Chapter 23
Lorali
H er footsteps echoed throughout the temple hall, lit by dripping candles and the slanting rise of moonlight. A bright garland of orange citrus and red cranberries dried from the previous year’s harvest wove between boughs of pine and fir that surrounded the altar, the stark white of shed antlers decorating either side. Offerings from each season that had passed since Ostara’s last descent beneath the earth present to guide her home, to remind her of the joy awaiting her return.
The dark stain of her bond was hidden beneath white wraps spiraling from her palms, creeping up her shoulder like the vines they hid until nothing remained to show the world that Eldric Lorecaster had ever existed within her life except her aching mind and broken heart.
The pain was still fresh from that day she’d seen the broken seal with the Order’s emblem, illuminated by the sliver of light from the doorway—just enough to catch her eye. A deathly calm had washed over her as she recognized the seal and opened the file to find her portrait staring back at her. She flipped through past versions of herself, marking the journey from a frightened girl with dirt-colored hair to a high cleric with goddess-lightened tresses. Portraits of her gradual transformation commissioned by Sage to document the journey.
Lorali’s eyes blurred with tears, unable to bring herself to read the words, fingers trembling as she held the file that contained everything there was to know about herself. When she arrived at the Order, when her parents died, her trials and triumphs on her journey to being a high cleric, Sage’s bid for her to be the next archcleric. It would all be in there. Everything Eldric Lorecaster—a crook, a thief, a conman—would need to know about her. Betrayal poisoned the soil beneath them and she couldn’t think of anything else as she tossed the file onto his bed, the contents spilling out like ink as she ran.
Every bit of her mind whispered to report him; if he had her files, what other secrets of the Order did he have access to? But her heart had screamed differently, begging her not to. Held onto hope that there had to be a reason, an explanation that would make it all make sense. But she didn’t know. She couldn’t think. And with shaking hands, like the coward she was, she packed everything she needed and left her home in the care of a stranger who she had almost given up everything for. She reassured herself that it was a blessing. Ostara shedding one last piece of truth upon her life before disappearing into the dark night. A last reminder that she should not stray from the lighted path.
Lorali threw herself into the days of cleansing rituals before holding vigil for the goddess. Surrounded by hazy smoke and scalding steam and skin scrubbed red with salt, she thought about anything other than him. Refining her devotion as rosemary oil anointed her skin. While it distracted her, it did not dull the constant pull of her chest. The ache in her heart.
In the months since their bond began, this was the first time she was well and truly without him. There had been times they had been apart, but never like this. Her head throbbed, pounding with the beat of her heart. The pain spread across her face, down her neck. The lights within the temple nearly blinding as she kept about her duties, something to focus on besides her racing thoughts that would conquer her if she stopped for even a moment. Before she knew it, the nights grew longer until finally, Wynter Solstice had arrived.
Flowing white robes veiled her form, her naturally waved hair pulled tightly back from her face. With each step she took, her neck ached from the weight of the golden halo that burst forth like the rising sun balanced upon her crown. Soft sounds of golden chains rustled against fabric, mixing with the soft hum of prayer.
She did not feel herself—dreamlike as she glided across the floor in practiced silent steps while members of the Temple of the Star knelt on either side of her, lining the long hall that had been cleared of its pews to make room for all those who came to bear witness. She knelt before the altar blazing with burning logs of thick, aromatic cedar within a brazier. And as she had practiced, Lorali lifted her hands and her voice in fervent prayer that would last until the sun rose once more.
***
The sun had risen long before Lorali returned to her new quarters within the temple. No longer did she have to share a long, crowded hall filled to the brim with clerics and acolytes. Now, her room was private. Sequestered. Alone. She had hoped exhaustion would overtake her. She had no such luck.
Carefully placing the sunburst crown within its case on the desk, she untied her hair, letting it flow in pale rivers down her back. As she stepped out of the ceremonial robes, she purposefully averted her gaze from the mirror, refusing to acknowledge the dark, arching spiral above her heart. The wrap she wore around her left arm couldn't fully conceal it. She couldn’t look. Shouldn’t look. It was a weakness; a fresh, unhealed wound that both demanded attention and to be left alone. Too tender to be touched. But like any healing wound, it itched. It sent her skin crawling and she couldn’t resist, despite knowing better. Tears fell as she unwrapped the cloth, revealing the dark ink that had been inscribed upon her skin. An unspoken promise that had been broken.
She tried to lie to herself, to attribute her watering eyes to the pounding ache behind her eyes. But it was her heart that had her crumpling to the floor before the mirror, looking at the reminder of hope gained and then so quickly lost. Her throat burned from overuse, sobs coming in silent bursts that caught in her chest. Her prayers to the light mother for guidance had gone unanswered, the goddess dormant in the days surrounding the solstice. She wondered if she ever heard the prayers her congregation sent at solstice or if it was all for naught.
She looked to the thin line of a faded pink scar on her palm as the last scrap of cloth pooled beneath her. Perhaps there was another god who would answer, one who had sent her on this path. Her fingers itched for the dagger tucked into the nightstand beside her bed. The last two times she had communed with the dark deity had been on behalf of another. To seek him out herself, to request his aid while he had Ostara within his grasp, was only something a desperate fool would do. A desperate fool she was indeed as she pressed the biting blade into her palm, reopening the scar as she had on the day she and Eldric first met.
She didn’t dare utter the summoning words aloud as the blood flowed through the clenched palm she held over her heart, fearful of someone hearing her calling upon the very god they prayed for Ostara’s safe return from. As if he had taken her and she had not walked there willingly.
Athanasios .
Her mind whispered into the engulfing darkness. Like he always had, he appeared. Answering her summons even when her chosen goddess did not.
Little star.
He stood before her, those deep swirling shadows now glittering like constellations were trapped within his skin. As if he glowed with Ostara’s mere presence. Lorali did not know if the gods felt emotions as mortals did, but if so, she would swear there was something similar to contentment settled within his heart, a lazy smile pulling at lips she had not seen before. Dropping the formalities, are we ?
Do you care? She surprised herself at the dryness in her voice. The lack of reverence, as if she weren’t talking to an ancient deity older than the soil and the bones buried beneath it. He chuckled.
No, I do not. He peered down at her, curiously. He did not sit upon a throne or stay at a distance but instead stood before her, closer than he had ever been. Lorali looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes that burned from salt.
Why? she asked.
Be more specific. The god’s voice was even, a brow raised. Her voice was broken, echoing throughout the darkened corners of her mind.
Why did you make me save him?
I did not make you, he said, a slight shrug of his shoulders as he clasped his hands behind his back, weight shifting to one foot; the gesture was so human it made her forget what he was. You chose to.
Anger flared within her at his carelessness, his lack of propriety. His lack of responsibility for what he did to her perfect life. You told me it wasn’t his time. That I had to guide him.
And you chose to do so. He did not flinch in the face of her anger, did not simmer or stir to respond. As if it were a mere ripple in the waves of his darkness and not a tidal wave of emotion engulfing her, drowning her with each breath.
Why would he do this to me? Why would he make me feel this way? Her voice was hushed, her deepest hurt bubbling forth as her chest shuddered. Pressure built behind her eyes. Why do I have to go through this?
The god did the one thing she never expected him to. He knelt. Before her in a swirling pool of cosmos and aether, he was on his knees with her as she sat in this grief that would not let go.
To learn. His dark hand reached out and brushed her cheek as a single tear escaped. Things are not always as they seem, little star. Perhaps you should look closer.
She felt like a child again, as if within his starry night she could see her father and her mother. As if it were them comforting her, reaching out through him.
I hate feeling this way. I hate how much it hurts, Lorali cried, fingers pressing into the wound of her palm in reflex and drawing a sharp breath.
Pain is the mark of the living, he said, lips pressed together in a sad smile. She could see his eyes, gilded with starlight, as he smoothed her unbound hair from her face. He almost seemed regretful, as if he wished he could bear the anguish for her but couldn’t. It is an honor to carry hurt within one’s heart, for it means that you have cared. You have lived and you have loved. There is no greater meaning to life than this.
He stayed by her side as she turned his words over in her mind with deep breaths to steady herself. The biting pain in her palm resonated with them and with each repetition, the words settled deeper within her, firmly taking root.
Thank you for your guidance.
Ah, there she is. His lips quirked upwards as he squeezed her cheeks beneath his palms once before letting go.
Apologies for lacking respect in your presence. Lorali’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she made to bow before him. Athanasios caught her shoulder, steadying her with his cool, burning touch.
Though I know it is your inclination, I prefer the lack of formalities between us. Consider it a courtesy I extend to those who help guide my wife home.
The god winked at her before waving his hand once and the darkness began to disappear. Now go—you have much to ponder, and I have much to catch up on. I look forward to our next meeting, little star.