Chapter 33
“Nothing in the Temple is given. It is what?”
“Earned!” chorused the Disciples of the four Farasee Orders.
I scribbled in my scrollbook taking notes as Farasee Kaelthos barreled on.
There was a wild glint in his eyes this Sanctuary.
I didn’t like it. I noticed this dawn that the Farasee Order wasn’t present.
Including the other Presbitaris. Whatever Kaelthos was thinking, I hoped to avoid it at all costs.
“Including mercy,” Kaelthos said. “Welcome to The Principles of Righteous Judgment, where you will learn how the Farasees maintain order across all Ouanaviel temples, and the empyrean at large.”
Kaelthos looked across the cathedral, lifting his pointed nose at us.
“In Temple Efysis, every Disciple has a responsibility to learn how the Farasee Order maintains the Creed—our political laws upheld with the approval of the Empràr—and the spiritual morality of the empire.”
I watched the Farasee turn as he spoke, making sure he faced every Order, until he came to a stop.
Facing Incense Order.
I immediately brought my eyes to my scrollpapers.
“Much of these principles are aligned with dealing out judgment in the form of punishment. Specifically, the physical kind.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Ellabeth whispered just so I could hear.
I tilted my head her way, a nod that I agreed with her.
Why were we, Temple Farasees and Disciples, punishing anyone? Especially physically? Had I missed a chapter when studying the Farasee Accords?
“It could be for small offenses,” Kaelthos continued, those fiery golden eyes still locked onto Incense Order.
“Such as a stolen cinderwolf from a Cherubim farm. A pilfered piece of dragonfruit from a chariot-stand at the Feather Market.” He lifted a finger.
“Then there are the greater offenses. An attempt on a Legionnaire’s life.
Wanting to usurp the Empràr’s throne. Helping fallen angels and hèlborns breach the Seal Gate. ”
Farasee Kaelthos floated into the air and hovered above the gilded dais. I twitched in my seat, observing him from behind low lashes. Something was odd about Sanctuary this dawn. There was a charge in the air. My ethèr stirred inside of me nervously.
I slipped low into my seat, lifting my wings a touch, rounding them out so they shielded my body. Quazar threw me a glance from the corner of his eyes, one of his eyebrows raised. I said nothing, keeping my eyes between my scrollpapers and the Farasee.
“What in the stars are you doing?” Quazar asked down our bond.
Since my trip to the biblarien a few dawns ago, I’d learned nothing new about Manmi’s death.
But it was emphatically clear. Quazar, nor his angels, had anything to do with her unexpected death.
And since then, he and I had become… cordial?
Friends? If this odd connection between us could ever be called friendship.
“Trying not to be noticed by the fire-breathing demon who’d toss me to the Scourgers for sport if he ever got the chance. Has it ever occurred to you that the only angel he hates more than me is you?”
Quazar snorted. “Like I give a rot.”
“Yeah, well. You’re not a Disciple, almighty Legionnaire. I am. To a degree, I have to care, or he’ll find a way to make me forfeit Ascension.”
Quazar remained still in his seat, tracking Kaelthos’s every move. But down our bond, he chuckled until the sound reverberated into my chest and bounced around my mind.
“The Farasee Order consistently strives to be one of mercy. We create margins for error the angels may find themselves in.”
I scoffed under my breath.
An Order of mercy. Yeah, sure.
I kept my head down while I noted the bullrot coming out of Kaelthos’s mouth. The veil mentally separating Quazar and I warmed. I slipped into my mind, edging closer to the veil between us. Quazar was laughing…no. Positively cackling on the other side.
I shook my head. Stars. How I wish I could possess such levity. I sealed the veil shut and sank further in my seat. My recent actions surfaced all over again.
I’d blamed him for a death he did not cause. Loudly. I’d lost my temper, going off on him, causing nine angels to die. All over misplaced rage. Over truth that was a farce. I’d stewed for the last several dawns in guilt, in shame. The Fallenspawn…
They weren’t even Fallen. They were Hallowed, just like us. The only difference were their engraved, thorny marks on their left arms curling up to their necks.
“Sink any further and he’ll call you out for it. You’re dealing with enough. Don’t give Kaelthos a ramp with enough room to fly.”
Ellabeth had barely moved her lips, but I heard her loud and clear. She was right. Kaelthos would use any reason to call me out. I sat up, lifting my head.
“This dawn, take note of this principle.”
The fire in those golden eyes seemed to blaze afresh as they landed squarely on me. Quazar shifted in his seat. I blinked, perplexed. He…he just scooted closer to me. Very close. And I liked it. I fought the twinge at the corners of my lips as I kept my eyes on Kaelthos.
“Sacrifice is better than obedience.”
Kaelthos Zamarien crossed his strong arms, as the fire in his eyes grew, turning gold to living, breathing flame.
“These are the principles you must live by if you plan to Ascend. How you fare will determine if you remain as Apprenti, rise to Rabbini, or join the Farasee Order itself.”
He tilted his head at me, as if sending a personal message.
“And on the rare occasion you Ascend from Disciple to Farasee, it will be because these truths of the Age burn bright within you. Enough for our Profèt to deem you worthy of the Order.”
“Such a grandiose speech to say a whole lot of bullrot,” Daelun whispered, his mouth full of peanut brittle. I chuckled under my breath. Of course he found a way to sneak in snacks.
Farasee Kaelthos gestured around the cathedral.
“As a Disciple with the intention of one dawn becoming a Farasee, to you much is given, so in return much will be required. It is with this weight you will have to carry out judgment. Whether it is of Angels or Gods. Shifters or Giants. Faerèth, Merriens, or the Edennite mortals. At some point you will judge and give out sentences. It is part of your duty on behalf of His Majesty, Empràr Zadkias Claudevin. Do you all follow?”
“Awoui, Farasee Kaelthos.”
As one, every Disciple clapped their wings together twice. Not a single Legionnaire, Hallowed or Marked, participated. Not that they needed to. They weren’t Disciples.
Still.
Kaelthos took note of the lack of respect from our Azarath companions. His cheeks grew hot. Irritation thickened his neck.
“Now, it’s easy to speak on righteous judgment. And like all Presbitaris, I love a good presentation myself. But I have always believed demonstration was better.”
There was a lift in Kaelthos’s tone that made my spine tingle. I cut a glance at Ellabeth. She looked back, her eyes widening with concern.
“Eyes down,” I whispered.
Ellabeth nodded. We both fixed our eyes on our scrolls. Quazar scooted even closer, letting his shadows loose around my hips and ankles. Whatever Kaelthos was up to, even the Fallen Prince was concerned.
“If our Scourgers would please present themselves.”
My head snapped up.
Ellabeth shot out a hand, gripping my arm, her eyes wide.
Three Scourgers stepped forward from a burst of obsidian light.
Their raven black wings hung heavily to the floor of the dais, as they landed on their unseen feet shrouded beneath the skirts of their long, dark robes.
Their faces were mangled. Like they’d been beaten badly and never went to see a Raephim for mending.
“Why in the stars are there Scourgers here?” Omarion hissed, kissing his teeth.
“This can’t be good,” Kazemir grunted.
My hearts began pounding. What was Kaelthos up to?
Bend, but do not break. Burn, but never bleed.
The Anathelle proverb sang in my mind. Quazar had removed his feet from our shared desk and sat up.
He was unnaturally still, eyes glaring into the three Scourgers below.
He slipped a hand to my knee, gripping it tightly.
I found myself placing a hand on top of his to help him calm his nerves.
He’d clearly had encounters with the Scourgers before and was triggered by them now.
“Farasee Kaelthos,” called out a Disciple from Bond Order. “What are Scourgers doing here in Sanctuary?”
“We are here to teach a lesson child,” the tall Scourger in the middle said. His breath was like a dying whisper. Airy, strained, yet dripping with ancient cruelty. “And we have names. You will address me as Scourger Jeroah. These are my fellows, Refayim and Lilithine.”
“Scourger Jeroah, thank you for taking the time to be with us,” Kaelthos said, too excited for my liking. “Please choose the Disciple you deem best for this illustration.”
Without hesitation, all three Scourgers turned their crimson blood eyes to Incense Order.
And they pinned them on me.
Scourger Jeroah raised a crooked, umber finger, pointing it in my direction.
“We choose Disciple Safah Anathelle. It is tradition for this illustration to be performed by one with Nebulae blood. Like her Manmis before her, she is our choice this dawn.”
“But Scourger Jeroah,” I blurted out, trying to reason with the harbinger of punishment.
“Disciple Tharic is a Zamarien. Surely he is the better choice.” I gestured over at Tharic whose face turned from pearl to scarlet.
“He has Nebulae blood, too!” My hearts hammered in my chest. Fear prickled my palms as I begged for the Infinite to make me disappear.
“You are correct, young one. But we have no need of sunfire this dawn,” Jeroah wore a small, conniving smile. “We need the fire of the stars.”
“Rot,” Omarion cursed from behind me.
“Hèls-infested temple,” Isandra whispered. “I don’t like this.”
I wanted to scream. Everyone was staring at me now. Waiting to see what I’d do.