Chapter 23
The thunderstorms finally break a day or so later, and I’m desperate for fresh air. Between avoiding Yaris’s knowing looks and wrestling my own damned head, I’ve needed the sun’s warmth on my cheeks.
My heels click down the cobblestone as I follow the path from Yaris’s estate toward Nimbusport.
Merchants with vast assortments of wares bustle about, passing me with curt nods and incurious glances.
I’ll admit, the change in reaction as I cross strangers’ paths is refreshing.
The citizens of Smoke might avert their eyes or shy away, but here, even with foreign features, I’m of no relevance.
I follow the sloping road down the hillside. My thoughts move with the curve of the cobblestone, winding around and around with plans set in motion. Locating Sovereign’s lost rumors keeps my path steady, even with the cold sweat beading on my brow.
From what I can remember, my mother rarely spoke of her time with Sovereign’s priestesses, save for the abrupt end to her sacred servitude.
Indoctrinated into service meant giving up all possibility of love, of a family.
Whether it be some archaic rite enacted by Ceti’s regent, or a direct calling from the goddess herself, priestesses swore an oath of chastity.
My mother swore…then, clearly broke that oath when she met my father.
Even now, I remember how bitter her words were at the mention of Astora’s servants. She never spoke of everything that’d happened upon her separation, but the scars on her wrists—all too similar to brands—offered up her truths.
The streets narrow as I follow the path toward Obdiris’s Temple.
Although I know very little of the Rain God’s followers, just as their faction, they’re peaceful.
Obdiris teaches patience, like the growth of a fern, and strength, like the force of his storms. They’ll welcome a stray traveler, just as their god would, but even here, caution is wisdom.
I take a breath and slip into the role. This is just another mission, yet my palms twitch and my heart thumps.
The temple appears in the plane just down the hill with a large rotunda carved from the base of the Motherwood. Roots entangle around granite support columns, appearing to fuse with the stone. The colossal construction steals my breath in a way I’m not used to.
While everything is cut clean and sharp in Smoke, there are no man-made angles in this temple’s structure.
Everything ebbs and flows around the natural shapes of the tree, molding and conforming to nature’s sheer will.
The line where stone begins and ancient wood ends is blurred, creating a landscape of vast, wild beauty unlike anything I’ve witnessed before.
A nervous thrill dances in my stomach, part awe, part apprehension.
Even the glimpses I remember of Sovereign’s own creations don’t compare.
“Welcome.” A woman dressed in layered robes of varying green shades smiles as I approach the temple’s open entrance.
“By Astora’s grace,” I reply, bowing my head. Every muscle recoils, as I mold my expression to one of simple serenity.
Her expression shifts. “You offer the greeting of the lost goddess…”
“Lost only to those who refuse her wisdom.” I pull from the few memories I have of my mother and embody the grace of Astora’s servants as best I can. Still, my gaze darts to the shadows, cautious and alert.
“Agreed,” the woman says, tucking an auburn braid behind her ear. “What can I offer you today?”
“I’ve come seeking wisdom…seeking faith in our gods.” Our gods might be a calculated phrase, but not without some truth behind it. I swallow again, tightening my grip on the dagger at my hip. It’s not the other gods of our world that turned their backs when Sovereign fell, but the people.
She reaches her long, elegant fingers for me. “All are accepted by our god. All who seek one have a place here.”
“Thank you.” I take her hand and follow through the temple's entrance. Every step is a risk into the unknown. The interior stretches as far as I can see up the tree’s trunk, with stairwells carved into the wood’s curvature, spiraling around and around until disappearing into the darkness above.
The priestess leads us through a corridor burrowed into the trunk.
Encapsulated-flame sconces flicker down the hall, casting shadows over wood knots and growth rings.
We pass doorways open to dim chambers, each housing shelves stuffed with scrolls and tomes, most likely predating our modern world.
While the collection isn’t as vast as Sovereign once held, it still sends ripples of hope through me.
I steady my breath, masking the flutter of nerves in my chest.
The priestess takes my hand and crosses a narrow roped bridge over the temple’s width. I don’t dare glance between each board, knowing only air and a very long way down waits for me.
Astora help me, again with the heights.
“These bridges are heavily reinforced with wards below. Even if you did misstep, you’d only fall a few feet, dear,” she says, a wrinkle of humor on her nose.
I nod and follow her on apprehensive steps.
The reassurance is welcome, but the drip of sweat trailing down my spine is a persistent reminder to stay sharp.
This is just another job, Nova. Not until my boot scuffs the opposing hallway do I breathe again.
“Just in here,” she says, gesturing to another doorway. The chamber is identical to the others we’ve passed. A single, unlit candle rests on the central table with stacks of tomes, faded and aged, littering the floor.
“I’m scheduled to join the first year riders’ flight this afternoon, so we don’t have too much time, unfortunately.
” She gestures for me to sit in the empty seat beside her.
With eyes still wide, I follow her unspoken command.
Every step measured and forcefully casual, careful not to show even the slightest of hands.
“Are you a rider? I thought only soldiers and nobility were allowed to bond.”
“In Storm, all are welcome to attempt. Whether the Jadetail accepts is another story. Vintrex and I practically shared a cradle. She was just a hatchling when we bonded.” The priestess smooths her robes over her lap. “Now, my name is Ashe. Can you tell me yours?”
“Nova.” I straighten against the chair back. “Nova Lindwen.”
“Lindwen, you say? I haven’t heard that surname in a very long time.”
“My mother briefly served our lost goddess before separating.” I risk the truth, but the information I’m asking for requires some level of trust. Heart hammering, I weigh each word carefully, offering only as much as necessary.
“A dangerous name, it is, and to be paired with such a powerful given name—Nova.” Ashe rolls the pronunciation off her tongue. “The one who sees the cosmos.”
Apprehension stirs, thick and low in my stomach. Maybe it was a mistake in coming here, sniffing for information.
“Perhaps, but I’m by no means a servant to the gods.” I place my hands in my lap.
“No, Nova Lindwen. You are a knowledge seeker. A secret slinger. What do you wish to know? Or maybe you hope to join in our servitude?” She raises a thin brow, studying me with flared eyes.
“Like I said, I’ve lost my way. All I seek is the path back.”
“Speak plainly. You are among allies here.” Ashe drags her hand across the tabletop. “I cannot give you what you need if you refuse to ask for it.”
My fingers bite into my knees until my knuckles are bone white. “I’m looking for someone and I believe their whereabouts may be spoken or written about within your temple walls.”
“If you’re seeking servants of the lost goddess, you’ll find none here. They’re only of memory now.”
“No, not a priestess of Astora…” The truth clings to my tongue with taloned claws.
Do I take the leap and trust her? Back in Smoke, I’d barely risk a breath of honesty, but just as the thunderheads have whipped through me, Ashe’s gentle patience and welcoming nature reels me in.
I shift in my seat, the wood now tacky against my trousers.
“Well,” she sighs, “regardless of intentions, you’re welcome amongst us. But don’t think I’m not aware of your history. Finnick Derald’s infamy doesn’t lapse over the borders, dear. Keep that dagger out of my temple, and I’ll allow you sanctuary.”
I hiss out a breath, nearly choking on my own damned saliva. Even if Storm is a sanctuary state, my blood heats. Do I trust the woman standing before me? She hasn’t given any reason not to, but old habits are tough to crack, I guess.
She laughs and rises from her seat. “Breathe, Miss Lindwen.”
“I…” My voice quivers like the flickering candle between us. “I’m sorry.”
Her robes cascade down her slender frame as she starts for the door. My thoughts scatter like broken glass. Do I follow? Do I draw my blade and secure the risk? Instead of either, I’m left gaping like an idiot.
Ashe’s nose wrinkles with amusement. “I’m not one to tread into business where I don’t belong, Nova Lindwen.
As long as you uphold our agreement, you’re safe here.
Our network of servants offers much to those that listen.
Stay for a while. Learn what you must. The dragon dens need cleaning and the gardens, weeding. Perhaps you’ll find what you seek.”