Chapter 32
“The gods reward obedience.
As a servant, you are to breathe their words and execute their will.
That is doctrine.”
My thumb tapped anxiously against the polished cover of the book I clutched. It was a copy of A Brief History of the Ravaryn Crown, borrowed from the library. It felt wise to brush up on my enemy.
I was slowly but surely making my way through the connecting rooms of the library. It was expansive, almost as if they had a copy of every book published. I’d found a shadowy alcove in the library, and I was planning to disappear into it until someone came to drag me out again.
“Maaavis!” a syrupy voice sang behind me.
My spine stiffened, and I turned slowly.
Corsica stood in the middle of the hallway, arms folded behind her back like she was posing for a portrait. Her glossy hair was swept into an elaborate braid, and she was wearing the brightest shade of coral lipstick I’d ever seen in my life.
“You’ve been skipping the group activities,” she said with a tilt of her head. “You know we track attendance, right?”
“I didn’t realize they were mandatory,” I said flatly, already bracing myself for the inevitable lecture.
“Oh, they’re not.” She smiled wide enough to show nearly all her teeth. “But they are… encouraged. Socialization is important.”
The lilt in her voice made it almost seem as if she cared, but I recognized it for the controlling ruse it was.
“I don’t get along well with others.”
Corsica giggled, high and musical. “No, no. I think you have the opposite issue, sweetheart.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
She didn’t elaborate. She just smiled wider, like we were sharing some inside joke I hadn’t been told.
“I host music night every Thursday,” she said brightly, as if that eerie moment hadn’t happened at all. “Rec room. Eight o’clock,” she tapped her watch. “It’s always a delight. You should come.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said quickly, already angling my body away from her.
Corsica’s eyes lingered a moment too long. Then, with a wink and a spin of her heel, she vanished down the corridor like she’d never been there at all.
I stood there in the silence, hand tightening around the book.
What did she mean by that?
I saw Karina out of the corner of my eye and turned toward her before she had the chance to speak.
“Where are we going now?”
I wasn’t ready for another truth session or transfusion. The idea of going through that torture again made my palms sweat and muscles tense.
“It’s time for your first faith session.”
My stomach knotted. Not another truth session, thank the gods—despite that, I couldn’t stop the prickle in my palms or the way my pulse hammered like a drum.
Faith sessions sounded harmless. A little talking, maybe some empty philosophy.
But the truth sessions had sounded harmless too—and they’d scraped me raw.
Karina didn’t offer comfort. She just walked, silent as always, through hollow halls that echoed with each step.
I trailed after her, questions chewing holes in my tongue.
Finally, I said, “You’re always escorting me around, but I never see you leave like the others. Don’t you ever wish you could go home?”
She stopped. Turned just enough that I caught the flicker in her eyes before the mask snapped back on.
“This is home.”
Then she pushed open a door with her hand and looked at me expectantly. I got the message.
I took a deep breath and entered the room.
I’d expected a small, quiet room. Instead, a dozen chairs formed a loose semicircle, half-filled with the other culled. Their heads turned as one when I stepped inside. The air shifted—thick, sharp with unspoken judgment.
“Find a seat,” a man’s voice said.
Dr. Holcrum stood at the front. I’d seen him before, when I first met Dr. Sinters. His watery hazel eyes locked on me now, bright with something that wasn’t quite warmth.
I slid into the chair farthest from the others, leaving a single empty seat as a buffer.
Holcrum clasped his hands and scanned the crowd of us.
“Welcome. For those who don’t know me, I assist Dr. Sinters from time to time, but my primary position within the program is lead faith counselor.”
He let his gaze sweep over us slowly, like an angler deciding which hook to cast first.
“Questions before we begin?”
The boy to my left raised his hand. “Why do we have to do both truth and faith sessions?”
Holcrum’s eyes gleamed. “Ah, good question. Truth sessions are individual. They strip away what holds you back—your lies, your illusions. Faith sessions…” He splayed his hands. “Faith sessions are about the soul. Ascension is impossible if the spirit isn’t open to receive it.”
He paused, grin sharpening.
“Shall we begin?”
Silence.
“Good,” he said, stepping closer. “When you think of divinity, what comes to mind?” He pointed suddenly at an unsuspecting boy in the crowd. “You. Answer.”
“Um… the gods?”
“Most assume divinity belongs only to the gods. But did you know mortals carry divinity too?”
Low whispers rippled through the circle. Holcrum grinned wider.
“Mortals are shaped from both the Ground and Our Lady herself. Half deity. That spark is buried deep inside—but with the right key, we can unlock it.”
“How do we unlock it?” someone asked.
“By lowering your defenses and embracing your connection to the universe.” His tone was soft, coaxing, like honey over glass.
I almost rolled my eyes. If it were that easy, everyone would have done it already.
“Not our connection to the gods?” someone asked.
“Yes—and no. Connection with the universe is the end goal, but the key to unlocking it is through communion with the gods.” Holcrum clapped once, sharp as a knife. “I want you all to try something. Hum.”
I snorted before I could stop myself. Quickly masked it with a cough, but too late—his gaze pinned me like an insect.
“Is something funny?” His voice was calm. Too calm.
I straightened in my chair. “I just… don’t see how humming is supposed to make us divine.”
He walked toward me slowly, each step deliberate, until the air between us felt charged.
“The vibration teaches frequency,” he said. “Divinity is a frequency. Energy within us. But if you’re too inadequate to produce even the smallest vibration…” His smile didn’t reach his eyes this time. “…then perhaps my time is wasted on you.”
Low whispers and snickers from the other culled surrounded me.
“Leave.”
My breath hitched. “Don’t I have to be here?”
“Not if I don’t want you here.” His voice cracked like a whip. “And I don’t. So leave.”
I rose hesitantly, aware that it could be a test. Every muscle was stiff as I made my way to the doorway. But he never stopped me.
When I finally glanced back, Holcrum didn’t look at me. He just flicked his wrist, dismissive, as if I were a gnat.
So I left.