Page 56 of This Cruel Fate

He went back to dressing, and Xolia made her way to the guest room, which had really become a large closet of Persion clothes that Adonis supplied her with, and pulled together an understated ensemble. The outfit itself was unassuming, all black with just a hint of luxury, except for the coat. Structured like her old military uniform, it exuded power and control. The lapels were embroidered in the Persion crimson. The small detail wouldn’t be visible from far away, making it feel all the more intimate.

They met again in the kitchen, Adonis taking his time to give her a thorough once over. “You look divine.” He winked on the ‘divine’ and Xolia rolled her eyes.

She grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the elevator. “Thanks.”

Adonis drove into downtown Atalia, where the First Church of Rheatha stood tall and proud. They drove past pedestrians, all unaware of Xolia watching them. She wondered about their lives and if they took their anonymity for granted. She felt the death of her anonymity like a weight dragging her down, slow yet inescapable. It wasn’t that she was upset to lose it, she just dreaded the necessity of security and the scrutiny of her every move.

She tried to relax as Adonis pulled into the parking lot. Despite the fluctuations in attendance over the years, the church held an immense amount of power and wealth. It was one of the oldest religions in Ris, though the country had three national religions. The other two had been instituted after the fall of the variant monarchy.

Who’s to say I’m not the Selermine? I care about variants, and humans. That’s more than Atlas could say, or Helen or John. Xolia kept trying to convince herself she was fit to be the Selermine as she and Adonis walked to the front doors of the church. When they stepped inside, she was once again struck by the intensity of all the paintings. Every brutal war scene was a testament to what variants had overcome. It was a whisper of confidence. This was where she was supposed to be. This was who she was supposed to be. Everything was going to turn out okay.

Xolia thought about how mercilessly Atlas had bested her back at the museum. How woefully pathetic her attempts at self-preservation had been. There was no room for second-guessing. She had to be the Selermine. She had to be better than him. He didn’t deserve to make decisions for the country when he was only looking out for himself. He didn’t deserve Peter’s trust or his mentorship. Atlas had seen Silas up until his death. That wasn’t fair either.

Righteous rage burned through her veins. Peter trusts me. This is what I need to do to help him.

“That’s Caius, the first Selermine,” came Adonis’s low voice behind her. She was standing in front of that painting again. The one of the man with the flaming sword held aloft, just the angry tilt of his eyes visible above his muscled arms.

“Really?” Xolia turned around to see Adonis nod. A slow, indulgent smile stretched across her face. Faith was hard to come by, but she had just managed to find some. That kinship she felt to Caius had to mean something. “Let’s go.”

Xolia grabbed Adonis’s wrist and dragged him inside the chamber, where the stained-glass windows cast shades of color around the room, contrasting against the flickering flames in the sconces around the perimeter. Up at the altar stood a quartet of priests, all donned in the shapeless robes of gray. Their heads were shaved, and their hands were covered by white gloves.

Many of the pews were already full. Xolia was mildly surprised at the amount of people in the congregation, some were clearly human. Children sat with their parents. The sight of it made Xolia jealous. She didn’t wonder about her parents often, but she would think about how little they must have cared about her to send her away as a toddler. How could they have been so disgusted with her very existence that they’d dropped her off at the barracks without so much as a goodbye? Were they really so afraid of her?

A comforting hand settled on her thigh. Adonis looked at her with concern, and she shook her head. There were more important things to worry about than her parents. Only one priest spoke, while the other three remained at the top of the room, standing in silent solidarity with the speaker. The sermon made metaphors of shepherds and sheep. Xolia had no knowledge of farming, but the metaphors weren’t too difficult to parse out the meaning. It was just as Adonis had explained. Rheathians believed variants were on earth to govern and guide humans who, in turn, were to govern and guide the land.

Xolia found herself nodding along at certain points, though she couldn’t help but think about Peter. There was no one else as suited to hold the title of chancellor as him. There was no one who cared as much about making a united and functioning country as him.

Once the sermon was over, Xolia was quick to get to her feet. Adonis was close behind her as they made their way to the thin walkway between the rows of pews and made their way to the front podium, where the priests stood to receive their congregants in closer conversation.

A priest, who had the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes, became available when another couple thanked her and pulled their school-age child away. The child and Xolia made eye contact, the young boy’s eyes bright and filled with a hope that she had never gotten to feel. Am I really jealous of a child?

She pulled herself up to the priest.

“Ms. Stone,” she said. “And Mr. Persion. How can I be of service to you both?” She folded her gloved hands into the arms of her gray robes.

Xolia’s mouth dropped open. It was still disconcerting to have everyone in the church know who she was while she had no inclination as to what their names were.

“Priest Rhodes.” Adonis bent his head deferentially. “Xolia and I need to speak with the head priest, if he’s available.”

She smiled. “Of course, Priest Irvine always has time for such a generous benefactor. Follow me.” She led them out of the main chamber and down the same hallway Xolia had walked through just a couple weeks prior. Eventually, they made their way to the solitary red door.

Priest Rhodes knocked twice before the door opened inward to reveal Priest Irvine. His eyes lit up at the sight of Xolia and Adonis. Xolia wondered if Adonis would be writing another substantial check to the church by the end of the day. She exhaled, slowly, to try and calm the increasing stuttering of her heart. They had planned on bribery, but wouldn’t it mean more if she was actually the Selermine? It would change everything for her.

At the head priest’s insistence, they stepped inside the office, and Priest Rhodes closed the door behind them. “I was expecting to see you again, Ms. Stone.” Irvine gestured at the waiting chairs and both Xolia and Adonis sat down.

Adonis focused on the reliquaries and books with unrestrained interest. Xolia would have to ask him later if he had been in this room before or if they kept most of the treasure troves of ancient texts in other parts of the church.

“It’s good to know your name,” Xolia said. “You never told me last time.”

Irvine smiled. “It wasn’t important then. Besides, you learned something about me today, and I’m sure I’ll be learning something about you today.”

Xolia inclined her head. This was it. Her chance to secure her worth and power. “I believe myself to be the Selermine.” She let the statement stand on its own, throwing the full force of her belief into it. He needed to know she was sincere.

Irvine betrayed none of his emotions, save for the brief flash of his eyes. “You read the book I gave you?”

She nodded. She’s briefly skimmed it and had Adonis’s account of the origin of the religion. So it wasn’t a complete lie.

“We haven’t had a Selermine in a thousand years.”

---