, Corinne. You don’t want to be like your father, do you?”
“No.” The word ripped from Corinne’s throat. “I denounce him, you know I do, I—”
“Our Goddess is mother to us all,” Mother Creita said, and her markings brightened until they turned to flames along her arms. Corinne couldn’t stop the tears from streaking down her face, couldn’t contain her terror. “Her magic heals, but when needed, it also burns.”
“No,” Corinne begged as Mother Creita lifted her hand toward her exposed forearm. She lurched against the hold of the three Priestesses to no avail, her voice pitching higher. “No, no, no, no—”
The last word turned into a scream as Mother Creita clamped her hand on Corinne’s flesh.
Her vision went white, then flashes of fire danced before her eyes as she screamed and begged for her to stop.
She was burning, she was inhaling smoke, she was stuck under a beam in a little house, and her mother’s voice joined her own, screaming her name.
“Mother!” she cried. “Mother!” Make it stop, please make it stop.
“Mother Creita!” The voice near Corinne’s ear was panicked, though she didn’t know why.
All she knew was this burning, this heat that was spreading from her arm now to her chest, filling her lungs and choking her. The acute agony of the fire against her arm disappeared, and she was on the floor, her vision blurred by tears and the light reflecting off them.
“Sedate her.”
Corinne gasped for air for a few more seconds before a hand touched her neck, followed by a sharp, hot prick, and she fell into darkness.
Evening sunlight filtered through the little window of Corinne’s room at the monastery—or rather, her former room. Any tiny piece of her fifteen-year presence here had been wiped away, made neutral again for the next trainee to take up residence.
Numbness had settled within her moments after waking up, and she lay curled in on herself, clothed in only a loose tunic.
She stared at her arm, at the ugly, puckered handprint they’d healed into a scar after she’d lost consciousness.
It was the second magical scar she’d sustained; the other, on her left thigh, had been an accident.
She looked at it now as well, the pink flesh a near-perfect circle, darker in the center.
Corinne’s door opened, and she didn’t move, hardly blinked. She did not want to talk to Vera, or to anyone, about what had happened. She just wanted to lie here.
“Corinne.”
It was not Vera’s voice that greeted her—Mother Creita stepped inside, pulling up a little wooden stool by Corinne’s bed. Corinne dully met her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Corinne,” she said, her face pained again, those green eyes full of empathy. “I did not want to do that, but you left me no choice.”
Shame crashed into Corinne, ousting the numbness. She’d behaved like a wild animal, fighting the Priestesses in their own Hall against the punishment they’d prescribed for her transgressions.
“Forgive me, Mother Creita,” she said, closing her eyes. The High Priestess placed a hand over Corinne’s, then lifted her arm slightly.
“Let this be the last time, for both our sakes,” Mother Creita said, and Corinne met her gaze once more. “You know the rules, but I will remind you not to heal this for a month.”
Corinne nodded. Helaera’s healing was a privilege, and Corinne did not deserve it until she’d paid her penance.
“Night is falling fast, child,” Mother Creita said, lowering her arm to the bed and standing once more. “Retrieve some food and then be on your way; the royal family is expecting you back as soon as possible. I have sent a message already.”
Corinne’s limbs were wooden as she pushed herself up. “Is…is Vera here?”
The High Priestess turned just as she reached the door, shaking her head. “No, Corinne, she is at her post.”
Corinne tried to ignore her disappointment, and shame overtook her again. Some minuscule, weak part of her had wished for at least one person to tell her they were sorry without the added admonishment of her deserving it. Foolish.
She dressed in the fresh clothes they’d laid out at the foot of her bed.
She wouldn’t be going to the dining hall—not with this glaring mark of her disgrace on her arm.
The sun had begun to set when she exited the stables, her heart hardening in her chest with every step she took toward the monastery’s gate.
She would not stray again. She would not falter.
Stay the course. Be the Light.