Chapter 39
Thirty-Nine
The path is barely visible under the fresh snow, but thankfully, it’s lined with leafless trees. They look almost magical with the thick layer of snow clinging to their bare branches.
My white robes drag, getting heavier with each step. I shiver under the thin fabric. The path is slick, and twice I catch myself before I fall. I slow my ascent, taking careful steps.
They didn’t say I had to get there quickly. I know they’ll wait to send the next candidate until after I’m finished, but they’re just going to have to wait. I’m not leaving here until the gods give me some answers.
I’m sweating by the time I reach the temple steps, and I lower my hood as I stare up at the impressive structure. Snowflakes catch on my eyelashes and coat my cheeks. I welcome their cool kiss on my warm face.
A wide stairway greets me, white marble steps interrupted by four tall white marble columns. The columns surround the structure. Four in the front and back, eight on each side. There isn’t even a roof. Instead, they surround another building. Like a cage of marble.
The interior building is a plain, enclosed stone rectangle with no windows. The stone is far less impressive than the marble, but from a distance, like in the city, you don’t see that smaller structure. I always thought the whole thing was made of marble.
After catching my breath, I climb the steps. The entry is an arched opening with no door. The stone building is lackluster. Especially compared to the opulence of the exterior facade. I expected decoration. Sculptures or paintings or gilded objects.
Aside from the entry, the only other light comes from a large circular vat of oil that burns brightly in the center of the room. I don’t know who keeps the oil topped up. Maybe it’s some form of magic.
I leave a trail of water and mud behind me as I walk toward the center of the room. The wet robes are heavy as they drag across the floor. I peel them from me and drop them to the ground. I’m in my undergarments, but there’s nobody here to see me and I’m already warmer without them.
Moving in a slow circle, I search for any hints of what to expect or how to do this, but there’s nothing. Just me and the burning oil.
“Now what?” My words echo back to me, and I feel stupid for talking to myself.
What if the whole thing is a scam? Growing up, I always heard the emperor was the one who grants people magic or takes it from them.
What if coming here is just a test and the emperor grants the power afterward?
What if all those relics he has under his skin are the only way he gains magic?
Was that what the binding ceremony was really about?
What if everyone who comes here already has magic from the relic the king gives them?
Maybe nobody talks about it because they don’t want to admit that nothing happened.
I trace my fingers lightly over the burn on my arm. If it’s the relics, does that mean Caiden has that power, too? Or is this useless unless the emperor intervenes?
My heart races. If it’s the relics, the rebellion needs to find as many as possible. What if all that was missing was the part where the relic was inserted under the skin? Was it really that simple? I need to tell Lee. Then again, do I want Lee to have magic?
I cover my face with my hands and let out a frustrated groan. I am just as bad as the royals if I am starting to question who deserves magic and who doesn’t.
There’s a thundering sound, and I drop my hands from my face just as a door begins to slide over the opening.
There was no door before.
I run toward the entry, but before I reach it, the door seals shut. “Now what?” I look around as if expecting something to happen. Then I wait.
And wait.
“This is it, huh? The whole big mystery is just smoke and mirrors? Does this temple even mean anything? Can the gods even hear me? Hear us? Hear anyone?” I shout at nothing as I walk toward the flames.
“Quiet now, are we?” I continue past the flames, toward the other side of the room. “Is this some kind of joke? Are you getting a good laugh out of this?”
I’m pacing the temple like the caged tiger I saw once at a summer festival.
The creature walked from one side of the cage to the other, flicking its tail like it was anxious.
Like it was biding its time, waiting to release all its anger at being locked up.
I imagined the lock coming loose and the beast bursting from the cage.
It would run faster than anyone could ever imagine, and in a streak of orange and black, it would fly to the woods, where it could roam and hunt and live.
I feel like that tiger.
I push against the door. I feel around for a button or keyhole. I throw myself against the door again. And again.
I scream into the void. It’s pure rage, and my throat burns as I let it out. My hands are balled into fists, my body contracted and tense. I scream with every single part of myself. I release the frustration and anger and fear and hate. I continue because once I start, I can’t stop.
I scream for my dead parents and brothers.
I scream for the injustice I’ve faced and for the injustice that continues without anything to check it.
I scream for hope and loss. For joy and fear. For everyone who died when they could have been saved by a crust of bread or some warm blankets.
I scream for myself.
And then I collapse to my knees, sweaty, panting, exhausted. I lean my forehead against the cool stone floor. I want to cry, but there aren’t any tears left. My throat is raw from screaming, but I feel a little better. A little lighter.
Nothing changed. The screaming didn’t fix anything. But I still want to.
I sit up, still on my knees. My ass rests on my feet, and I place my palms on my thighs. I feel clearer, calmer than I have in years.
“Do you hear that?” My voice is a whisper, but it carries in the cavernous space. “I want to fix things. I want things to be better. I can’t change what happened to my family. Or to me. But if you give a damn about what happens to us humans, tell me what to do. Tell me how I can make it better.”
The fire goes out with a sizzle.
I stand but don’t move from my place. The air in the room has shifted. It is thicker. Charged. Anxious.
The flames return, roaring to life with even more intensity. But now they’re purple. My brow furrows as I study them. Shades of indigo and blue and even lilac appear as the fire shift and flickers. Every shade of purple imaginable.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“I’ve never responded to anyone who called me to this temple,” a clear, feminine voice says.
I look up from the flames. and see a woman wearing black trousers and a black coat that hugs her curves. Gorgeous black wings stretch wide behind her. She struts toward me, tucking her wings in as she approaches.
Her black boots leave bloody footprints in her wake, and on each of her hips silver weapons glint in the purple light. An axe on one side, a knife on the other.
I know without a doubt that she’s Mara, the goddess of death.
I lower my head, unsure of how I’m supposed to greet her. A curtsy feels wrong, as does getting to my knees, but she’s still a goddess. I lower my gaze until her boots are in view, stopped right in front of me.
I lift my head. “I am not sure how I’m supposed to honor you,” I admit.
She smirks. “I came to you, which makes you one of mine. And daughters of death do not bow to anyone.”
My lips part, and I try to say something, but words fail.
“Now you’re quiet? After speaking to me so loudly these last few weeks?”
I had spoken to her a few times, but mostly out of anger. “I didn’t mean to offend. And honestly, I wasn’t sure you’d even hear me.”
“I hear all of you mortals. I usually just ignore it, but you intrigue me. I haven’t been interested in anything in the mortal plane for centuries. Last time I got involved…” She shakes her head. “Never mind.”
Well, that sounds terrifying.
She reaches toward me. “May I?”
I’m not sure what she’s asking, but I nod. She takes my arm, the one Caiden cut open last night. Her touch is like ice.
“This is amusing. They think they can rein in our magic. Always trying to control the gifts we give you to bolster their own power. Tsk-tsk.”
I watch as she examines my arm. “I didn’t want him to.”
“I know.”
“I want him dead.”
She smiles at that. “I know.”
“I want the emperor dead, too.”
“Yes.” She traces the wound. Her icy fingers are a balm to the angry red flesh. “Do you mind?”
Once again, I agree, though I’m not quite sure what she’s asking.
She drags her fingertip over the injury again—only this time I feel a bite of pain and the wound reopens, looking just as it did when it was first cut. I wince.
She holds her hand above the cut, and a small triangle shaped piece of metal floats out of my skin and into her palm. I gasp.
The object is bloody and leaves streaks of crimson against her pale skin.
She grabs it with her forefinger and thumb and examines it.
Her nose wrinkles. “It isn’t even a proper relic.
This has no magic.” She tosses it into the flames, and for a moment, they turn bright blue before shifting back to purple.
With a flick of her wrist, the wound returns to the way it was. “We can’t have him knowing you took it out. It will benefit you to give him the illusion of control.”
“I have to go back and play pretend again?”
“Yes, for a little while. It’s not yet time for him to die.”
My brow furrows, and I feel like she punched me in the gut.
“May I?” she asks again, her hand almost touching my cheek.
I nod.
She strokes my face like a mother might a child. “You must be patient. This is bigger than you. Bigger than this empire. And you will help me. In return, I will give you all the vengeance you wish.”
“What is your price?” I ask.
She lowers her hand, and her smile is that of a proud parent. “That you would ask that question is one of the many reasons I chose to answer your call.”
“I won’t see any more innocent lives lost,” I say.
“Death comes for all mortals.”
“But it doesn’t have to be that way.” I think of my family, all gone too soon.
“It must. And it will be. With you or without you. You can leave here a mere mortal and return with a whisper of magic like those ridiculous shadows their Night Legion has. Or you can leave here with true power.”
Mara steps back, the leather of her clothing takes on a purple sheen from the flames. While her demeanor has been almost tender, her entire presence radiates a kind of strength that serves as a warning. “Death is not a choice, Taylan. But this is. What do you choose?”