Chapter 12 Ellowyn
Ellowyn
The temple of Fate was a familiar sight, even if it was in a relatively unfamiliar location.
Similar to the structure in Katiska, Vespera’s temple was large but plain.
Giant columns carved into the likeness of Fate’s many faces adorned the outside and supported the roof, while endless black stone steps led to large obsidian doors.
It seemed that the temple here was carved from the same stone that comprised the Academy.
I wonder if it’s natural to Vespera or if these structures predate our modern time?
The thought was idle but a welcome distraction from what I was about to do—from the proverbial shackle I would willingly add to my life. A necessary evil if I were to have any opportunity at fixing the Elyria Lord d’Refan broke.
I gathered the sides of my long silk wedding dress in shaky hands before slowly ascending the stairs, the heels of my shoes clicking audibly with each step.
Surprisingly, the temple was deserted. There were no revelers, no citizens demanding entry to the wedding of their lord. As I crested the top of the stairs—my lungs and legs burning from the climb—I noticed that even the acolytes were scarce.
Either this temple was relatively understaffed, which I thought doubtful, or Alois insisted on a private, intimate affair. The gesture was oddly calming.
I hated crowds, hated ostentatious displays, and I wondered if he’d remembered that from my Awakening.
It sure seemed to be the case, considering the dress that was made for me was the complete opposite of the gown selected by my mother.
This one truly showed every bump and curve, highlighting my more womanly assets, and I could almost imagine the disgusted, scandalized expression on Mother’s face.
A pang of sadness ripped through me suddenly at the thought that neither my parents nor my brother would be here to see me married.
Not that any of them would approve anyway.
Though I felt like I no longer needed their approval or their guidance, their previous directions were well-intentioned but led me astray from the path that would have prevented Finian’s death and Peytor’s banishment.
Now I had my own heart, my own mind, as guidance, and something in my gut insisted that this was the right course of action, no matter how much I abhorred my future husband.
My steps were sure and light as I made my way farther into the temple, a direct opposition to the heavy thuds of my heart.
“Good morning,” an androgynous voice sounded from my right, and I startled briefly before turning to see a masked and robed figure.
Their head was covered by a simple black hood, denoting their rank as an acolyte.
They were slightly shorter than my near six-foot height, and the billowing black robe hid any secondary sex characteristics.
Instantly, the tension in my muscles eased. While the temple was in a different city and I was here for a much different purpose than acting as a Bond Specialist, there was comfort in the familiarity of the rites and rituals.
It felt a bit like home.
“Good morning.” I bowed my head respectfully, an indication of their station and servitude to Fate. “Are you here to lead me?”
The robed acolyte inclined their head slightly before gesturing for me to follow.
We walked at a clipped but measured pace, which allowed me to see the remainder of the temple.
While Katiska’s temple held effigies of each god—Fate, Kaos, and Solace—this temple only displayed images of the many faces of Fate.
There were numerous statues—all obsidian black to match the stone floors, walls, and ceilings—lit solely by hundreds of candles at the base.
The resulting effect was eerie, the glow from the candles casting dancing shadows against the walls.
Despite it all, I felt no fear, only the tremble of anticipation.
The acolyte led us to a door recessed into a wall before tapping quickly on various runes inscribed within the frame. Their hand moved too quickly for me to track the movements, and I idly wondered if the pattern was the same as the temple in Hestin.
“Lady d’Refan”—my eyebrows rose at the use of my future married name—“this is where I leave you. Only you, the acolyte, and Lord d’Refan are permitted past this juncture. I shall wait here for your return.”
The Mage who escorted me from the manor hinged at the waist in a respectful, if not shallow, bow before turning so his back was to the now open door, his eyes constantly scanning and watchful.
Without a word in return, I swept through the doorway into the hallway beyond.
The door closed with a soft thunk before we were encased nearly in darkness, not a sound to be heard.
From the folds of their robes, the acolyte produced a glowing Mage Orb.
Held aloft in their hand, they continued gliding toward our destination.
The light of the Mage Orb was a brilliant white-blue, a stark contrast to the soft flames of the candles in the main worship space.
I scrunched my eyes against the glare and diverted my stare, choosing to keep watch of my feet lest I step on the generous hem of my dress.
Without a word, I followed the acolyte down the hallway, the soft tap of my heels and the scrape of my dress against the ground the only sounds. Soon, we came to a stop outside a nondescript black door—one of many that lined this back hallway.
The acolyte quickly pocketed the Mage Orb before tapping a sequence of runes again.
In my momentary blindness from the disappearing light, I could only guess what was happening.
The door creaked open to reveal a small ceremonial room.
It was devoid of furniture, really just an open, cavernous space, and I was slightly underwhelmed.
That was, until I looked up; the ceiling appeared nonexistent in this room. Instead, the walls seemed to disappear into an endless black sky. Magic rippled and danced in the air; diaphanous tendrils wound around each other in a sensual dance while stars twinkled behind.
My mouth gaped open as I stared in awe. It was mesmerizingly beautiful and reminded me of the sky in the Dreamscape.
I wonder if this is how it looks without the clouds, without the storm.
If that were true, how beautiful it must be to exist there.
“Ellowyn,” a low voice rumbled my name, and I reluctantly pulled my gaze from the ceiling to settle on my future husband, Lord Alois d’Refan.
He was dressed as always—black tunic and pants, the gold bars on his shoulders denoting his rank.
A thin circlet of gold sat on his brow, glinting in the ethereal light and contrasting against his pitch-black hair that was just starting to dust with silver.
I smiled slightly, a flat, emotionless thing, as I watched his unnerving, deep-brown eyes focus entirely on me.
His gaze roamed from my feet that just poked from under the hem of my wedding dress, up my thighs, to my hips that were hugged by the silk.
He paused at my belly, his eyes canting lower for a moment to the apex of my thighs, before continuing his sensual perusal.
Alois halted again on my breasts that were peeking just above the neckline, my nipples hardening inadvertently under his stare.
The tip of his tongue darted out to lick his lower lip before he finally—finally—drug his eyes to my own.
In them, I saw pure lust and hunger coupled with something that looked like respect.
“Like what you see?” I snarked and was rewarded with a short bark of a laugh.
“Yes, wife. I like what I see. This is what you should have worn to your Awakening. Though, if you had, I would have had to gouge the eyes of every man present. Including my General.” I felt the tips of my ears grow warm at his words. “That dress would cause an acolyte to sin.”
Alois held his hand out to me, and I laughed lightly before clasping my cold palm in his warm one. His fingers were large and calloused, belaying the years of labor preceding his time as Lord of Vespera.
“You are decadent. And all mine,” he whispered in my ear, his breath fanning over my face and causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.
By any means necessary. Pip’s statement was now my mantra. My whole life was dictated by my mother and father, by dreams and visions, even by the man standing next to me. It was time for me to take the helm, for once.
Lord d’Refan pulled me to stand to his left, the two of us facing a Priest of Fate. Their headdress was unmistakable, the beads and charms woven within the near-transparent black silk tinkling with each movement.
“Do you come before Fate today of free will with the intention of tying your souls together for eternity or as long as you both walk this plane?” The voice of the Priest undulated between feminine and masculine, the inflection of their voice changing on almost every word.
Eternity?
“We do,” Alois answered for both of us. The Priest turned their head to me, and I felt the weight of their stare even through the face covering they wore.
“I do,” I said quietly.
“Very well. We call upon Fate and the ether to Bond these two people together.”
A tendril of magic swooped from the sky—its color indiscernible—before twining around Alois’ and my joined hands. It shimmered on our skin for a moment before sinking beneath. I gasped as the magic wove its way into my very being, a small thread connecting Alois and I.
“Fate has recognized this union,” the Priest spoke, and I thought I detected a note of surprise. “The health of your bond is dependent on your actions and words—choose both wisely and always look to Fate.”
The Priest finished with a slight bow before turning and floating from the room, a door on the back wall opening for their escape.
Alois and I stood like that for a moment longer, our hands clasped together, reveling in the feeling of each other. Soon, I began to fidget under the strength of his stare.